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And as I stared into his eyes, ones so unlike mine in every possible way, I wished to a God who wouldn’t hear me, who wouldn’t spare me, that my father would just disappear.
And then I heard it.
The sound of glass shattering.
My ears buzzed from the noise, and a second later, the warm, wet feeling splashing across my face had me sucking in a breath. I was frozen, only able to blink as I realized my father had been shot, that the coppery taste filling my mouth was blood.
His blood.
I gasped and stumbled back, my father’s eyes going blank as he fell to the floor, the bullet hole right through his heart. I looked down at my chest, expecting the bullet to have gone through him and into me, tearing through my father and taking my life as well.
But I was whole.
Crimson covered the white dress, splatters spraying outward, almost as if a promise of what my life was.
Carnage.
I felt my mouth open, a silent scream bubbling up in my throat. Men rushed from behind me and jerked open the doors, spilled out, guns raised, shouting, firing without asking questions. And it was then reality came rushing into me.
I heard and saw what was happening. The guests were scrambling, screams and shouts coursing through the air. Gunfire echoed all around, the smell of blood so thick it coated the inside my nose. I couldn’t move as I watched it all play out, men dressed in tuxedos and suits wielding weapons taking out high-ranking bratva guests.
This had been planned, premeditated. This had been their chance to get everyone gathered.
I didn’t know what this was all about, the details, the reasoning, but I knew this was a power play. And as I stood there staring with what I knew were wide eyes, I saw him.
Maximillian standing in the center, a gun in each hand, this sick, sinister smile covering his face. And then our eyes locked, and I watched that smile grow, watched him wink before turning and firing, killing anyone within his vision.
I felt someone grab my hand then, pulling me back. I snapped to attention and saw it was Marina. She looked terrified as she spoke, but I couldn’t hear the words, could only see her lips moving.
“Move now, little mouse.”
I heard her then, almost as loud as the bullets shooting through the air.
“This was part of the plan?” I asked in a hushed whisper.
She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. “No. Seems as though others want to take over, and your father and others are in the way.”
She’d know better than I would. Being around all the bratva, serving them, the men seeing the staff as nothing but robots who didn’t listen, didn’t comprehend what was going on. But they were wrong, so wrong. The employees heard everything. They absorbed everything.
She ushered me into the kitchen, where I could see staff members scrambling to hide, to not be seen for fear a bullet was for them next. I’d seen some running out the front door, others racing toward the opposite direction of where the carnage was happening.
We made our way toward the staff entrance.
Marina stopped us once we were there, turning to face me, her skin ashen, her eyes wide, but she seemed… calm.
“You go all the way to the side gate out to the garden door. You keep running, Nadja. You keep moving. I don’t know what is going on, but you need to escape.”
“Come with me,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.
She gave me a small smile. “No, little mouse. My place is here, with the people who have become my family. I stay and help them. But you… you must leave. You must go, because I fear even more for what they will do to the daughter of Petrov.”
My heart raced and I licked my lips, looking toward the staff door.
“You’ll be okay. You’ll make it out and survive. I feel that in my heart. Now go.” She pushed me toward the door, and I ran.
I ran as hard and fast as my feet would carry me in these God-awful heels.
8
Nadja
Three months later
I stared at my reflection, and even after all this time of having completely changed my features, something I should’ve been used to by now, the girl who stared back at me seemed like a stranger.
Gone was my long black hair, and in its place was a honey-brown-colored bob. My bangs swooped to the side, almost covering one eyebrow, and the ends of my hair curled inwardly slightly. I looked at my green eyes, ones that would soon be blue after I put the contact lenses in.
For months, I stayed at the safehouse, hoping to hear some kind of news, something good. Thankfully, Marina hadn’t been caught in the crossfire of the horrific disaster that happened at the wedding, at least not while I’d still been in Russia and gotten updates.
