Page 65 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

"Yes. I was afraid he wouldn’t even let us leave alive."

"He didn’t want corpses in his house. I’m alerting the others."

I immediately call our security team on the secure channel.

"Yeah?"

"Stay on your gua—"

A violent impact erupts behind us, followed by the screech of metal tearing apart. A quick glance in the rearview mirror reveals a black SUV slamming into our bodyguards’ car at full speed. Their vehicle swerves wildly, crashing into a barrier as their airbags explode in a cloud of white. They're out of action—for a few crucial seconds.

I don’t have time to think. A second SUV overtakes both cars and locks onto us. My foot slams the accelerator, my heartbeat hammering in my chest. The Pont de l'Alma is in sight, its illuminated arches cutting through the Parisian night, when the sharp screech of tires slices through the silence.

A third black SUV appears on our left, swerving into position across the road, blocking any possible escape.

"Ruslan…" Sophia murmurs, alarm creeping into her voice.

Trapped.

The front doors of the SUV ahead of us open simultaneously, and two hooded figures step out, suppressed weapons in hand. Under the yellowish glow of the streetlights, they are nothing more than threatening silhouettes. They move forward quickly, fully exposed, with a confidence that sends a chill through me.

Their eyes scan the interior of our vehicle, but the reflections on the windshield and the relative darkness inside prevent them from seeing us clearly. One of the men slowly raises his weapon.

I have only one instinct: protect Sophia at all costs.

"Get down!"

Sophia ducks, and I throw myself over her, covering her body with mine just as the first bullet shatters the windshield in a deafening explosion of glass.

My heart pounds. Adrenaline surges through my veins, sharpening every sense. A second bullet whistles past, barely missing my head. No time to think. Instinct kicks in—I reach under my seat, fingers searching for my weapon.

Too late.

A searing pain rips through my right shoulder. Fuck. The force of the impact knocks the breath from my lungs, my grip faltering. Blood already soaks into my shirt, warm, sticky—almost black in the dim cabin.

"Ruslan!"

Sophia stares at me, eyes wide with fear. I grit my teeth and shove the gun toward her with a trembling hand.

"Take it."

She hesitates for just a second, then flicks off the safety and adjusts her grip with a familiarity that would have surprised me under any other circumstances. Her breathing is fast but steady. She aims through the shattered windshield, taking advantage of our obscured position inside the car.

One of the attackers crumples to the pavement, a clean shot to the chest.

The second hesitates, thrown off by our unexpected resistance. Sophia doesn’t waste the opportunity. She adjusts her aim again, exhales slowly, and fires before he can take cover. A muffled cry escapes him as he collapses, clutching his wounded leg.

Behind us, our pursuers—too confident in their easy prey—hadn’t even bothered to leave their vehicle. But now, they realize their mistake. Their doors fly open as they scramble out, guns drawn.

A growl of an engine makes me look up.

A car barrels toward us, headlights cutting through the night. A split second is all I need to recognize the battered vehicle of our bodyguards.

They managed to restart and are coming in hot.

The attackers react instantly, scrambling back into their SUV, dragging their injured men inside. The vehicle peels out, tires screeching as they flee, abandoning their second car as a roadblock. Within seconds, they vanish into the dark.

Our men pull up beside us, windows down.