Chapter 7 - The Ambush At Lake Shore Drive
Before Viktor could pull the trigger, two gunshots rang out simultaneously in the ruined penthouse.
Yuri fired from the hip. Nikolai fired from his stance.
Both rounds struck with lethal precision. Viktor Rakov collapsed against the doorframe, his eyes rolling back as his revolver clattered harmlessly across the marble floor. The tyrant who had terrorized the Chicago underworld for two decades was dead before his body hit the ground.
Yuri lowered his rifle, breathing heavily. He looked at Nikolai, then at me.
"The building is secure, but the city isn't," Yuri said, his voice returning to its sharp, tactical tone. "Viktor’s second-in-command, a butcher named Anton, has three chase cars positioned at the base of Lake Shore Drive. When they realize Viktor failed, they will try to hit the hospital to take Elena hostage as leverage."
The blood drained from my face. "My mother!"
"I already have four men stationed outside her room," Nikolai intervened instantly, pulling his radio up. "Lev, mobilize team bravo. Move Elena Vance to the rooftop helipad immediately. We are evacuating to the lakefront compound."
"Copy that, boss," Lev responded over the static. "Transport is inbound."
"We move now," Yuri commanded, gesturing to his operatives. "We take the armored convoy through the lower freight exit. If we take Lake Shore Drive, we can draw Anton’s tail away from the hospital chopper."
Five minutes later, we were descending in the reinforced freight elevator down to the underground parking complex. Nikolai held my hand tightly the entire descent. His grip was protective, possessive, and surprisingly steadying. In the span of twenty-four hours, this dangerous, terrifying man had gone from a nightmare in a diner to the only anchor keeping my world from spinning out of orbit.
We loaded into a convoy of three reinforced black SUVs. Yuri took the lead vehicle with his tactical operators. Nikolai, Lev, and I took the middle car, while the third vehicle brought up the rear.
As we burst out of the underground ramp into the torrential Chicago downpour, the tires screamed against the wet asphalt. The storm had worsened, whipping waves off Lake Michigan over the concrete barriers of the drive.
"Tails at six o'clock!" Lev called out from the front passenger seat, checking the rear monitors. "Three black Suburbans. No plates. High-beam headlights."
"Hold your fire until they commit," Nikolai ordered coldly, racking the slide of an automatic shotgun from the center console. He turned to me, his hand cupping the back of my neck, pulling me down toward the floorboards. "Stay down, Clare. Do not look up until I tell you."
"Nikolai, be careful," I pleaded, my fingers digging into the fabric of his damp suit jacket.
A rare, genuine smile touched his lips—sharp, reckless, and breathtakingly confident. "I survived twenty-six years in this family, little waitress. A few rogue enforcers aren't going to stop me from taking you home."
The first impact hit our rear bumper like an earthquake.
Metal crunched against metal as the lead enemy vehicle rammed our escort SUV, forcing it to spin across three lanes of hydroplaning traffic before crashing into a concrete light pole.
Automatic gunfire shattered the rear glass of our vehicle.
Nikolai rolled down his window, leaning halfway out into the driving gale, and fired three deafening blasts from the shotgun. The lead pursuer’s front tire exploded in a cloud of rubber and sparks, sending the massive SUV flipping violently across the median into oncoming traffic.
Up ahead, Yuri’s vehicle executed a tactical J-turn across the highway, blocking the narrow access ramp leading toward the private naval pier. Yuri stepped out into the pouring rain, firing controlled bursts from his rifle straight into the engine block of the final chasing car.
Steam hissed violently from the shattered radiator as the enemy vehicle screeched to a halt, completely neutralized.
The highway went quiet, save for the roar of the wind and the crashing waves against the sea wall.
Nikolai pulled himself back inside the cabin, wiping rain and sweat from his forehead. He looked down at me on the floorboards, extending his hand.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.
I took his hand, letting him pull me back onto the leather seat. I shook my head, my heart racing, but my fear had vanished. For the first time in my life, I felt completely, undeniably safe.
May you like
"No," I whispered. "I'm not hurt."
Across the wet pavement, a heavy transport helicopter descended through the low fog, touching down gracefully on the private pier ahead. Through the illuminated cabin window, I saw my mother sitting safely inside, wrapped in a warm blanket, accompanied by two medical attendants.
