Page 105 of Vitaly

All guns are put away. The only potential weapons here are the rocks.

The Italians will either run or they’ll fight. Nikita’s men won’t dare run. Who knows who else that leaves.

Alik rears back the stone while I pull the nails loose, a growl dragging up my throat as my whole body tenses. The guard on my right peeks but assumes nothing. I’m a man about to watch my love be stoned to death. Why wouldn’t I be in pain?

As soon as the stone lobs into the air, the nails come free. My eyes widen as I fall forward, barely catching myself as I stumble off the platform before I make two fists and backhand the guard at my right, sending a nail through his cheek.

I rip it out and fling my left fist into the other guard’s jaw, ignoring the searing pain that follows. My body floods with adrenaline, and the whole room goes silent while every person in it processes what is happening.

Then the fighting starts.

I’m four strides toward Mila when the first punch is thrown.

Roars echo off the walls of the ballroom as punches are landed, rocks are picked up and bashed against skulls, jaws are broken. When a hand lands on my shoulder, I twist and take a quarter of a second to decide the man is an enemy before I plunge a nail into his neck. His eyes widen as his hands go to the hole in his windpipe, but I don’t stay to see more than that.

I push through the crowd, searching for Mila and find her on the tiled floor with her hands now in front of her. She frantically rubs the rope over a sharp piece of rock.

“Mila!”

Her head whips my way as she stands. “Vitaly!” She lunges for me, bumping my chest as her eyes dart to the door. “Nikita has the key,” she says, her voice panicked. “Hurry!”

My mouth opens and closes, but when she looks at me, her eyes hold so much desperation that I turn and sprint the direction she was looking. I don’t know what key she’s talking about. I don’t know what it means.

But I know it must be important.

I see him exiting the ballroom and hurry that way, jumping over fallen bodies and weaving around men in battle. The nail in my left hand loosens, and I pull it out as I get to the door. I throw it to the ground as I burst through.

In an instant, I know what Mila was panicked about. What key Nikita had.

He’s crouched beside a large, locked box, a key inserted, and I can only guess this is where they’re keeping everyone’s guns.

By the time he looks up at me, I’ve tackled him, forcing him flat on the ground while the key slides across tile. I rear back my hand with the nail and go to shove it into his neck, but he catches my wrist with both his hands. Tension builds as we fight against each other, the nail an inch or two from his neck. I manageanother inch when he lets go with one of his hands but only to wiggle the nail inside my palm.

I groan in pain and pull away, which gives him the opportunity to strike. He jabs me in the eye with his thumb until I yell out and fall off of him, then he quickly climbs on top of me.

“You were right,” he says, holding down my arm with the nail in it while he lands blow after blow to my face. He pants when he takes a break. “I should’ve just killed you.”

When he goes to punch me again, I grab his wrist with my free hand. It’s weaker than normal from the injury, but still, I’m stronger than him. He’s just much scrappier than I could’ve predicted.

I overpower his hold on my hand with the nail then shift to fling it into him, but he uses it against me. He uses my momentum to swing my hand around and land the nail into my chest.

My eyes go wide as I suck in a wheezy breath.

He bends to my ear. “Thisis how my brother felt when you killed him.” His words, vicious and vindictive, are full of pain and grief. We’ve grieved the same man in monstrously different ways. Or not. Maybe Nikita hates himself as much as I do.

I doubt it.

It’s my own hand with the nail in my chest, but I leave it there. There’s a good chance when I take it out, that’ll be it for me.

Nikita doesn’t care.

He jerks my hand, ripping the nail from my chest before trying to impale me with it again. I use all my strength to stop him. My eyes squeeze shut as I cringe, a growl bubbling from my punctured chest, but when he takes the nail and tries to drag it down my hand, it triples the pain.

I yell out before shoving with all my might, and it’s just enough to get him off me. I scramble to sit up before he can righthimself then quickly pry the nail from my hand. I try not to look at the hole pouring blood, but it’s there. It’s stealing the feeling from my hands, robbing me of my fists.

We both clamber to our feet, and when he shifts to attack, I try to use my legs, the one asset I have left which also happens to be his biggest weakness. I miss his kneecap like he saw it coming a mile away, and it makes him smile as he stands back.

“Cheap shot, Nephew.”

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