Page 116 of Ruthless Reign

“See, we can fight them.”

She sits down on the edge of the mattress, her posture slumped. “I’ve never harmed a fly in my life, and those guards are huge. I’m sorry I can’t be as strong as you. Trust me, this marriage is the last thing I want, but it's not worth getting killed for.”

I drop to my knees in front of her. “After the wedding, Sergey is going to expect a wedding night. Your first time is going to be with a predator twice your age. I don't want you to experience something awful like that."

She hangs her head. “Neither do I, but nothing is worth us dying over.”

Trying to conceal my frustration, I gently grasp her shoulders. I know she has every right to be fearful, but I still hate the idea of surrendering without a fight.

“We're valuable to them alive, not dead,” I point out.

I can tell from Sofiya's pinched face that I'm not going to change her mind.

“We need to get through this hell, and when we're home, maybe we can find a way out,” she pleads. “If we can get a message to Maxim Belov, he can help us, right?”

My hands tremble, and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. I won’t tell Sofiya that their lives are in danger too because the thought pushes me to despair. It’ll shatter any strength I have left.

I smile and nod, fighting to keep my face neutral. I grab her hand in mine. “You’re right. We’re strong. We need to get through today, and we can figure out how to escape later on.” I’m not sure I believe my own words, but a hopeful lie is better than a brutal truth.

Sofiya releases a shaky breath. “We should get ready. Promise me you won't do anything crazy. Just take care of yourself. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I will. Promise me you'll do the same.” With a half-smile, I add, “But if you have a chance to hack off Sergey’s balls in his sleep, do it.”

She releases a giggle. “I don't know how you're making me laugh right now, but I love you for it.” Sofiya hugs me tightly, her embrace saying everything that words can't.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ROMAN

As our helicopter touches down on the secluded southern tip of Santorini, the island unfolds before us, awash in blue and white.

Viktor, Pavel, and Nikolai immediately set to work transforming our safe house into a command center equipped with laptops, satellite feeds, and monitors for our drone footage. The kitchen table is cluttered with various firearms and tactical gear that I should be sorting through, but I'm too worked up to focus on much of anything.

Thinking of Liza and what she must be enduring gnaws at my soul. I wish I had a better plan, a way to signal to her that I'm still alive, but I've got nothing. My only strategy is to obliterate Anatoly and anyone associated with him.

Fuck it. I need to at least make myself useful. I start organizing the arsenal we'll take with us, but when I miscount the rounds of ammo for the third time, Pavel casts a worried glance from across the room.

“We've got this,” he assures me. “Go outside for a smoke. We're moving out soon, and you need your head in the game.”

Nikolai, who's been busy setting up a monitor, straightens up and fishes a flask from his jacket pocket then offers it to me.

“Thanks, man.” I accept the flask.

Trust isn't something I give easily, especially to someone I've just met, but given the circumstances, I have little choice. We share a common enemy, and in this world, that's often enough to make someone an ally, at least for now.

Stepping into the brilliant Mediterranean sunshine, a deep ache fills me.Liza is somewhere on this island—so close yet she might as well be a world away.

Anatoly will suffer for every depraved act he's committed, but if he’s harmed Liza or Sofiya in any way, I swear I’ll rip his throat out myself. I'll draw out the torture for days, savoring his torment like a cat playing with a mouse, until he’s pleading for a mercy that’ll never arrive.

Shit. My thoughts have turned dark again. I shake my head and take a deep swig from the flask, the liquor barely smoothing the jagged edges of my nerves.

Viktor steps out, holding a satellite phone. “Maxim.” He hands me the phone. “He just landed in Moscow.”

“Bratan,” I answer, my voice tight with worry. “Are you and Kira alright?”

He grunts—a sound heavy with weariness. “We’re fine, thanks to all of you. Our men took out every one of Anatoly's guards before our plane even touched down. It was a fucking bloodbath on the tarmac," he reports with grim satisfaction. "I doubt we’ll be welcome at the Moscow airport again."

I scratch my head and gaze out over the azure sea. “Is it possible that someone will alert Anatoly?”

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