CHAPTER 33
NERO
I’m caught in a storm of chaos and gunfire.
One minute, I’m jotting down the addresses of the warehouses while Maksim and the pakhan talk about something in Russian, and the next, Gino Ferraro’s men are storming my living room.
I snatch my gun off the coffee table and hurl myself over the back of the sofa.
“You motherfucker!” the pakhan shouts. “Kill him, Maks!”
A body crashes into me.
Maksim.
I roll, kicking out with my leg and connecting with Maksim’s chest. He stumbles backward, then lunges again, throwing a punch, but I block it and counter with one of my own.
Maksim falls to the ground. Blood drips out of his nose and murder burns in his furious eyes. He scrambles behind an armchair, his gun cocked and ready.
I press my back against the wall, peeking out around the corner.
Gino’s men have taken down two of the guards, but the remaining two are holed up behind the kitchen island with the pakhan.
Gino’s guys can handle it. I need to finish off Maksim and get to Blake.
She must have found a way to let the Ferraro men inside. Smart girl.
A mix of pride and anger churns in my gut. I'm proud that she pulled it off, angry that she took such a risk.
That wasn’t her job. The whole time the pakhan was talking, I was thinking about how to get her far from here. Turns out, she had a plan of her own. Spilling the coffee on herself was a brilliant idea.
I thought maybe without her in the room, I could try to attack the pakhan, but I didn’t want to risk failing to kill them all. If I'd gotten myself killed, Blake would've been left alone.
They wouldn’t have spared her.
Hold on. Where the fuck is Ekaterina?
I scan the room, but in the chaos and smoke, it’s hard to make anything out. A bullet grazes my arm—a reminder that I’ve taken my eyes off Maksim for too long. The adrenaline coursing through me dulls the pain.
I aim and fire, but the bastard dodges just in time.
I need to end this. Now.
Crouching low, I weave through the furniture, closing in on Maksim.
I tackle him to the ground, making him drop his gun, but the fucker swings a hard punch at me, and his fist connects with my jaw. The impact forces me off him.
By the time I’m back on my feet, he’s armed once again, but I don’t give him the chance to aim. I grab his wrist and twist, forcing the gun skyward.
“You cocksucker,” he spits, saliva spraying from his mouth.
I smile.
He pulls the trigger and fires into the ceiling. I twist his wrist harder until it snaps and the gun falls into my hand.
I don’t hesitate. The next bullet rips through his kneecap, and he collapses with a scream that pierces the air.
“Fuck! Stop! I can help you!”
