Niklaus Volkov wasn’t used to quiet nights.

Even before he had ever ventured into the Den, back when he was just a teenager living in Florida trying to make it, something was always going on outside his bedroom window. He hadn’t lived in the best neighborhood, and if it wasn’t the sound of bottles breaking in the alleyway, it was screaming neighbors or yowling cats.

The past seven years had consisted of nothing but endless days and constant jobs, one after the other, not giving him nearly enough time to sleep, let alone try to sleep when it was peaceful. He slept when he was too exhausted to do anything more, and for a while, that had been enough. He’d grown to love keeping his thoughts occupied on something other than the pain he was living with every day.

But that was before Reagan. Before he had learned what it meant to breathe again. And now, he didn’t just have a wife. He also had two beautiful children.

He had a family.

Something he had long taken for granted until the moment it was ripped away from him.

Niklaus didn’t know, which was why no matter what happened or where he was, he made it a point to come home every night. He didn’t accept as many jobs as he once had. He didn’t want to risk not making it back in one piece or for something to happen to one of them.

He wouldn’t survive it.

Which was why he needed to get out.

It went beyond his dislike of the Kingmaker. It wasn’t personal, his feelings against the man, but he didn’t like the idea of someone who could pull his strings whenever he wanted. That fucking contract was the bane of his existence.

It had almost been three years ago now when he told the Kingmaker he wanted out. He wanted to step away from the Den. His contract was almost at its end anyway, and with his new relationship with his twin brother, he didn’t mind the idea of joining the family business so much.

But the contract stipulated that he work for no one else until its conclusion. And even after it was over and done, he would be free to leave.

In the three years since he’d made the request, however, he had still been called in on jobs that, if he didn’t have access to private jets and planes, he would not have accepted because there was no chance of him getting home in time.

He didn’t mind so much, considering most of the requests weren’t for the Kingmaker himself, but rather his team and the people they loved. Niklaus understood all too well the sacrifices a person was willing to make for love, and it hadn’t been that long ago that this very same team of mercenaries had been there when he needed them most.

He couldn’t turn his back on that.

But things were different now.

The job—Belladonna—was something else.

Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of.

Niklaus had no doubt they were good at what they did, would even wager that they might be the best, but that didn’t mean Belladonna wouldn’t have her own team somewhere watching and waiting.

You didn’t go up against a man with an army unless you had a trump card.

And while the Jackal was a fucking ace card to have, him taking them all at once was unlikely.

That thought was enough to keep him up at all hours of the night, wondering what Belladonna had up her sleeve. She might be contained at the moment, but he doubted she would remain that way with the building tension in his handler.

The Kingmaker looked as if he was moments from blowing his top at all hours of the day.

Which was why Celt suddenly not showing up had him fucking nervous.

For the fifth time in as many hours, Niklaus pulled out his phone and called the Irishman, waiting for the other man to pick up, yet feeling disappointment once more when he didn’t answer. As the voicemail began to play, he hung up and tried Amber.

He hadn’t panicked too much in the beginning because if Celt hadn’t gone home, he was sure he would have heard from Amber at some point the night before. But now ... he was starting to wonder if he was wrong.

Dragging a hand through his messy, too long hair, Niklaus climbed out of his ’67 Chevy and walked up the stairs to the front door of his brownstone. He might have grown up in a rough neighborhood and frequented shitty motels for years after that, but he had wanted something different for his wife and their children.

A place they could actually call home.

As he let himself inside the front door, Niklaus blew out a breath, letting the stresses of the day slide off him. It was important not to bring his work home with him, so he left it somewhere in the entryway before he stepped foot inside the foyer.

Almost over, he reminded himself as he started up the stairs, careful to keep his steps light.

One thing he was looking forward to was the downtime, when it would just be them and the twins, spending some much-needed quality time together after his lengthy absence.

It was long overdue.

Niklaus locked his gear and weapons away in the trunk he kept in the spare room, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Tomorrow, he thought as he climbed the stairs, he’d deal with everything he’d put off.

On his way to the bedroom, he stopped at the nursery, slipping inside without making a noise.

Both Ilya and Keira were asleep, their beds side by side because they’d scream bloody murder if they weren’t close to each other.

For two-year-olds, they were extremely close—closer than he had ever been with his own twin. But things had been different over thirty years ago. Hell, he and the Russian hadn’t known the other existed until they were twenty-one. They never had the chance to be close.

Niklaus smoothed his hand over Ilya’s head, and the curly wisps of hair that didn’t seem to know if they wanted to take after his mother or his own hair. He clutched a Captain America blanket in his tiny fist.

Unlike her brother, Keira laid on her side, both of her tiny hands tucked beneath her head and her lips slightly parted as she breathed slow, even breaths. She was the spitting image of her mother, though she had his eyes. And he knew if he dared to wake her, she would smile up at him with the sweetest of grins, and he’d be right back under her spell.

He lived for those moments, and the quiet ones like this, when he could take a moment and unwind—remember that his days weren’t just bloodshed and schemes.

He wasn’t at all who he used to be.

Bending over to press a quick kiss to Ilya’s head, he did the same to Keira before slipping back out of the room and walking down the hallway to his bedroom. Before he even cleared the doorway, he unlaced his boots and toed them off, leaving them in the corner before he stripped out of his shirt.

By the time he was at the foot of his bed, he was in nothing more than a pair of dark boxer briefs.

Reagan was already asleep, her red hair vibrant even in the darkness of the room. She faced his side of the bed, her hand resting on his pillow.

The sight of her like that brought a pang to his chest, reminding him that it was time, beyond time, for him to finally hang it up and officially retire. For a while, he had blamed the contract, believing that if he did not honor it, the Kingmaker would make his life a living hell, but with time, he knew that it wasn’t just because of that.

This was all he knew—it was what he was good at. And a part of him couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if he didn’t have this to look forward to.

Reagan was warm, her body soft and familiar as she settled into his side. This ... this was what he looked forward to most after the job was done. When he left the Den to come here.

Right here, with her settled against him, her dainty hand clasped in his, this was home for him.

His peace.

“Keira missed you today,” she whispered sleepily, her eyes still closed, though she now wore a ghost of a smile on her face.

Niklaus couldn’t have fought his smile even if he tried. While Ilya dutifully toddled behind his mother or his uncle Jimmy when he came around, Keira was a daddy’s girl. From the moment she had opened her eyes in that hospital room, dazed and confused, she had wanted to be up under him ever since.

“We’ll take them somewhere this weekend,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her side in slow strokes.

Days from now, this latest job with the Den would be over, and he would get back to being around more often when they needed him.

It was something to look forward to.

As Reagan’s breathing slowed, Niklaus closed his eyes, counting backward to calm himself enough so he could get some sleep.

His eyes hadn’t been closed long, a handful of minutes at most, when he heard it. Faint, but there.

The creak of wood.

Footsteps that realized too late they had been heard.

The way he stiffened made Reagan stir, but she didn’t speak as she blinked her eyes open, looking at him. He had never thought someone would be stupid enough to try to get to him in his home, but he had been prepared regardless.

She was scared—he could see it reflected back at him—but she was careful, very fucking careful, not to make a sound.

Niklaus should have been calm—his heart shouldn’t have been beating a tireless cadence in his chest. He shouldn’t have been nervous.

That wasn’t who he was anymore. He didn’t get afraid. He didn’t get nervous because he had trained for this until nothing but calculations and prime precision existed in his head.

But it all went out the window when he had more than just himself to consider. When his family needed him to protect them. Because even as they might be aiming for him, there was a chance they could miss. And if they missed ...

Niklaus shook his head, banishing the thought.

It wouldn’t come to that.

He’d make sure of it.

“On me,” he whispered in Reagan’s ear before pulling back to meet her gaze.

Making sure she understood the next few seconds were crucial.

Hoping she saw that he would do every fucking thing he could to protect them.

She nodded.

Niklaus eased off the bed one limb at a time before Reagan did the same, but while he moved over to the door of their bedroom, she slipped into the bathroom where another door to the twins’ room was.

The twins had spent the first year of their life in their room until Reagan had finally given in and used the nursery he’d painted and put together, but that hadn’t stopped him from adding a new door to the bathroom so they could easily go in and out of the room.

Precaution, he’d told himself then and was now more than glad he had.

Niklaus pressed himself against the wall, waiting and listening until he heard the telltale sign of someone walking outside his bedroom wall. That was the thing about these old floors. Unless you knew exactly where to step, your footsteps would always be heard.

Stepping back, he didn’t think before he aimed at the wall and pulled the trigger just as the door to his bedroom splintered open.

Distantly, he could hear Reagan’s shout of alarm. The twins’ distress.

That only made his rage worse.

Fear made his rage worse.

It turned him into a savage of a man.

The only thing he saw was the shape of a man in black to know who was standing across from him. Already Niklaus’s mind had turned from the man he’d shot through the wall to focus on the one standing across from him. While they had never met in person before this moment, Niklaus felt as if he knew him.

Here was the man he had been told to fear.

The Jackal.

And as dead as the man’s eyes were, Niklaus wasn’t sure if it was a mask or muzzle that covered the lower half of his face.

“Vino cu mine.” Come with me.

His brain translated the words before the rest of him caught up to the fact that he was speaking Romanian.

“You picked the wrong house.”

Niklaus didn’t care that the official order for the Jackal was to bring him in alive—his family was on the line.

As he aimed, the Jackal struck without warning, knocking his arm wide before he could fire off a round. Then before he could even think to turn, the man landed a well-placed punched to his chest that had him stumbling back and choking on air.

It felt like taking a cinder block to the chest.

Niklaus didn’t recover quick enough to dodge the Jackal as he came toward him faster than any man should be able to, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight.

Yet even as he fought back, he realized something very quickly.

Despite throwing his aim off and that first punch to the chest, the Jackal wasn’t trying to fight him. Not really. But when there was a shot available to take, he didn’t.

For whatever reason, the Jackal wasn’t trying to hurt him.

What the fuck was going on?

Niklaus had no intention of finding out what before he struck, putting as much power behind the hit as he possibly could. He felt the hard metal of the man’s mask, and even the flickering awareness of flesh covered bone, but before he could take satisfaction in the hit, Keira’s piercing cry made him freeze.

It was like every bit of oxygen had been sucked from the room. As if he had forgotten every instinct he’d been taught in training to never turn his back on the enemy he was fighting.

He wasn’t thinking at all.

That was when the Jackal struck—well-placed hits to each leg sent him crashing to his knees before the butt of a rifle was jabbed against his back. When he hit the floor, he felt it then—the barrel of a gun aimed at his head, the metal just grazing his scalp.

The shuffling of feet had him jerking his gaze up to find Reagan in the mouth of the door with tears in her eyes and the twins clutching her tight.

Ilya had Keira’s hand tucked tightly in his, but Keira ... she stared at him with fear in her eyes, tears gathering as she tried to reach for him, her little hands extended as she murmured papa over and over again.

For her, he could force a smile. For her, he couldn’t do anything but remain on his knees on his bedroom floor knowing that at any moment, he would die.

“Ya v poryadke, printsessa. Bez slez.” I’m fine, princess. No tears.

But those words only managed to make her sniffle louder. She reached for him, though Reagan quickly grabbed her tight, refusing to let her go.

“Either you leave on your own two feet,” another man said as he moved from the shadows behind Reagan, “or they don’t.”

Niklaus dropped his gun.

It wasn’t a question about the choice he had to make.

“Let them go and I’ll come with you.”

He could see the protest in Reagan’s eyes. He could see the moment when she readied to tell him not a chance, but he silenced her with a glance.

The Jackal restrained him, and the last thing he saw before a hood dropped over his head was the lone tear that tracked down Reagan’s face.

* * *

“Good evening, Mr. Volkov.”

“Yeah, no one calls me that,” Niklaus grumbled as he looked up from the steel table in front of him to the woman currently entering the room.

While Belladonna’s smile was kind, even as she issued threats, there was malice in this woman’s grin. It was clear Belladonna’s assistant, Kava, didn’t like him very much.

“My instructions were to treat you as a guest,” she said without inflection as she sat in the chair opposite him, setting a folder on the table between them.

“Do I look like a fucking guest to you?” Niklaus asked as he lifted his hands, the chains circling his wrists rattling with the movement.

Her smile was slight. “Those are more for my protection than for your confinement.”

Like she would fucking need it with the Jackal standing only a few feet away, but Niklaus was less concerned with the bastard in the mask because of the other man in the room. He stared him down, waiting until the moment the man’s gaze was on him before saying, “Don’t think these fucking cuffs will save you from me. The second I get free, I’m putting your head through a fucking wall. You don’t touch my wife and live.”

He looked amused, his lip curling at the corner. At least until Kava turned and speared him with a glance, the multitude of piercings in her ear glinting in the low light of the room. “You were to bring Mr. Volkov in without any harm coming to his family, no? Your instructions were very clear.”

The man shrugged as he folded his arms across his chest, speaking for the first time since they had been inside this room. “She was in the way.”

Almost imperceptibly, the Jackal’s hold on his rifle shifted, his finger now closer to the trigger.

“Did you disobey an order?” Kava asked, ignoring the man’s remark altogether.

“I got him here, didn’t I?”

“Omorî.”

Too late the man realized he’d answered incorrectly. Before he could even look in the Jackal’s direction, the other man had aimed and fired. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Niklaus had seen too much to react to someone dying right in front of him—he was more curious that Kava had spoken Romanian rather than the man dying.

Omorî, she said. Execute.

Again, Romanian?

“I apologize for his behavior. I can assure you our—”

“What’s Belladonna want with me?” Niklaus asked, cutting her off. “This is her doing, no?”

Even stuck inside a cell without access to any phone or technology, the woman was still managing to wreak havoc—and none of them had anticipated it.

At his question, Kava looked at him—actually looked at him, and the expression on her face brought one word to mind. Unapologetic. As if she knew what he was thinking.

“You cut the head off a snake, it can still bite.”

Clearly. “So what’s this going to be—a little torture before you let your war dog back there kill me?”

“You misunderstand, Mr. Volkov. We don’t intend to cause you any harm.”

“What the fuck do you call this then?”

“You don’t know where you are?”

Her question prompted him to look around the room, but nothing stood out to him or sparked a memory. It was hotel room like any other hotel room, though a little more upper class than he would usually stay in.

“I guess you wouldn’t,” Kava said before he could answer. “This was the room where your life was forever changed.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking your boss might have me confused with someone else. I’ve never been in this room.”

He had never even seen it before.

Kava opened the folder, Niklaus’s gaze immediately dropping to the contents—specifically the picture resting on top. It was only his training that stopped him from reacting because the two figures depicted in the black and white surveillance photo weren’t just familiar to him.

One was his father—a man whose forehead he had put a bullet in. Someone he had deemed ultimately responsible for what had happened to him. He hadn’t cared that Mikhail Volkov thought Niklaus was his twin brother when he had him kidnapped and tortured, or even that he was supposed to die at the end of it all.

More, he hadn’t even cared that he wasn’t the one who was tortured. Someone else had suffered because of Mikhail’s actions, and for that, the man had to die.

But while he already knew of Mikhail’s involvement in the plot with the Albanian syndicate who had tortured him, Niklaus wasn’t expecting to see the other man depicted.

Not when the Kingmaker had never mentioned him ever doing business with Mikhail.

Sure, his handler had made a deal with his twin brother on another matter, but he’d been offered that information freely.

Why hadn’t he mentioned this?

Worse, there was no way he could ignore the timestamp down in the left bottom-hand corner. Sure, it could have been faked—he’d done that a time or two himself—but some part of him that had never completely trusted the Kingmaker fully believed the image was real.

“What’s this?”

“Curious, wasn’t it?” Kava said as she reached into the folder to pull out more. “That the men who tortured you knew exactly where to find you. It might have been just a simple case of mistaken identity—even I would have believed that. But you know better now, though. You know this life, and more importantly, you know your brother.”

One aspect of Niklaus’s kidnap and torture had never made sense to him, though it had always been a fleeting thought in the back of his mind. There, but never of any importance.

How had the Albanians found him?

Niklaus did know his brother now more than he ever had then. He knew what made the man tick. He knew his habits and travels.

He knew his brother would never step foot in the neighborhood Niklaus had been in at the time. The territory was owned by the Irish and considering their relation back then, tensions were high. It would have looked like a declaration of war.

Which only meant his being taken hadn’t been a case of mistaken identity as he had always thought.

“That’s not fucking possible,” Niklaus murmured to himself, still staring at the damning evidence right in front of him.

His father’s smiling face. The Kingmaker was stoic as ever, but with that familiar glint of arrogance in his eyes.

“He offers you what you want for a price,” Kava went on, her voice softer, gentler. “But he never mentions what that price is.”

The price was supposed to be his loyalty, his willingness to kill in his name. For that, he was given the brand on the back of his neck that marked him as a mercenary of the Den. But now that he thought about it, he was compensated for every job he did for the Kingmaker.

His vengeance, however, the Kingmaker hadn’t paid him for that.

When he hunted down those fucking Albanians and dismantled their organization, that was personal.

The Kingmaker had given him the solution to a problem of his own making.

Niklaus had always thought the Albanians had made him—forced him down this path—but while they did, to a point, the blame wasn’t theirs.

Is the man who leads the lamb to slaughter not just as guilty as the man who slits its throat?

The Kingmaker was just as guilty as the rest of them.

Niklaus finally looked away from the images, refusing to drop his gaze again as he faced Kava. “What does Belladonna want from me—from us? I take you and the merc back there are the reason he’s missing.”

Kava nodded once. “We’re just the messengers.”

“That doesn’t answer my other question. What’s Belladonna want with me? She’s not sharing all of this,” he said with a gesture of his hand to the pictures, “without wanting something in return.”

She probably learned that from the best.

“She’s offering you the same thing she offered Celt,” Kava said sitting forward. “It’s your choice whether you choose to accept it.”

Niklaus knew, without her having to say, what that choice would come down to—whether he was willing to betray a man who’d betrayed him.