Page 46 of Merciless Queen

Which means, as suspected, what Ivan says is true. Papa feared something, which I now presume to be the Cosa Nostra, and wanted Rossi’s forces to pad his army to be even larger.

I focus on my uncle again. “One thing I don’t understand: what happened between the Cosa Nostra and the Bratva that sent us into war?” Zeno claimed this is retribution for my father’s actions, but it seems my father was the one running scared, which means all this started somewhere. “And why are there no records of it? The only information out there seems to be from way back, long before you and Papa were even born.”

My uncle drops into the chair again, his shoulders slumping. His gaze darts to the window at my back, staring through theglass pane rather than me. “Fuck, I didn’t think I’d have to be the one to tell you this. Vanessa, around the time you were?—”

The truth, so close, is robbed from me with a loud boom, followed by a bang from elsewhere in the mansion that throws us all into action.

And then a spray of bullets.

Bad thing number three.

The sounds of many,many bullets shake the Bratva mansion around me.

I smile into the darkness of the bedroom.

Right on time.

Anastasia,with a ballerina-like twirl, all but flies from her seat, gun in one hand, knife in the other. Ivan bolts too, practically chasing her out of my office, and I quickly follow after retrieving a gun from my desk drawer.

My office walks right out to the upstairs balcony that overlooks the foyer below. Thechaosbelow.

A throng of about a dozen men—after a quick count—have blown down the thick front doors and are locked in combat with my soldiers. It’s not enough, for every one of my men, they have two, and I now understand Papa’s insistence for so much protection after speaking with Ivan.

Anastasia makes it down the stairs by the time I’ve finished my survey. She jabs her blade into the neck of an intruder who goes down instantly, thumping to his knees. Her gun presses into the chest of another who quickly rushes at her, and a loud bang has him dropping dead.

Across the room, Lev roundhouse kicks an assailant. He has no weapon that I can see, and judging by his flushed expression,the blood dripping from his lip, and sweat shining on his forehead, he’s been in hand-to-hand combat since the start.

I rush down the stairs two at a time, trying to shoot into the masses and take as many down without wiping my own out. An impossible feat I learn until I’m stable on the main floor. Blood pumping, adrenaline coursing, I throw myself into the fray.

An invader whirls around, his fist up and aiming for my face. I duck to the left, straighten, and then shoot, lodging a bullet in the centre of his chest. By the time he’s a corpse on my floor, I’m turning for the rest of the crowd.

My gaze barely lands on the next person before a rough shove throws me off balance and toward the ground. I nearly land on my back but gain enough stability to roll to my feet and get upright again and study the chaos’s status.

A mountain-sized man comes up behind Anastasia and wraps what I suspect is a steroid-fuelled muscular arm around Anastasia’s neck, instantly squeezing. Her skin flushes red with the sudden onslaught of blood. I move to assist, but her fighting instincts kick in and the knife in her hand lifts toward his flesh. He sees it coming, though, and whacks it from her hand before gaining control of the gun in her other, leaving her weaponless.

I angle my own gun at his forehead, which causes him to release her and bear down on me, despite the weapon positioned at him. My finger flexes on the trigger with no hesitation, but he’s too quick and knocks the weapon away, the force yanking it straight to the floor.

“Don’t even think about it, bitch.”

That accent…Before I think too long on it, I channel everything Dimitri taught me and crouch, ducking for his knees, eyes locked on my real target right by his feet. My gun. As he avoids me, I stretch an arm at the same time Anastasia’s gotten back up, sees precisely what I’m doing, and lightly kicks itstraight into my hand. Still crouching, I whip my arm up toward the asshole and pull the trigger, hitting the nearest part of him.

He howls in pain, clutching his blown-out cock as he drops to his knees, but I’m already on my feet, gun positioned at his temple. I jerk the trigger, killing him and ending his pain much sooner than deserved, before taking off.

My breaths are heavy now as another man goes to jump me. Seeing it, I crouch in time for him to roll over my back, his fists barely missing my stomach as he swipes out an arm.

It’s then I realize, despite the gun in his hand, he’s not using it against me.

The man I just killed, lying dead behind me, blood seeping from his pants also attempted force over weapons.

I’m not to be killed.

Which only means one thing: whoever’s behind this wants to do worse to me than a simple death during combat.

Across the room, Anastasia and Lev are both fighting, but looking worse than I last saw. The couple men I have remaining are still fighting, but it seems like for every one we take down, two more pop up, as though a continuous army is waiting outside.

I scan the room for my uncle, noticing he isn’t here, and a flash of anger swirls in my gut. All those pretty words about loyalty and doing right by the Bratva and he abandoned us in a time of need. Or he’s dead, in which case, I don’t know how to feel.

We’re losing—badly. My head thumps with a massive migraine from getting whacked. My body is tender in some places, promising bruises. No matter how hard or how quickly I breathe, it feels like my lungs will never be full enough.

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