Page 112 of Stolen By The Bratva King

I always thought it was your own life that’s meant to flash before your eyes before you die, but all I see is Emery.

I take a step closer to Reggiani, willing him to pull the trigger so I can do the same. We will spin off into eternity simultaneously and, more than likely, end up in the same fucking place.

I want to live.

For her, for me. Even in these final moments, I’m clutching at straws, desperate for anything I can?—

A tinkling sound focuses my attention, and I realize my foot caught half a broken bottle on the floor.

If I can dissuade Reggiani from shooting me in the face, I may survive. But I will only have one opportunity to distract him, and even then, it’s dicey.

Emery’s face flickers in my mind like an old movie reel, and I’m ready.

A sliver of a chance is better than none.Go.

I hook my toe firmly into the broken bottle and fling my leg in front of me, sending the sharp glass missile straight at Reggiani’s head. His eyes see it happen, but his reaction time isn’t quick enough.

The bottle smashes into his face, and I hurl myself to the ground. Reggiani’s gun flares as I fall, but I’m firing too, and the combined sound of the gunshots sets off a high-pitched scream in my head.

The left side of my chest erupts in agony, and I roll away, landing on my back as a strong gust of wind hits me.

Someone is coming into the lodge.

It could be a dying dream, but if it is, it’s beautiful. Emery is leaning over me, and although I can’t hear her, her lips move, and I understand.

“Don’t go, Leon,” she’s saying. “Stay with me.”

59

Emery

Words tumble from my mouth as I pull at Leon’s jacket.

“Oh my God, no.” Roman and Viktor sheath their pistols, their faces ashen, but I barely notice them. “We’re too late. He’s gonna?—”

Leon’s eyes swim into focus, and he sits bolt-upright, shoving me aside. His other hand rises, and the air slams as he fires.

Reggiani is almost on his feet when the bullet hits his throat. The force sends him flying into the wall with a crash, blood spattering across the window, and he gurgles as he falls, his life force flowing freely from his shredded artery.

His gaze wanders, settling on my face. Even as he dies, he tries to throw one more poisonous barb, but he’s drowning, his mouth opening and closing like a carp. With an ineffectual squawk, he stills, a sneer frozen on his face.

Leon holds his position for a few seconds, his arm wavering.

“Is he down?” he croaks.

“He’s dead as fuck,tovarishch,” Viktor says. “Is that really Reggiani?”

“Itwas.”

Two words, but I feel the specter of the dead man lifting like a vanquished curse.

Reggiani destroyed Leon’s life and then returned to do it again, but Leon stood his ground, just as he did when he was six.

My husband believed two things: he would fail to protect those he loved and that he was, at heart, a coward.

In his deeds tonight, he laid both lies to rest. He knew the danger and what was at stake, but he came for me, prepared to die if necessary.

Roman steps past us to investigate the body.

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