Chapter 8 - The War for Chicago
Inside the soundproof safe room, I collapsed against the wall, clutching my bleeding shoulder.
Misha was crying hysterically, pressing a clean towel against my wound. “Sarah! You’re bleeding! You took a bullet for me!”
“It’s… it’s just a scratch, sweetheart,” I panted, trying to smile through the burning pain. “I told you… nobody touches you while I’m around.”
Ten minutes later, the heavy safe room door hissed open.
Mikhail stood in the entryway. He looked like a terrifying demon unleashed from hell. His suit coat was gone, his white shirt torn and stained with blood, his eyes wide with wild, frantic terror.
When his eyes landed on me sitting on the floor, holding his unharmed son while blood soaked through my shirt, his weapon fell from his hand, clattering against the concrete floor.
He dropped to his knees before us.
“Misha!” Mikhail gasped, pulling his son into a desperate hug, then immediately turning to me. His hands trembled as he touched the bloody fabric on my shoulder. “Sarah… oh God, Sarah…”
“She saved me, Papa!” Misha sobbed. “A bad man had a gun and Sarah jumped in front of the bullet!”
Mikhail looked at me, his deep blue eyes filling with tears he had spent years suppressing. The ruthless mafia Don, the unstoppable force of Chicago, was shaking.
“You bled for my son,” Mikhail whispered, his voice cracking with intense, overwhelming emotion. “You put your life between him and a bullet.”
“He’s just a little boy, Mikhail,” I said softly, the adrenaline fading into heavy fatigue. “I couldn’t let them hurt him.”
Mikhail leaned forward, pressing his lips passionately against mine. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and filled with a profound gratitude that words could never express.
When he pulled back, his eyes were no longer filled with fear. They were filled with an absolute, terrifying resolve.
“Boris!” Mikhail roared, standing up and looking back toward the hallway where his elite captains were assembling.
May you like
“Yes, Don Volkov?”
“Call every captain in the city,” Mikhail commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. “Burn every house, every club, and every dock owned by Jimmy Callahan. I want his entire family erased before the sun rises.”
