The next morning, Sara woke to find Adrian already gone.
She found him in the security center, standing over a table covered in maps and photographs. Ivan Baranov sat across from him, his old face sharp with something that might have been excitement.
"You're up," Adrian said, not looking away from the maps. "Good. We have work to do."
Sara moved to his side, looking at the photographs. They showed a house—large, old, hidden in the woods. The kind of place someone went when they didn't want to be found.
"Natalia's safe house," Ivan explained. "She's been there for months. Planning. Waiting."
Sara studied the photographs. "How do you know?"
Ivan smiled thinly. "I have people. People who owe me favors. People who remember what she was before she became... this."
Adrian pointed to a spot on the map. "The house is isolated. One road in, one road out. Woods on all sides. If we go in through the front, she'll see us coming. If we go through the woods, we lose the element of surprise."
"Then we don't go in," Sara said.
Both men looked at her.
"Explain," Adrian said.
Sara moved closer to the map, her mind working. "You said she attacked us to test our defenses. To see how we fight. She's expecting us to attack back. She's waiting for it. She wants us to come to her."
Adrian nodded slowly. "So we don't. We make her come to us."
"We make her think we're weaker than we are. We let her think the attack worked. We make her think we're scared, scattered, ready to fall." Sara looked at him. "And when she comes to finish us, we're ready."
Ivan laughed—a dry, rasping sound. "The wife has teeth."
Sara met his eyes. "I've always had teeth. People just forget when they look at me."
Ivan's smile faded, replaced by something like respect. "What do you propose?"
Sara turned to Adrian. "We move Elena and Tom somewhere safe. Somewhere she can't find them. We reduce the guard at the mansion. Make it look like we're pulling back. Like we're afraid."
"And when she attacks?"
"We let her in. Let her think she's won. And then we close the door behind her."
Adrian stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.
"You're terrifying," he murmured against her lips.
"I learned from the best."
The plan came together over the next three days.
Elena and Tom were moved to a safe house—a small farm in the countryside, owned by a family who owed Ivan Baranov everything. Marta went with them, promising to keep them safe.
"I'll guard them with my life," Marta said, hugging Sara goodbye. "You just make sure you come back."
"I will." Sara held her tight. "Take care of them. Please."
Marta pulled back, her eyes wet. "You take care of yourself. And that baby."
Sara pressed a hand to her stomach. "I will."
At the mansion, the changes were visible.
The guards were reduced. The gates were left open. Lights that had once blazed all night were dimmed or turned off. To anyone watching, the Volkov mansion looked like a fortress that had been abandoned.
Adrian moved through the halls, checking the traps they had set, the positions they had chosen, the weapons they had hidden. He was in his element—cold, calculating, dangerous.
Sara watched him from the doorway of the security center.
"You're worried," she said.
He didn't look up. "I'm always worried."
"More than usual."
He set down the weapon he was checking and turned to face her. "I'm worried because this plan puts you in danger. Puts our child in danger."
"It puts us in a position to win."
"Or to lose everything."
Sara crossed to him, taking his hands. "We're not going to lose. We've come too far. Fought too hard. We're not going to let Natalia take any of this away from us."
Adrian pulled her close. "I love you. I don't say it enough. I don't show it enough. But I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life."
Sara kissed him softly. "I know. And I love you. Now stop being dramatic and finish your preparations. We have a war to win."
He laughed—a real laugh, warm and surprised. "Yes, ma'am."
The night of the attack, Sara stood at the window of their bedroom, watching the dark gardens below.
She was dressed in black—pants, shirt, jacket. A gun holster strapped to her thigh. A knife hidden in her boot. Adrian had tried to make her stay in the safe room. She had refused.
"I'm not hiding," she'd said. "Not this time. We face her together."
Adrian had argued. Then he'd given in. Because he knew her. Because he knew that sending her away would hurt more than any bullet.
She heard him come up behind her.
"It's time," he said quietly.
Sara turned. He was dressed in black too, his face hard, his eyes sharp. The mafia king, ready for war.
"Are the guards in position?"
"Every one."
"And the traps?"
"Armed."
Sara took a deep breath. "Then let's finish this."
They waited in the main hall, the doors open, the lights low.
Outside, the night was silent.
Then came the sound of engines. Multiple engines. Cars, approaching fast.
Sara's heart pounded, but she didn't move. Beside her, Adrian stood like a statue.
The cars stopped at the gates. Doors opened. Footsteps on the gravel.
And then she appeared.
Natalia Volkov walked through the front doors like she owned them. She was tall, elegant, her dark hair swept back from a face that was beautiful and cold and terrible. Behind her came a dozen men, armed, ready.
She stopped in the center of the hall, looking at Adrian.
"My son," she said. Her voice was soft, almost gentle. "I've waited so long to see you."
Adrian's face didn't change. "You should have waited longer."
Natalia smiled. "You think your little traps will stop me? Your hidden guards? Your wife's clever plan?" She shook her head slowly. "I've been planning this for forty years, Adrian. Forty years. You think you can outsmart me?"
Sara stepped forward. "I think you've underestimated us."
Natalia's eyes shifted to her. Something flickered in them—hatred, maybe, or jealousy.
"The wife. The Bennett girl. The one who stole my son's heart." Her smile widened. "Did he tell you? About how he bought you? About how he destroyed your father to have you?"
"He told me everything." Sara's voice was steady. "And I chose him anyway."
Natalia's smile faltered.
Sara stepped closer. "You think destroying the Volkov legacy will make you happy? You think taking revenge on Adrian will fill the emptiness inside you?"
"It will give me what I deserve."
"It will give you nothing." Sara's voice was fierce. "You had a chance at happiness. You had a chance at love. You had a chance at a family. And you threw it all away for revenge. You've been so busy hating that you forgot how to live."
Natalia's face twisted. "You know nothing."
"I know that you had a son who needed you. And you chose to destroy him instead of love him." Sara's eyes burned. "I know that you've wasted forty years on hatred when you could have had something beautiful. I know that you're standing here, surrounded by weapons and soldiers, and you're still empty. Still alone."
Natalia's hand shot out, grabbing Sara's arm.
"You think I won't kill you? You think because you carry my grandchild, I'll show mercy?"
Sara didn't flinch. "I think you've never known mercy. And that's the saddest thing about you."
For a moment, Natalia's mask slipped. Sara saw something beneath the cold fury—something broken, something lost, something that might have been grief.
Then the doors behind them slammed shut.
Adrian moved.