Page 112 of Vendetta Crown

That's not something you can fake.

Artyom nods, his hands tightening on the wheel as we turn onto Grand Avenue.

"And if she dies tonight?" he asks quietly. "How will you tell the girls?"

The question shakes me to my core. It's not something I wanted to think about, even as we gathered the men for this mission.

"The only way I can," I say finally, my voice rougher than I intend. "Straightforward and honest. Mikayla might understand. Or at least be able to hide it better. But Stella and Sofia..."

The image of their small faces crumpling in grief twists something inside me. They've already lost their father and brother. And now, potentially their mother too.

All because of this vicious world we were born into.

I feel my thoughts spiraling toward a dark place and forcibly pull myself back.

"It's best not to think about these things right now," I say, checking everything on me one more time. "We need to focus."

The garage is dark and silent except for the soft purr of engines as we park our cars in a neat row.

Three black SUVs lined up like ravens around carrion.

My men move with practiced efficiency, no words needed. Just nods and hand signals as we make our way across the concrete toward the private elevator.

A single guard stands at attention, looking bored as he scrolls through his phone. He doesn't even look up until it's too late. Artyom steps forward.

With a single fluid motion, he raises his silenced pistol and pulls the trigger.

The guard's eyes widen in brief shock.

Two of my men lunge forward to catch his body before it hits the ground. They drag him away toward our vehicles while another takes the keycard from his pocket.

"Pakhan." The man hands me the access card with a small bow of his head.

Such a small, insignificant thing. Yet it grants me access to one of the most powerful men in California's criminal underworld.

Semyon Mikonov.

The man behind the deaths of my brother and nephew.

The man who dares to conspire with the monster hunting my wife.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime that seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence. Artyom steps in first, scanning for threats before motioning us to follow. I enter with him and three others, positioning myself near the control panel.

Artyom reaches up to the corner camera, smashes it with the butt of his gun. Glass tinkles to the floor.

I swipe the keycard, press the button for the penthouse, and feel the elevator surge upward.

My heart hammers against my ribs, the sound of blood rushing in my ears becoming almost deafening. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps. My fingers tremble slightly as they grip my weapon.

A firm hand on my shoulder brings me back.

"Breathe, Ruslan," Artyom murmurs, his voice calm and steady. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You're too tense."

I nod once, forcing myself to take a deep breath. Hold it. Release slowly.

"Good," he says. "I need you to shoot straight tonight. Not for nothing else, I'm not trying to get killed by you."

I can't help the small chuckle breaking out from the depth of my throat.

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