Page 118 of Unbroken

He bows his head, a vow in the dark. “I will, baby. I will.”

But isn’t that what they all say?

I watch him walk out that door, and I’m left clutching myknees to my chest, nausea rolling through me in waves. Only this time, I’m not sure I can blame the pregnancy.

I need to do something. I can’t sit here helpless. But I don’t know how to help. I’m new to all of this. The Bratva, their ways, their war—I’m still learning. Still fumbling.

I place a hand on my belly and try to picture the life growing inside me. A piece of him. Of us. A little girl with his eyes, maybe. Full pink lips. Will she look like my sister? My nephew?

I rise quietly and walk to Luka’s room. He’s sprawled in bed, one arm flung above his head, sleeping deep and trustful. I kneel beside him, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“I miss you, Mariah,” I whisper into the quiet. “We’re at war now. Things aren’t safe here.”

I climb into his bed and slide under the blanket, curling myself around Luka’s small body. Cocooning him. Protecting him with my presence, with my body.

“I don’t know what else to do but this,” I whisper. “I love Luka. I love Vadka. And I will protect them however I can.”

I press a kiss to Luka’s head, close my eyes, and beg for sleep. But when it comes, it’s full of screams—my sister’s cries, blood on the floor of the bar, and the sound of Vadka’s sobs as he shattered.

Chapter 26

VADKA

I takethe back roads to the warehouse, every twist and turn burned into my memory from nights like this. Nights when you don’t call ahead. Nights when you don’t wear your usual clothes or take your usual car.

I’m in the unmarked ride we keep parked three blocks from the south side alleyway, the one we use when shit’s gone bad—no plates, no records, no connections. A burner phone presses against my hip, cold and small. Untraceable. Disposable. Just like we were trained to be.

My heart's pounding like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. I’m trying—really trying—to get my mind ready for the worst. Blood. Carnage. Smoke so thick you taste it. My brothers, dead. It’s always an ever-present concern, but now…

Sirens tear through the silence, a flash of lights heading for the wharf. For our warehouse, the one near Anya’s bakery.That location wasn’t just luck—it was strategy. Smart and dangerous. Plenty of rivals wanted that spot, but Semyon made damn sure none of them ever touched it. And that decision, that little power move? That was the beginning of our slow, inevitable war with the Irish.

I take a mental inventory of the weapons on me. I’ve got enough firepower to drop twenty men before I even take a breath. And somehow, it still doesn’t feel like enough. When the hell is it ever enough?

The road blurs beneath me, tires screaming against asphalt, and my mind flashes—just for a second—to Ruthie. Her cheeks flushed, her hands cupping my face like I was worth something. Her voice shaking when she said she loved me.

A baby.New life. Family.

Focus, I snarl to myself.Don’t lose your edge now.

I smell the fire before I see it—sweet, smoky, with that slightly acrid bite that tells you this wasn’t an accident. It reminds me of the bonfires we built as kids.

I park the car just beneath the old willow tree—out of sight. This spot was picked for discretion, and tonight, it earns its keep. From here, I can’t see much—just enough smoke to know something’s wrong. But I need to get closer. I need to see who’s here, who’s been here, and who the fuck might’ve done this.

If they touched my brothers… if they’re dead…

But what I see when I round the corner isn’t the inferno I imagined. The warehouse is still standing. It’s… mostly intact. There’s smoke, yeah, and a fire truck already ahead, but no billowing destruction, no collapsed beams or shattered windows. It doesn’t make sense.

“What the fuck?” I mutter.

“Vadka?”

I whip around, hand twitching toward my weapon, but it’s Rodion. He’s stalking up behind me, face tight.

He looks as confused as I am. “What the fuck, brother? You all right? Were you inside?”

I shake my head once. “No. I got a call from Zoya. Said she couldn’t reach you or the others. Said everyone was here.”

Rodion goes still. His eyes narrow, dark and dangerous. “She said that?” His voice is low now, sharp-edged steel.

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