Page 70 of Married to the Bratva

A shout cuts through the noise, and I pivot just as another of Federico’s men barrels into view. He’s big—too big to be that fast. Before I can think about squeezing my trigger, Sophie fires.

The shot is perfect. It hits him dead center, and he crumples to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

I glance at her, a mix of pride and worry tightening in my chest. “Nice shot.”

Her lips quirk into the faintest smile. “I had a good teacher.”

Before I can respond, another figure emerges, this one more cautious, sticking to the shadows.

Sophie’s already moving, ducking behind an overturned chair, her gun steady as she waits for a clear shot. I’m impressed. Hell, I’m more than impressed. She’s handling this like a pro.

I move to cover her flank, firing off two rounds at another thug who tries to rush us from the side. He drops, but the moment leaves me exposed.

A shot grazes my shoulder, the sting sharp and immediate. I grit my teeth, forcing the pain down, and return fire. The man who hit me doesn’t get a second chance.

Sophie’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Maxim, behind you!”

I spin just as another man lunges, a knife glinting in his hand. Sophie fires again, the shot whizzing so close to me I feel the air shift. The thug drops, the knife clattering to the floor.

I turn to her, my chest heaving. “I had that.”

“Sure you did,” she says, her tone light but her eyes serious. “You’re welcome by the way.”

Another wave of Federico’s men surges forward, and Sophie doesn’t hesitate, taking aim and firing with precision.

Each shot lands true, and I can’t deny the pride swelling in my chest. She’s proving herself over and over, not just as a fighter but as someone I can rely on. Someone I can trust.

We clear the kitchen together, our movements synchronized. The space falls silent except for the distant sounds of gunfire from the other rooms.

I glance at Sophie, her cheeks flushed, her breaths coming fast, but her grip on the gun steady.

Then I hear him.

“Had to go running to Maxim,” Evan’s voice carries through the air, smooth and taunting, dripping with mockery. “Couldn’t do the right thing just this once.”

I grit my teeth, motioning for Sophie to stay behind me as we walk toward the end bedroom. Her hand brushes against my back, a fleeting touch. My men continue to fight, clearing the way for us to end this.

We find Evan standing behind Amber, gun to the old woman’s head.

52

MAXIM

Federico steps into view, a smirk plastered across his face, his hands resting casually in his pockets as though this is all some grand joke.

His suit is pristine, his demeanor smug, but his eyes glint with something darker—something desperate.

“Maxim,” he drawls, his voice smooth, amused. “You really know how to make an entrance.”

I don’t bother with a response. Words won’t matter here. I step closer, the weight of my gun a solid presence in my hand.

Federico watches me with a predatory grin, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s itching for a fight. “You take Evan,” I hiss, hoping Sophie heard me.

“You’ve come all this way,” Federico continues, circling slightly, “but tell me, Maxim, is this really about dear sweet old Grandma? Or is it about doing as your wife bids you?”

I tense at the mention of Sophie, and Federico catches it. His grin widens. “You never cared about hostages before. The Maxim I knew would have tortured this woman until she unlocked your precious cash. Not married the dumb bitch and come all this way for some doddery old fart.”

“Bold words when I’ve got a gun and you haven’t.”

---