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Everyone in the room startles, heads turning so fast it’s a miracle no one breaks their necks. Gunfire erupts outside. The guards who were posted outside the restaurant break out into intense shouting, a few screams of pain and confusion.
We’re under attack.
Ivanovich cackles, red faced and smiling like a madman. “You seriously didn’t think I’d come willingly without backup?” he asks as he spits something out of the pocket of his cheek. A small metal disk, which until now had been hidden from view. A motherfucking AirTag.
This whole thing was a trap from the start. I should have known he’d given up too easily.
Sandra and I barely have enough time to exchange a look before all hell breaks loose.
Glass shatters. The walls shake. An entire squad of police officers storms in with their weapons raised. When they open fire, we retaliate. Flipped tables. A thunderstorm of hailing bullets. It’s nothing but confusion and mayhem. Left, right, and center, some of Moscow’s most prominent Bratva heads and lieutenants are forced to their knees and arrested. It’s a blur of movement and a cacophony of sound, but my mind can only fixate on one person.
Sandra.
I can’t find her.
Leo grabs me by the shoulder to pull me toward the back exit of the restaurant. “Move!”
My brothers and I make a mad dash through the hall and burst out into the back alley only to discover the Antonovs are already there, scrambling to get to their parked SUV while the police fire upon them. Sandra and her father are pinned down behind their vehicle, unable to advance. A bullet nearly misses her head, taking out the brake light beside her. Shards of glass fly her way.
It sets me off. Something dark and feral snaps inside me.
They think they can shoot at her and live to tell the tale? Not on my fucking watch.
I pull my gun and return fire, nailing one of the offending officers in the shoulder. I would have aimed for the heart, but my hands are shaking with adrenaline and rage.
“What are you doing?” Samuil shouts after me. “We have to get out of here!”
Sandra’s eyes snap to me.Pastme. She must see something I don’t, because the next thing I know, she’s sprinting toward me at full speed. “Andrei!” she screams. “Get down—”
A gunshot rips through the air. A sniper on the roof. Sandra pushes me out of the way just in time… But the bullet hits her instead.
She collapses in my arms as we both fall to the ground. There’s a ringing in my ears. I can’t breathe, choking on my blind panic and fear. We’re low enough now that we’re out of the sniper’s line of sight, but it’s only a matter of time before we’re surrounded by the cops. I should run, but how could I possibly leave Sandra behind?
Red blooms across her shirt. I try to apply pressure, but it doesn’t help. I hold her close, desperation shredding my insides into ribbons.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her as her eyes flutter open and closed. “Look at me, Sandra. It’s going to be okay.”
“Andrei…”
I can feel her slipping. Her face is frighteningly pale, her body limp and growing cold against me. This can’t be happening. How did it all go so wrong?
“Save your strength,” I tell her, clutching her against me. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
“Hurts…”
“Why did you do that, sweetheart? Why would you—” I choke on my words.
It happens too quickly for my mind to comprehend. One second, Sandra is struggling to stay awake. The next, her eyes flutter closed and she doesn’t open them again.
“Sandra?” I rasp. “Sandra, please—”
“Get the fuck away from my daughter!”
Mikhail Antonov shoves me away with so much force it winds me. He pries Sandra from my arms and lifts her, his face etched with pure hatred. There’s no time to plead with him. No time to get one last look at her. Her father spirits Sandra away, her uncles following closely in tow as they climb into their car. They speed off, tires screeching, clipping an officer or two foolish enough to stand in the way.
Roman pulls me to my feet. Damien’s pulled our vehicle around. The sides and roof are riddled full of holes. We climb in quickly, the car already in motion before we even have a chance to close the door.
My brothers are shouting at me, but I can’t understand the words coming out of their mouths. All I can focus on is the blood staining my hands and shirt, the numbing buzz coursing through my veins. None of this feels real. Itcan’tbe real.
