Updated Apr 20, 2026 • ~5 min read
Chapter 25: Safe
Nadia
The FBI debriefing takes six hours, and by the time Nadia’s finished giving her statement about Viktor’s confession and the events in the warehouse, she’s exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical tiredness and everything to do with twelve years of trauma finally, mercifully being laid to rest.
“You’re free to go, Ms. Volkov,” the lead agent says, closing her file with an air of finality that makes Nadia’s chest tight. “Viktor Antonov is dead, his organization is being dismantled as we speak, and the charges we’re filing based on your testimony and the recording will ensure that anyone who worked for him thinks twice before coming after you. For the first time in over a decade, you don’t have a target on your back.”
Nadia nods, tries to process what that actually means—no more hiding, no more safe houses, no more looking over her shoulder waiting for the next attack—and finds she can’t quite wrap her mind around the concept of safety.
“Thank you,” she manages, and stands on shaking legs to find Riot waiting in the hallway, exactly where he promised he’d be.
“All done?” he asks, straightening from his position against the wall, and Nadia just nods because if she tries to speak, she’ll start crying and won’t be able to stop.
He pulls her against his chest without another word, holds her while the enormity of it all crashes over her like a wave, and Nadia lets herself break in his arms because for the first time in twelve years, breaking doesn’t mean dying—it means she’s safe enough to actually feel everything she’s been running from.
“Viktor’s dead,” she says against Riot’s chest, testing the words out loud. “He’s actually dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Riot confirms, and there’s such fierce satisfaction in his voice that Nadia almost smiles. “You’re safe, Nadia. For real this time.”
“Safe,” she repeats, and the word feels foreign on her tongue, like a language she forgot how to speak. “I don’t know how to be safe.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Riot says, exactly the way he’s said a dozen times before, and Nadia thinks maybe she’s starting to believe that “together” is actually a permanent state instead of a temporary arrangement with an expiration date.
They leave the FBI building hand in hand, and when reporters swarm with questions about Viktor and the mob connection and how it feels to finally be free, Riot just pulls her closer and navigates through the chaos with the kind of protective efficiency that Nadia’s learned to trust completely.
“No comment,” he says to every question, his body a shield between Nadia and the cameras. “Ms. Volkov will be releasing an official statement through her company tomorrow. Right now, she needs space.”
And Nadia, who’s spent the past month learning how to let Riot protect her without feeling weak, lets him handle the press while she focuses on breathing and processing and trying to believe that the nightmare is actually over.
It’s not until they’re back at her penthouse—the first time she’s been home since this all started, her actual home with her things and her life waiting exactly where she left it—that the reality fully hits.
“I can go back to work,” she says, standing in the middle of her living room and looking at the space like it belongs to a different person. “I can see Claire and Marcus and my employees without putting them in danger. I can leave my apartment without a bodyguard. I can just…live.”
“You can live,” Riot agrees from the doorway, watching her with an expression she can’t quite read. “Whatever you want, however you want. You’re free, Nadia.”
And there it is—the unspoken question that’s been hovering between them since Viktor died: what happens to them now that she doesn’t need protection anymore?
“What if I don’t want to live without you?” Nadia asks quietly, turning to face him fully. “What if I want you to stay even though the threat’s gone and you don’t have a professional reason to anymore?”
“Then I stay,” Riot says simply, like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “Nadia, I told you—I’m not your bodyguard anymore. I’m just the man who loves you. And if you want me in your life, in your home, in your bed every night—I’m here. For as long as you’ll have me.”
“Forever,” Nadia says, and watches his expression shift to something awed. “I want you forever, Riot. No more temporary, no more clean breaks when the job ends. Just us, figuring out what our life looks like when we’re not running from mob bosses.”
“Forever works for me,” Riot says roughly, crossing to her and pulling her into his arms. “But Nadia—you’re going to need time to process everything that happened. To grieve, to heal, to figure out who you are when you’re not in survival mode. And I don’t want to rush you or push for things you’re not ready for—”
“Stop,” Nadia interrupts, pressing her fingers to his mouth. “I love you. I trust you. I want you in my life permanently. Those are the only things I’m certain of right now, and they’re enough. Everything else we can figure out as we go.”
“Everything else we can figure out as we go,” Riot echoes, and when he kisses her, it tastes like freedom and futures and the beginning of something real.
Reader Reactions