Page 121 of The Lazarov Bratva

Pain, like barbed wire closing over my heart, shoots through me, and I continue driving recklessly. The only thing I can do to hold the overwhelming wave of grief at bay is focus on Alena.

I have to get to her.

I have to get to her, see her, and then take her away from here before Aleksander can get his filthy hands on her.

I can’t lose her too.

I can’t.

Forcing my thoughts onto her, my body slowly grows numb and my soul cold. It’s the only way I don’t drown.

My thoughts muddle and my broken heart struggles for life.

Then there is nothing.

Nothing but a terrible silence as I race up the driveway toward the Manor, and utter carnage greets me.

Black SUVs are in various states of destruction, with several on fire near the garden fountain. One is upended into the rear hedge with its wheels slowly spinning. Bodies of men dressed in black litter the front lawn. Several end up under the wheels of my car as I screech to a halt and stare up in horror at my home.

The windows are dark, and the front door is broken off its hinges, clinging to life with the bottom lock.

What the fuck happened?

Slowly, I climb out of the car, my mind unable to process what I’m seeing.

I have to get to Alena.

I take several steps until my foot catches on the body of one of the men on the ground. I trip and stumble, sending gravel skittering in all directions, then I hunch down and grab the body by its shoulder and roll it over.

He’s dead. Several gunshots to the chest can attest to that. There’s a pin on the lapel of his jacket, a pin I recognize in an instant.

Aleksander.

He was here? No. Alexei would have warned me. He would have told me an attack was coming.

No. This has to be a mistake.

Leaving the body covered in bloody handprints, nausea flips my stomach upside down and I stumble forward toward the house. I wipe my hands on my jeans as I stumble forward, but for some reason, the blood doesn’t come off. Nastja’s blood continues to soak into me, and the more I try to clean my hands—I don’t want to scare Alena—the more drenched I become.

I snatch up an assault rifle from the ground and check the ammo. There’s enough in the gun to defend myself, and that’s all I need. I run up the steps, then slide to a stop inside the main hallway and raise the weapon to my shoulder.

“Alena!” I yell, my voice booming around the empty halls.

No one replies.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck, fuck!

I sprint up the stairs, taking two at a time in my desperation to get up there as fast as possible. The bedroom. It’s her space. Her room. She has to be there.

Please, please, please, please.

I race down the hall, my heart hammering wildly in my chest, and yet I barely register the beats through the cold numbness in my chest. I sprint up around the corner and then skid to a stop.

I need Alena.

Several bodies litter the hallway, with blood streaking up the walls and soaking into the carpet. There’s a mix, I notice, between Aleksander’s men and my own, but one body makes my heart stop. I run up to him, crouch down, and press two blood-stained fingers to his throat.

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