Page 103 of Brutal Vows

“Does she now?” His tone is dry, skeptical, cool-headed.

I swallow, almost too panicked to speak. “I have Chertnikov’s gun. It’s in the baby bag. With the satellite phone.”

“That’s my princess.” He huffs out a breath. “Keep it hidden. Use it when you need to, but let’s first suss out this situation.”

Masha is still clutching her gun, barrel pointed down, and is squinting into the night, as if trying to tune in on something coming from the side, seemingly clueless about where the danger lies. A red laser beams onto her hand, and before she can move, she drops the gun and howls as the shot’s sound travels through the night.

“Jesus. Fuck.”

I clasp a hand to my mouth. “They just…they just shot her hand.”

In horror, I watch as Masha cups Annushka’s head with her good hand, trying to calm her, but it doesn’t help. She’s holding her other hand up in protest. In the halo of light, blood drips to the ground, seeping into the snow.

Two fingers.

Oh my God. Two of her fingers were shot right off.

An older man, in full camo hunting gear, steps up to her and kicks the gun away from her feet.

A knock on my window jolts me out of my trance. Another man is tapping on the door with his gun barrel. “Get out,” he says in Russian.

“Luca?” I can’t think. A rush of fear is swallowing me whole.

“Do as they say. As we just saw, they shoot first and might not bother to ask questions. We need to figure out how many they are,” he whispers fast. “Go with the flow, let me figure this out. If you have a chance to take the baby, do that, but deny she’s yours. Whatever you do, you are not that baby’s mother. Fuck. The weather…you can’t even run.”

Another, more menacing knock follows, and I raise my hands. “Okay.”

“You and me princess. And Zoe. We’re getting the fuck out of here. Believe this. Believe in us.”

Believe in me. Trust me.

“Okay.” I lower my hand slowly, unlock the door, reach for the handle, and pop it open.

The man gives me space, but the barrel presses into my body as soon as I’m out of the car. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lana. Just the nanny. And my boyfriend, Luca. He doesn’t speak Russian.”

“We’ll see about that. Nanny, eh? Can you make the baby shut the fuck up?”

“I can try.”

“Try fucking hard.”

He pushes me with the gun in Masha’s direction as Luca gets the same treatment from the other guy.

There’s a yard between me and Masha. She’s still cupping a screaming Annushka’s head. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t seem to register any pain. She isn’t even trembling, but she wipes at a tear with her thumb, streaking her good cheek with blood from where they shot off her fingers.

“Masha?”

“It’s nothing. But I didn’t think… This isn’t what I planned.”

Fucking hell. Now I’m blistering inside with rage, my fear and anger a toxic cocktail, but losing my shit isn’t going to help this situation—or get us out of it. I drag in a slow, deliberate breath, forcing myself to be calm, trying to stop myself quivering. To trust in Luca. To believe in something when all hope is gone.

“Don’t talk,” I say in Russian, but switch to English so Luca can be in the loop. “They want me to take the baby. Just to try calm her.”

“Taking my child, after they’ve taken everything from me? That tracks. That totally tracks,” she says in Russian, stepping back and clutching Annushka to her chest. “You don’t get to take my child.” This time in English, switching between the languages as if she was born bilingual.

But I catch the glint in her eye that isn’t acid-damaged. A glint that tells me everything: she is keeping up the show, for my benefit, to cement the idea that the baby is hers and not mine. For what it’s worth.