Chapter 13 - Ambush in the Dark
Sienna wrapped her arms around Roman’s neck, holding him close as the fire crackled in the hearth, letting their shared grief wash away the remaining bitterness.
For ten minutes, the syndicate boss was simply a broken man holding the woman he had wronged, seeking forgiveness in the quiet mountain cabin.
Then, from the dark treeline two hundred yards below the ridge, the sharp, unmistakable sound of a snapping dry branch echoed through the night.
Roman’s head lifted instantly, his tears drying on his face within a second as his combat instincts reclaimed total control of his nervous system.
He pulled away from her, his gray eyes narrow and deadly as he looked toward the heavy wooden door leading out to the covered porch.
Upstairs, the floorboards creaked as Nikolai moved rapidly toward the window, his suppressed pistol already drawn and aimed toward the driveway.
“We have company,” Nikolai whispered down the stairwell, his voice tight with tactical urgency. “Five thermal signatures moving up the eastern ridge trail.”
Roman stood up from the hearth rug, reaching down to grab his Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster while his left hand pulled Sienna behind him.
“They didn't wait for daylight,” Roman growled, checking his magazine with a smooth, practiced motion that required no visual confirmation.
“Viktor must have used local poachers or logging guides to navigate the canyon trail in the dark; they want to end this before we can relocate.”
He turned to Sienna, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking directly into her hazel eyes to ensure she was entirely focused.
“Go down into the root cellar beneath the kitchen rug,” Roman commanded, his voice dropping into that absolute, authoritative register she knew so well.
“There is a heavy oak trapdoor with an interior iron latch; you go down there, you pull the bolt, and you do not make a sound regardless of what you hear up here.”
Sienna did not argue this time, recognizing the lethal reality in his eyes and knowing that hesitation would only get him killed.
“Don't you dare die in this cabin, Roman Volkov,” she whispered, reaching out to press a single, fierce kiss against his lips before turning toward the kitchen.
Roman watched her lift the woven rug, pull open the heavy trapdoor, and disappear into the darkness of the cellar before the iron latch clicked shut.
Once she was secure, he turned toward the front windows, his face turning into a mask of pure, ancestral Russian brutality.
He walked over to the oil lamp sitting on the side table and blew out the flame, plunging the lower level of the cabin into absolute darkness.
“Nikolai,” Roman spoke into the gloom, his voice cold as a Siberian winter. “Take the upper terrace; crossfire on the front clearing.”
“Copy,” Nikolai’s voice echoed softly from the landing above as he shifted his position to cover the approach vectors.
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Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the mountain air heavy with mist and the faint, unmistakable scent of approaching violence.
Roman stood beside the heavy oak door, his gun raised, waiting for the first man stupid enough to step onto his porch.
