Page 142 of Emerald Vices

And just like that, there is one less Kuznetsov on this planet.

Viktor slumps against the wall, his head falling to the side like a ragdoll as blood spreads across his chest. His eyes are glassy and empty.

Nikolai’s, however, are full of fire. With Viktor dead, there’s nothing to distract him from me or my son. He turns on me.

“Your fight is not with me, Nikolai,” I rasp.

He spits on Viktor’s cooling corpse. “This changes nothing. The history runs too deep.”

“If you hurt me or this baby, he will hunt you down!” My voice is so shrill that I barely recognize it.

“He will hunt me down regardless.” Nikolai raises his gun once more. “I might as well make it worth his while.”

Cool dread pools in my veins. One second is all it would take to end my life and leave Grigory exposed. Through my panic, I see something.

Misha.

He edges through the door as stealthily as he can manage. I’m actually glad that Grigory is still crying, because the sound drowns out Misha’s advance.

Unable to stop myself, my eyes slip to Misha. And Nikolai notices.

He turns just as Misha lunges forward, shoulder driving into his stomach. A gunshot ricochets, and I throw myself at the crate, shielding Grigory with my body.

Then I hear something clatter across the floor.

Misha has knocked the gun out of Nikolai’s hand and they’re rolling on the floor, grappling for position. But Nikolai has at least eighty pounds on the kid, and he knows how to use his weight.

“You little shit!” Nikolai roars, landing a vicious punch on Misha’s jaw.

I feel the blow as if Nikolai hit me.

I have to do something. I have to help him.

Then I remember my own gun.

It slipped into the shadows, but now, I can reach it. I crawl to the corner and grab hold of the weapon just as Nikolai stands over Misha, one foot on my son’s chest.

“You had so much fucking potential,” he snarls in Misha’s face. “But you came from a whore. I should’ve known you’d die like one.”

All the lessons I learned, courtesy of Shura and Evangeline, run through my head. But in the end, I don’t need any of them.

I raise my gun and aim it at Nikolai’s back.

He’s still talking. “Now, I’m going to?—”

His last words are lost to the sudden bubble of air and blood in his lungs.

His legs buckle. Color drains from his face as he turns slowly, catching sight of me in the corner, gun raised.

As he crumbles to his knees, I clutch one son tight to my chest and walk over to the other.

“You are done hurting my children,” I whisper as Nikolai dies. “You’ll never touch them again.”

60

ANDREY

I’m running as fast as I can.

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