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Because upstairs, Alina is waiting for me.
The woman I love. The woman who said she loves me. She wants to know that I’m okay.
And I can’t tell her that I put a bullet in the back of her father’s head. Killing him—and her brother, since Viktor is a part of this as well—would utterly destroy her.
I can’t do it.
Horror grips me as I watch my moment slipping by. The window is closing. And still, I freeze. Someone is going to notice if I continue to hesitate. But I can’t bring myself to pull the trigger.
I can’t kill Sergio.
Even though I hate him with every fiber of my being.
Even if that hate was what sustained me for months as I suffered beneath the bone-crushing weight of loss and grief.
I can’t kill Sergio because if I did, I could never look Alina in the eye again. And I can think of no greater torture than that.
My heart sinks, my devastation blending with my guilt as I recognize that my selfish cowardice will likely end in the very painful and horrifying deaths of these men who are no different from me.
Only they stuck to their principles and will die for what they believe in.
All I can say for myself is that I have a woman worth far more to me than any act of vengeance, and I’ll give up everything to be with her.
Tingling intuition races up my spine as the softest sound of a whispered gasp catches my left ear.
My head snaps in that direction, and I instinctually keep my gun aimed on Sergio. Because my best defense right now is that no one will shoot me if it might kill their Pakhan.
Only it’s not one of Sergio’s men whose eyes I meet.
It’s Alina’s.
She’s watching me with lips parted in shock. Her gaze travels from my face to my raised gun to the man I’m aiming for—her father.
A lead ball drops in my stomach at the look of horror and betrayal in Alina’s eyes. My hand lowers automatically, bringing the gun down with me, and she tracks the motion. Fear transforms her beautiful expression, and I step toward her as I will her to understand.
After another moment of stunned silence, she bolts.
Heart in my throat, I race after her, praying it’s not too late to talk her down.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE: ALINA
Horrified, I watch on as the man I just confessed to loving, the father of my unborn child, stands in the doorway to what looks like some kind of prison chamber. Mishka hides in the shadows, lurking as he watches the scene unfold.
Then, slowly, he draws his gun.
But it’s not in defense of my father, the man he swore loyalty to. It’s not to protect my brother. Instead, he aims the gun right at my father’s head.
It terrifies me to see five men being held prisoner beneath our home. I don’t know who they are or why my father has them chained with their arms above their heads. But I suspect, based on what Mishka has told me over the past month, that these are the men he’s been searching for. The men who ambushed us on the way home from Alek Petryov’s engagement party.
So, why would Mishka want to defend them?
I don’t understand, and it horrifies me to see the cold hatred in Mishka’s eyes as he raises his gun with single-minded intent.
It’s the look of an assassin, someone who’s found the opportunity they’ve been awaiting for a long time. That’s when it hits me. It’s not out of fear for the prisoners’ safety that he’s ready to pull that trigger. It’s not in rage, even, like he’s been provoked to violence.
And it’s certainly not in self-defense.
It’s too cool, too calculated.
