Page 214 of The Lazarov Bratva

“Kristof.” August stands. “Perhaps you should wait behind, given your… condition.” His eyes drop to my stump, and even though there’s no hand to clench, the muscle flexes along my forearm.

“Fuck no. I’ve been held back enough by that witch. Nothing is keeping me from Alena.”

* * *

“Alena!”

I take the stairs two at a time, leaving behind the flurry of gunfire consuming the lower levels of the Orlova Estate. Alexei’s tip was perfectly timed, and the Kuznetsovs were in no condition to defend from two swarming attacks. Russians and Irish alike sweep through the manor like a plague of locusts, killing every Kuznetsov who gets in their way.

Alena’s bedroom is my target, and I run until the only sound is my own heart pounding in my ears. Andrev follows hot on my heels, and together, we kick down the door to Alena’s room. It flies open and bounces off the wall, so I raise my hand to stop it from flying back in our faces.

Despite clear signs of someone being here, like ruffled sheets, water by the bed, and some discarded clothes, her bed is empty.

And soaked in blood.

There’s more blood on the floor by her bed, and the stain is large enough to send a pulse of weakness through my entire body.

Am I too late?

Is she…?

No. I can’t consider it. I can’t. The moment I do, it’s all over. Nothing else matters.

Not without Alena.

“Come on,” I say to Andrev, and together, we sprint down the hallway, checking every room we come across. Every single one stands in the same state of disuse with items covered in dust sheets and plastic. Given how half the manor appears to be closed down, it’s hard to believe that people were living here.

Our search takes us back to the heart of the fight, where I run into August. His face is gleeful as he shoots two Kuznetsovs, but then he turns to me and his face falls.

“Where is Alena?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find her. There’s blood all over her bedroom, so she was here, but I don’t… I don’t know!” For a moment, I fear I am truly too late. I stand in the heart of the Orlova Manor, surrounded by men—Russian and Irish alike—whom I now call comrades. The Kuznetsovs are dying, the Orlova supremacy has crumbled, and yet… none of it matters.

This is what the old me wanted. This was my goal years ago.

Now, none of it matters. Not without Alena.

She’s the only thing I want, the only thing that will allow me to breathe freely again.

“Kristof!” A familiar voice gives way to a familiar face, and Alexei melts from the crowd with blood pouring from a large open head wound.

“Alexei! Where is Alena?”

“Mara took her to the basement!” he yells over the din of gunfire and dying men. “She’s going to cut the baby out of her and run!”

I’m moving before Alexei’s even finished talking, pushing men out of my way and running as fast as my legs will take me. Andrev and August follow like shadows, and together, we hurtle toward the basement door. Darkness greets us, but I take the steps two or even three at a time. It’s sheer luck that I don’t miss and fall to the bottom.

The stairs open out into the cellar, and as soon as I shove open the door with my shoulder, gunfire erupts from the last few men loyal to Mara. I dive behind a wine barrel. August lands next to me while Andrev takes cover behind some crates. Bullets thud into wood and glass, sending wine cascading down the shelves.

“We can’t get stuck here,” I hiss to August. “I need to get to her.”

“I know, Son.”

Clutching my gun to my chest, I roll from my current hiding place to another barrel a few feet away. Andrev pops over his cover and fires a few shots, resulting in a scream of pain from one of our attackers, followed by the thump of his body hitting the ground. Andrev ducks just in time, and as men open fire on his hiding spot, August surges up from his own and fires. More screams of pain, and the hail of bullets falters.

My cue.

I surge up and sprint forward, lifting my gun. I fire the second I see movement, and my bullets hit home. Two more men fall, and with August and Andrev at my back, they take care of the rest. Leaping over the fallen bodies, I charge into the door at the end and skid to a stop as the sharp click rings in my ears.

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