Page 84 of The Russian Retribution

I’m drawn to Anastasia like a moth to a flame and nothing but chains can keep me away. I’ve followed her at a distance the best I can ever since that night in the club, but her security tightened and she became completely off-limits in the days leading up to the gala.

So all I can do is turn up where I think she will be and hope I can be useful.

Being denied entry to the gala was expected. With no invitation, my name was absent from any list, and the men at the door did not recognize who I was. It was lucky that I got away with my life. I’m sure Viktor would have ensured otherwise had he caught wind of my presence.

I saw Anastasia once, just after she arrived.

She climbed out of the limo looking absolutely stunning in that blue dress, and my heart ached for her. I wanted to run afterher and beg her to let me in to protect her, but I knew it would never happen. Revealing myself too soon could hinder me if I were needed later on, so I retired to the cafe across the street and settled in to watch the countless rich snobs and Mafia heirs pour into the venue.

With any luck, my presence won’t be needed at all.

Three coffees deep, the police arrive. Countless squad cars flood the street, blinding everyone with their flashing red and blue lights but not a single siren, which tells me they’re trying not to alert someone to their presence. As they pour out of their cars and hurry up the steps to the gala, I throw down a handful of dollars to pay for my coffee and sprint out of the cafe. I only make it to the edge of the sidewalk before a cop holds up his hand and grabs my arm as I rush past.

“Hold on a moment, sir,” he says as I wrench my arm free. “This area is currently unavailable.”

“What does that even mean?” I snort, adjusting my jacket. “It’s a free city. I can walk where I want.”

“Not right now, you can’t,” he continues, stepping in front of me when I try to walk around him. “This area is closed for?—”

His words are drowned out by a deafening explosion that sends the majority of the officers ducking and running for cover. The ground shakes. Countless windows in the building shatter, and thousands of shards of glass rain down on me and the surrounding cop cars as a fireball bigger than I’ve ever seen in my life tears right out the front of the building. Clumps of brick and stone fly across the street, smashing windshields and wounding unsuspecting cops who don’t react fast enough to the boom. The explosion is so strong that all the windows of theneighboring buildings, including the cafe across the street, crack and shatter. In half a second, the street is covered with glass that glints like all the fallen stars in the world have landed here.

The cop beside me tries to shield me with his body as a second explosion booms deeper inside the building. People scream and yell, the flames curl up into the sky, and my heart pounds so violently it drowns out the words of the officer in my ear.

Anastasia!

I have to get to her!

I push the officer away, and he stumbles backward with a grunt. As soon as I’m free, I sprint up the steps toward the inferno blazing out of the front doors. Luckily, the fire is currently contained to the upper part of the building and the ceiling. Several other officers have the same idea as me, only their goal is different. It’s their job to save their colleagues and civilians, but I only care about one person.

Shouldering open one of the doors not destroyed by the first explosion, I stumble into the foyer and am immediately blinded by smoke. It fills my lungs, burning my nose with each frantic breath, but the pain is an afterthought. Inside, underneath the crackling of flames, creaking of metal and snapping of splintered wood, is another sound.

Gunfire.

Distant pops play like music underneath the sounds of carnage, coming straight from the ballroom where the main event is being held. At this time, Anatasia was likely on the stage giving her speech.

Officers pour in after me, yelling all sorts of instructions and orders, but I hear none of it as I run at top speed toward the main ballroom. The foyer is a graveyard filled with the motionless bodies of the police and staff. I try not to look at the warped, terrified faces locked mid-scream as they died or the charred limbs being licked at by flames that creep across the floor like rising floodwaters. My focus remains on the white doors with gold handles.

Several of them hang open, and screams of terror grow louder as I reach them. Suddenly, a few of the remaining closed doors fly open and several people swarm out. Beautiful gowns are ripped and charred. Expensive suits are frayed and stained with blood. Men and women from all families across the city are scrambling for safety, yelling for their loved ones and cursing out the night. I lock eyes with a man whose mouth opens to tell me something as he runs past.

Two bullets thud into his back. He stumbles a step and then halts before collapsing into my arms as I skid to a stop. I don’t recognize him, but I hold his gaze as the light of life fades from his eyes, then his deadweight brings us both to the floor.

“Shit,” I murmur, pushing his body to the side and jerking my gun out of its holster. Back on my feet, I sprint into the ballroom and my racing heart flies into my throat.

There’s a gigantic black hole where the stage should be. One of the crystal chandeliers is on the floor, crushing several screaming people underneath. Tables are upended, and bodies of Mafia and police alike litter the floor. Gunfire spits in all directions as guards fire wildly, uncertain of who the culprit is while the remaining police try to shoot back and get people to safety.

I scan every ash-covered, tear-streaked face in search of Anastasia as people push past me like I’m not even here.

I don’t see her.

Where the fuck is she?

Where the fuck?—

Someone collides with me in a panic, sending the two of us crashing to the floor. As we scramble away from one another, a hand grabs my collar and drags me backward, ruining my attempts to get to my feet. I twist around and glimpse Ryan. I haven’t seen him since he became attached to Viktor’s hip. He raises his gun toward me while fighting to maintain a grip on my collar. I twist in the opposite direction, slipping out of my jacket and lashing out with my leg. My foot collides with his ankle and he stumbles with a cry. The gun goes off and the bullet flies past my head, missing by an inch.

“Fucking hell!” I gasp, making it to my knees. I raise my handgun and fire three shots into the bastard's chest. He falls down dead as I clamber to my feet.

“Ryan… you idiot.”

---