Page 46 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

The third one makes his move, a desperate grab for a gun on the floor.

His intentions are clear, deadly. Roman's back is turned, his focus on a fallen foe.

No thoughts, just a primal surge of protection. I lunge forward, inserting myself into the line of fire just as the goon's finger tightens on the trigger. The sound is deafening.

Before the gun can bark again, my foot connects with the goon's wrist, sending the weapon skittering across the floor. A follow-up kick lands squarely in his gut, doubling him over with a whoosh of expelled breath.

Roman pivots, his keen senses picking up on the struggle. We've fought side by side enough times for him to read my next move without a word. His hand finds the back of his assailant's head, driving it down just as my rising knee meets it halfway. The goon collapses like a puppet with cut strings.

I'm breathing hard now; each breath is a blade within me. Roman stands amidst the fallen foes, sweat and blood mingling on his brow. He staggers slightly before regaining balance, his eyes fixed on me with a mix of gratitude and something darker, a reflection of the path he's chosen.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice rough, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins like fire.

"Yeah, thanks to you," Roman replies, steadying himself on the debris-littered floor. He's looking at me with that intense gaze, reading me like one of those books he never has time for anymore.

It's then I notice the warmth spreading down my side, a sticky presence that’s starting to seep through my clothes. Instinctively, my hand reaches down, touching the wetness that's pooling at my side. Blood. My blood. It's only now that the pain registers, a delayed reaction to the bullet I took without realizing.

Chapter 23

Lana

My heart's doing this crazy dance, thumping against my ribs like it's trying to break free. I'm on edge, waiting, the minutes stretching like hours. If I weren't so damn pregnant, I swear I'd storm that warehouse myself. Perez is gonna pay, but not today. Today's about getting Julia back, safe and sound.

Finally, there they are—my guys, coming into view, and one of them's got Julia. My stomach knots up, a weird mix of relief and dread. She looks too still, too quiet. "Is she unconscious?" I find myself muttering under my breath, praying she's alright.

I don't wait for an answer, just swing the car closer, ready for a quick getaway. I'm out and moving before they even reach me, my eyes scanning Julia's face for any sign she's okay. "Is she alive?"

Luca's right behind them. "She's fine," he says, his voice firm, cutting through the panic. "Now let's go."

Together, we gently ease Julia into the backseat, my hands more careful than they've ever been. I slide in beside her, my eyes never leaving her face, searching for that flicker of life. "Hang in there, Jules," I whisper, as much a plea to her as it is to myself.

Turning to Luca, expecting to see Grigori's towering figure with us, I ask, "Where's Grigori?" My voice barely hides the panic starting to claw its way up my throat.

Luca's face tightens, a shadow of concern passing over it. "He... he was supposed to be right behind me."

"What do you mean 'supposed to be'? You left him in there?"

Luca looks away for a moment, his jaw clenched. "I thought he was following. He said he'd cover our exit."

Anger boils over, but fear underpins it. "Go get him, now!" I order, my voice cracking with the command.

Luca nods, and then he's gone, disappearing back into the fray.

Alone with Julia in the back of the SUV, I shift my focus to her, trying to anchor myself in the present task. I fetch water, careful to moisten her parched lips with just a few drops, wary of any unseen injuries that might complicate things further.

Her hair's a tangled mess, and as I gently brush it away from her face, the extent of her injuries becomes heartbreakingly clear. Cigarette burns, scars...

Tears blur my vision, and I can't help but shake, a mix of rage and sorrow washing over me. "I've got you, Jules," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead, trying to offer comfort I'm not sure I feel.

I force myself to look away, to glance outside into the growing twilight, the shadows of the warehouse district stretching like dark fingers across the cracked pavement.

What's taking Luca so long?

The minutes drag on—each one an eternity—and there's still no sign of Grigori or Luca. My hands clench into fists, and I take in sharp breaths, trying to stay calm for Julia's sake. No use panicking now. Focus, Lana.

I should be doing something—anything—but I'm welded to this seat by fear and the burden growing inside me.

Then Julia starts to mumble something. I lean in closer, eager for any sign of coherency, any sign that she's really with me and not lost in the dark corners of her mind where trauma likes to linger.

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