Page 77 of Crowned

Elyah gets up without a word and goes to the window. Night has fallen and he pulls the curtain aside a crack and peers out into the darkness.

Kirill folds him arms and gazes down at me. “Just get on the plane. You have all the time in the world to forgive us later.”

He reaches out and brushes crumbs from my lower lip, and his expression is as unapologetic as it was when he told me what he did to me at the pageant. “My baby is going to arrive in the best place, with the best people to take care of it. I won’t let it be any other way,detka.”

I rub my forehead, wishing I knew what to do next. I know they’re right and we’re not safe here. I rented this apartment because it was cheap, not secure. “Maxim Vavilov’s father could know about the three of you from my father. He’ll be able to find out where you live, Konstantin. If he somehow connects me with his son’s death, how can you know we will be safe in your house?”

“We will be,” Konstantin replies, without a millimeter of wiggle room for doubt. Kirill doesn’t even bother replying. He’s this close to scooping me up in his arms and carrying me out the door.

“Make the call,” Kirill tells Konstantin.

The gray-eyed man takes out his phone, and I listen to him arranging an aircraft to fly us to London. “It will be ready in a few hours. This is for the best,malyshka.”

“Elyah, do you think we will be safe in Konstantin’s house? Elyah?”

He’s still gazing out the window through a tiny gap in the curtains, and he puts up his hand and says quietly, “Hush,solnyshko.”

“Why?”

“Because someone is watching the apartment.”

All my muscles stiffen, and I freeze in place.

Without looking away from the window, Elyah picks up one of the guns that’s on the counter. Kirill does the same thing, his expression instantly focusing. As they stand side by side, I can imagine them in prison jumpsuits. Pushka and Kirill, ready for anything.

Konstantin takes hold of my arm and starts backing me away from the window and the front door, shielding me with his body. His voice is low and calm as he says, “Stay close,malyshka.”

“We can get out the window in the bedroom,” I tell him. There’s a fire escape down to the first floor and an alleyway that leads around to the front of the building.

“We cannot. They will be out there, too.”

He speaks these concerning words in that same soft tone, and I realize he’s not speaking softly because he’s not worried. He’s trying to keep us all calm.

“Get down behind the sofa,” Konstantin orders, pushing it away from the wall so I can crawl into the narrow space.

“But you—”

He pulls out his own gun and checks the clip, before slamming it back into place with the heel of his hand. “Don’t worry about us. Protect yourself and your baby.”

“Who has been outside or in front of an open window in the last twenty-four hours?” Elyah asks. His back muscles are tense, and he’s got his finger on the trigger and his eye fastened to the gap in the curtains.

Kirill, Konstantin, and I glance at each other, shaking our heads.

“No one but you,” Konstantin tells him.

“Then they think Lilia is in here alone, or with one man. They will—”

There’s the sound of breaking glass from the bedroom. Footsteps thunder on the stairs up to my apartment. I dig my nails into the carpet behind the sofa, feeling terrified and helpless.

I can just see into the room, and my three men move as if they have choreographed this moment. Elyah turns toward the front door, aiming his weapon. Konstantin steps in front of the gap in the sofa, protecting me. Kirill darts across the lounge to the bedroom and braces his back against the wall by the doorway.

The front door bursts open, revealing a dangerous-looking man in black clothing and a tattoo beneath his eye. Elyah fires twice, kill shots to the head, and his expression glazes over. There’s another man behind him, and he roars in fury, grabs the dead man by the shoulders to use as a shield, and propels himself into the room.

There are at least two more men in the doorway to the bedroom. Hard, dangerous-looking men in black leather jackets with aggressive-looking guns. Shots are fired, and the scent of gunpowder and blood fills the room. I wrap my arms protectively over my belly, my instincts telling me to run to him but knowing that it would be madness. I need a weapon. Someone should have given me a gun.

There’s one laying in the middle of the room, dropped by one of the attackers. To get to it, I’d have to crawl out from behind the sofa and risk being struck with a bullet.

Elyah’s attacker sweeps his legs out from beneath him and he goes crashing to the floor. The hitman lifts his boot and stomps on Elyah’s arm. I think I hear a snap, and Elyah cries out in terrible pain.

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