“Mommy, it’s cold,” Sophie whispered, shivering as I wrapped my wool cardigan tightly around her shoulders.

“I know, baby. Just stay close to me. Keep your eyes closed and count to a hundred.”

Above us, the quiet stillness of the Wisconsin forest had erupted into a war zone.

Dull, muffled thuds echoed through the stone foundations—the unmistakable sound of suppressed automatic gunfire tearing through the outer walls of the lodge. Glass shattered somewhere overhead, followed by the heavy thud of combat boots stomping across the hardwood floors of the grand hallway.

My whole body shook. Every breath felt like inhaling crushed glass. I pulled Sophie into my lap, burying her head against my chest so she couldn't hear the terrifying shouts and chaotic violence raging just feet above our heads.

If Alexei dies here, a dark, bitter voice whispered in my mind, we are trapped in the middle of a frozen forest with no way out, hunted by men who leave no witnesses.

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped.

The silence that followed was far more terrifying than the noise. It was a dead, suffocating quiet, broken only by the steady dripping of condensation from the stone ceiling.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

My hand hovered over the biometric keypad by the heavy steel door. Should I open it? Should I risk poking my head out to see who survived?

Before my finger could press the release button, the heavy metal door clicked.

Hiss.

The pneumatic seal released, and the door slowly swung inward, bathing the dim shelter in the harsh white light of the hallway.

My breath caught in my throat. I reached blindly behind me, grabbing a heavy iron wine decanter off the shelf as a makeshift weapon, stepping in front of Sophie like a mother bear shielding her cub.

A shadow fell across the doorway.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into the shelter.

His dark wool sweater was torn at the shoulder, stained with a dark, wet patch of crimson near his collarbone. His knuckles were raw and smeared with blood, and his face was smeared with soot and sweat.

Alexei Petrov was still standing.

In his right hand, he held a smoking Glock pistol. In his left hand, he was casually tossing a heavy tactical radio he had stripped from one of the intruders.

“Alexei!” I dropped the wine decanter, the iron crashing against the stone floor as I stumbled forward, throwing my arms around his waist before I even realized what I was doing.

Alexei flinched slightly, a sharp hiss of pain escaping his lips as my shoulder pressed against his torn wound, but his strong arms immediately came around us, pulling both me and Sophie into a crushing, desperate embrace.

“You’re safe,” he breathed into my hair, his voice trembling for the first time since I had known him. “It’s over. They’re all neutralized or running back to their cars.”

Sophie peeked out from behind my back, her big brown eyes widening as she spotted the blood on his sweater.

“You’re hurt, Mr. Petrov,” she said, her little forehead wrinkling with immediate concern.

Alexei looked down at her, a tired, genuine smile breaking across his battered face. He knelt down, ignoring his bleeding shoulder, and held out his hand.

“Just a scratch, little doctor,” he rasped softly. “Looks like I need another checkup.”

Dmitri appeared in the doorway behind him, wiping a smear of blood off his forehead with the back of his massive hand, looking exhausted but grinning like a victor.

“The perimeter is secure, boss,” Dmitri reported, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Two of Vance’s men are tied up in the garage. The rest hauled ass back toward the highway before our backup could cut them off. Senator Vance’s private communications are currently being leaked to every federal prosecutor and journalist in the tri-state area by our friends in Washington. He’s finished.”

Alexei nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact with Sophie.

“Good,” Alexei murmured. “Tell our legal team to make sure Vance spends the rest of his natural life in a cell where he can’t ruin anyone else’s morning.”

He stood up, offering his hand to me. I took it, letting him pull me up from the cold stone floor. His grip was warm, unyielding, and utterly grounding.

“Come on,” Alexei said quietly, his ice-blue eyes softening as he looked between us. “Let’s go back upstairs. The kitchen is a bit drafty with the broken windows, but Clara… I think you still owe me a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls.”