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I quickly crouch over my little deer so none of the debris will fall on her.
Then my eyes lock on her still face, and my heart stutters in my chest.
“Net!” Crouching lower, I check her breathing and finding nothing but shallow puffs, fear engulfs me. “Net,moy malen'kiy olen'.”
No, my little deer. I won’t allow you to die.
You will fucking live!
More debris fall, then suddenly, bright floodlights fill the small space we are stuck in.
“Come, Misha!” Alek lies over the edge of a broken slab of concrete, holding his hand out to me.
I shake my head, and slipping my arms beneath my little deer’s limp body, I lift her up. “Take her!”
Alek’s face distorts with disgust. “Leave the bitch and take my hand. She’s D’Angelo’s daughter.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in.
“Christ, Misha,” Armani barks as he joins Alek on the ledge. “Caruso D’Angelo just pulled up. We need to get our asses out of here, or there will be an unsanctioned war.”
I glance down at my little deer, and unable to just leave her, I face my brothers. “Take her.”
“Mat' Khrista,” Alek spits, then he leans farther over the ledge and takes her from me.
“Careful,” I snap at him as I jump and grab hold of a broken piece of concrete, climbing out of the hole.
The moment I can straighten to my full height, I glance around me and take in the destroyed nightclub. It looks like a fucking war zone.
My eyes lock on a group of men, and recognizing Caruso D’Angelo, the head of an opposing Italian faction, I take the girl from Alek and make my way over the rubble.
Caruso recognizes his daughter and hurries toward me. Our eyes lock, and a growl builds in my chest as I face the enemy of the bratva and mafia.
Violent tension thickens the air, and every muscle in my body is on high alert.
“Petrov,” he snarls at me.
I shove the girl at him. “Consider this a professional favor. Next time I’ll kill her.”
His nostrils flare as he cradles his daughter to his chest. “I’ll allow you five minutes to leave.” His jaw clenches as he bites out, “Consider it a professional favor.”
Fucker.
I resist the urge to take one last look at his daughter, my hands' fisting at my sides.
Turning away from him, it’s to see Alek and Armani right behind me with thunderous expressions on their faces.
Without a word and never taking our eyes off the enemy, we slowly make our way out of the pile of rubble to where a car is waiting with a group of guards from St. Monarch’s.
Carson Koslov, the director of St. Monarch’s, doesn’t look at us as he keeps his eyes trained on D’Angelo.
Fuck, this is not the first impression I wanted to make on him. Carson’s brother is Viktor Vetrov’s godfather, and I know without a doubt this news will reach them.
“Get in,” Director Koslov orders, and only when we’re all seated in the back of an armored SUV, does he climb into the passenger seat.
The guards hurry to get in, some taking another SUV, and as we pull away from the destroyed nightclub, I glance out of the window and watch as D’Angelo hurries to an ambulance with his daughter.
My little deer turned out to be a little snake.
