Page 29 of The Lazarov Bratva

“What?” His tone is dangerous, but I match it easily.

“We have to stop dancing around these decisions or putting all the hope in a marriage that may or may not fix things! We need the Nikolaevs. The longer we wait, the more men we lose. The Irish are winning this, don’t you understand? They are winning and we are hanging by a thread, so it’s pretty fucking simple, Aleksander.”

No one moves, no one breathes. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Alexei staring at me with a look of wonder on his face.

“You give the Nikolaevs whatever the fuck they ask for, or we give up the docks to the Irish and lose the strongest hold we have on the East Coast. It’s your choice.”

4

ALENA

“Are you sure about this?”

Katja looks me dead in the eye, brushing her fingers through my curled hair to separate the ringlets. She shakes with nerves, and the same nerves flutter through my own gut like I’ve swallowed live butterflies.

This is my last chance to back out. My last chance to change my mind and just stay home. Part of me wants to. I’ve rarely been outside the mansion other than on trips with Mara and my father, so sneaking out to try and find a club is far beyond anything I’ve ever tried before.

I’ll never get a chance like this ever again.

“I’m ready.” Surer words I have never spoken.

“Okay.” Katja stands back and admires her work.

With the family busy with the meeting, it’s the perfect time to slip out of here unnoticed. I chose a blue ruffle dress to wear from the back of my closet, a gift from someone a few years ago that I’ve never had a chance to wear. Katja borrows a red dress with a glittering bodice and a flowy skirt. She’s a little thinner than me, but it still fits her perfectly. Now, we just have to get out of here.

“I called the taxi,” Katja says as I move to the window.

Months I have spent here, reading stories of daring adventures and escapes while watching the garden patrols and mapping out their patterns. Back then, I had been planning to run away, but I know there’s no chance of getting far. Using what I’ve learned to slip out for a night of fun is as far as I’ll get.

“Petar’s phone?” I ask. Katja’s reflection in the window nods. “And you deleted the call?”

“Yup. If we do get caught, it won’t be through his phone.”

“Excellent.” I force a deep breath, trying to calm the flurry of nervous excitement inside me, then I turn to Katja as she hands me my purse and the straps for my shoes. We’ll go barefoot until we make it over the back wall, and then it's on to the city.

“Ready?” Katja’s eyes gleam at me, and I reach for her hand, clutching it to my chest.

“As ever. Thank you for doing this.”

The clock strikes eleven p.m. It’s showtime.

My window opens easily, and we slip barefoot out onto the balcony just as a patrol passes underneath us. Counting in my head, there are thirty seconds before the next one comes around the corner. The stone is cold against my bare feet as I run to the edge and throw my purse and shoes down into the bushes below. Hiking up my dress, I throw one leg over the railing and then I’m clambering down the wooden trellis. My heart hammers in my throat and the wood bites into my palms, but I don’t feel any pain. Now that I’ve started, the nerves have flown, and nothing but excitement beats in my chest. Down I climb, around plant stems and wire, until my bare feet land on the biting gravel. Snatching up my shoes and purse, I reach to catch Katja’s hand as she lands next to me, and we dart into the high bushes with seconds to spare.

Breathless, we crouch down, and I glance at Katja’s bright face. The same exhilaration I feel inside me flashes in her eyes and our fingers lock together. She squeezes my hand, a silent confirmation that she’s with me, and we move.

I’ve mapped this path a thousand times in my mind from my bedroom window, yet it’s quite a different thing to travel it. We dart between bushes and trees, duck behind planters, and pause against statues as guard patrols move around us with no clue that we are even there. Like ghosts, we dance across the garden. From cold stone slabs to chilled grass, I run until my heart beats behind my temple and my lungs scream for air that I’m too nervous to give beyond small gasps. It lasts until we make it to the back wall and Katja stumbles next to me, panting heavily.

“Nearly there.” I flash her a grin, tuck my purse and shoes under one arm, and start to climb. It’s difficult to balance myself and the items while climbing the wooden trellis. Again, the slats imprint on my palms, but I barely notice. Up and up we climb, toes scrabbling for grip and the vines catching on our clothes as if begging us not to go.

I ignore it all and reach the top, taking the first deep breath of freedom. My bag and shoes land on the other side, then I drape myself over and let go of the wall. For the few seconds I’m falling through the air, I’m weightless. It’s like a dream until I hit the grassy bank and all air shocks from my lungs on impact. I roll thrice, gasping as Katja lands somewhere near me and a laugh squeaks out of her. It’s the nicest sound that cuts through the darkness, and when I finally stop rolling, lying flat on my back in the grass, a bubble of laughter escapes me too.

Freedom.

Suddenly, Katja is above me, grinning down with her dark hair creating a velvet curtain between me and the stars above.

“Come on.” She grins, panting. She takes my hand, pulls me to my feet, and then we’re running. My home is nothing but an afterthought behind me as we sprint across the road, down an alley, and through a small park. Bare feet pounding the pavement, I run until my lungs burst, and it's only when we reach the third street over that I pull my hand from Katja and stumble to a stop, gasping for air. The chill of the night air doesn’t even breach the bubble of warmth pouring off me. I lean against the wall and laugh breathlessly as Katja stumbles back toward me.

Her smile is as wild as her hair, and she looks more alive than I’ve ever seen her.

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