The motion is smooth, controlled, and final. The barrel swings away from Viktor and centers on Mikhail’s chest. His smile falters. It doesn’t vanish completely, because he’s stubborn and prideful and he probably can’t believe I would do this in front of so many witnesses. Then his eyes sharpen, and the polite mask starts to crack as he realizes I’m not bluffing.
29
VIKTOR
The barrel is centered on Mikhail’s chest, but I can see the indecision in Anya’s stance from here. Her grip is steady, but I see the tension in her fingers and the stiffness in her wrist. She is forcing control into her body with sheer will. She’s terrified.
Mikhail’s smile falters for only a moment before he recovers. For the first time, he looks genuinely amused, like he doesn’t think she’s really going to do it. The guards flanking him react more definitively, shifting their weapons toward Anya arm instead of toward me. They are planning to disarm her before she can pull the trigger.
Mikhail keeps his voice calm, because he still thinks he controls her.
“You don’t want to do this,” he tells her. “You shoot me, you’ll be dead in seconds.”
Anya’s jaw tightens. Her finger settles on the trigger and then hesitates. I don’t think her hesitation is fear. I’ve seen her fight off three grown men in an alleyway. I’ve stood shoulder toshoulder with her in a shootout. If anything, her hesitation is because she doesn’t want to be like us. She doesn’t want to be an executioner, even if her target is her worst nightmare.
I close the last distance in three long strides. Sergei drops the nearest guard the second the man raises his weapon toward me, and the body falls into the floral arch hard enough to drag fabric down with it. The wedding décor starts collapsing around us, and the symbolism is almost too perfect.
Anya sees me step into her space and her eyes flash hot. Even with her gun trained on Mikhail, she’s ready to fight me off too if I get in her way.
“You don’t want to kill him,” I say to her, my voice low and gentle. “That isn’t who you are.”
She glares like she wants to argue, but her eyes flick to Mikhail again. Her grip tightens. Mikhail just smirks at her like he knows he’s got her right where he wants her.
“I want him dead,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Then let me do it,” I say softly, just loud enough for her to hear me.
My hand wraps around hers and she relaxes just enough to surrender the gun to me. Mikhail chooses that second to move. He clears his jacket, gun coming up, and I see the calculation in his eyes.
I use the only advantage I have, which is speed and certainty. I pivot so Anya is behind my shoulder, then raise the weapon in my hand without losing line of sight. Mikhail lifts his gun at the same time. I fire first.
The shot hits him in the chest and forces the breath out of him. His face changes quickly, and he staggers back into the flowers. His guards surrender the moment he hits the ground. I’m not even sure if he’s dead yet, but their loyalty was only to a paycheck.
I take the second shot without hesitation. It goes cleanly through his head, and I watch as the light leaves his eyes. It feels a little anticlimactic after everything he’s put us through. The only thing that matters, though, is that he’s dead. And that is satisfaction enough. Consequences can come later.
Guests scream at the turn of events. I shout orders to my men to wrap it up and retreat. One of Mikhail’s guards must signal to another, because they all stop shooting and stand down.
My men tighten the perimeter. Sergei and Misha’s crew sweep through the remaining pockets of resistance, forcing weapons down and putting down anyone who tries to be heroic. The rest of the guards retreat or freeze, suddenly aware that they are now standing on the wrong side of a room full of witnesses.
I turn toward Anya.
She is staring at Mikhail’s body with composed expression on her face. Her hands are empty now. Her fingers twitch once at her sides, and her breathing is shallow. I can tell she is holding herself together with stubbornness alone.
“He’s dead,” she says in a low voice.
“He is,” I confirm.
Her eyes narrow at me. “I would have shot him,” she says proudly. “You didn’t trust me to do it myself.”
“Of course I did,” I tell her. “It’s one thing to shoot a man who’s shooting at you. Shooting a man point-blank changes you. You don’t deserve to have to live with that.”
I see the moment she processes my words, and she finally just nods and takes a breath. I shift my stance, keeping my voice calm even though my pulse is still beating hard enough that it hurts.
“You’re free now,” I say. “Mikhail is dead. Your father’s contract is null and void. You can do whatever you want with your life. If you’re taking suggestions, though, I’d really like it if you came with me.”
She holds my gaze. She’s calculating, weighing my words against what’s just happened. This is the first time in her life she’s ever been given a choice.
“If I leave with you,” she says slowly, “It’s just for preservation.”
