Page 215 of The Lazarov Bratva

“You.” Mara stands over Alena, who appears to be unconscious, holding a silver handgun and pressing it right to Alena’s temple. “One more step, and I’ll kill them both!”

Mara doesn’t shock me.

Seeing her turns my blood to lava, and anger surges through me hotter than ever before. What does shock me is Alena. She’s so pregnant, her belly so large and her face so pale. The blood I saw in her room lingers in my mind, and while I don’t see any blood on Alena currently, that doesn’t mean she’s safe.

“Back the fuck up and close the door,” Mara snarls, her words like ice.

I don’t speak. I can’t.

Anger has my body so rigid that everything is locked, and I react on pure instinct. Flying forward, I launch myself over Alena and the table she’s resting on and collide with Mara on the other side. The gun goes off, but the sharp ping of a ricochet tells me she didn’t get her shot off correctly.

We roll down a couple of stone steps, but pain doesn’t reach me. Mara screams loudly and I roll us until I’m on top. Discarding my own gun, I seal my lone hand around her narrow throat and squeeze as tightly as I can with all the strength and anger I possess.

“You should have killed me,” I spit down at her, my voice trembling from rage. Her claws scrape at my wrist and forearm, but the touch doesn’t even register. “Backing a dog like me into a corner means I come out biting!”

My grip is so tight that not even a wheeze makes it past Mara’s lips.

“I’m going to make sure the world forgets you. You will only be remembered as the nameless, wicked wretch who nearly drove the Bratva to an early grave.” I bring myself close as I crush her throat, watching as her face turns purple and blood vessels burst around her pupils.

“I win.”

Mara Orlova, the snake in the grass, dies as her throat caves in around my grip. She maimed me, tried to take my family, and she died a death better than she deserved.

Only when I’m certain she’s lifeless do I release her and slowly climb to my feet. August and Andrev sprint into the room, having taken care of any stragglers left out in the wine cellar.

Silence falls, and my attention shifts to Alena. She lies painfully still and hasn’t moved or woken since I got here. My pounding heart stills suddenly in my chest, and pain lances through my ribs as I approach her.

“Alena?” I whisper, and warmth prickles behind my eyes.

“She’s alive,” August assures me, her thin, bruised wrist in his hand. “Her pulse is strong.”

My walls crumble and the tears come. If she’s alive, why isn’t she awake with me?

Cupping her face, she’s cool to the touch—or maybe I’m overheated, I can’t tell. Either way, she’s thinner and paler than the last time we saw each other. Given my own changes, I’m sure I look a sight too.

“Alena?” My thumb skims over her lower lip. I gather her up into my arms, crushing her against my chest and burying my face into her hair. Each ragged breath I take floods my senses with her scent, and I don’t have the strength to stop my tears.

“Alena, baby. It’s me. I’m here. I’m here for you. You’re safe now, so safe now. I’m here. Please wake up. Please.”

The seconds tick by painfully slow, but then, finally, Alena stirs in my arms. She shifts slightly, then stronger when she realizes she’s being held. A soft note of confusion escapes her, and hearing her voice after so long breaks my heart. Harsh sobs escape me, and when I lean back, Alena looks up at me with those glorious eyes.

Fear melts into confusion, then immediately into realization.

“Kristof?” she croaks, and her eyes sparkle with tears.

“I’m here,” I say brokenly.

“Kristof,” she whispers.

I claim her lips in the deepest, strongest, most passionate kiss I can muster in that moment, holding her as close to me as I can.

She’s safe.

My family is alive.

35

ALENA

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