Page 70 of Tattooed Heart

He stands across the room, framed by darkness and smoke, but I see him.

It isn’t the gun in his hands or the tactical calm of a Bratva soldier that strikes me. It is the fear. Beneath all that steel and rage, his eyes burn with it. Not fear for himself. Fear for me. For the baby I carry. For the family we didn’t even get the chance to become yet.

But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move like a man afraid. He moves like a man with nothing left to lose.

The concrete floor bites into my knees as I kneel there, prisoner to a madman. My body aches from being battered, my wrists raw from the restraints. But none of that matters now. All that matters is Dimitri, who stands there like a vision of vengeance and love.

“You came,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Morozov yanks my head back sharply, causing me to gasp in pain.

“Shut up, little bird,” he hisses into my ear, his breath hot and putrid against my skin. “Your prince has arrived, but he won't be taking you anywhere.”

Morozov’s face twists into a cocktail of murderous rage and gleeful anticipation. “How thoughtful of you to show up, Dimitri. Now I get to kill you both.”

Dimitri's expression remains impassive, but I can read the rage brewing beneath. His eyes never leave mine, communicating volumes in silence. I learned to understand his wordless language over the months we spent together. He is telling me to trust him and stay strong for just a little longer.

“Release her, Morozov,” Dimitri demands, a controlled thunder reverberating through the room. “This is between you and me. It always has been.”

Morozov laughs, the sound grating against my nerves like nails on a board. “But she makes such lovely leverage, doesn't she? The mighty Dimitri Popov, brought to heel by a woman.” His free hand slides down to rest on my stomach, making my blood boil. “And the little one she carries.”

I can feel Dimitri's explosive tension from across the room, a living, breathing thing that fills the space between us. His grip on his gun tightens infinitesimally, but his aim remains steady.

“You know what your problem is, Popov?” Morozov continues, clearly enjoying his moment of power. “You've gone soft. The old Dimitri would never have allowed himself such obvious weaknesses.”

My heart pounds so loudly that I’m certain Dimitri can hear it. The baby flutters within me as if sensing the danger we are in. I silently pray, begging whatever powers might be listening to protect this innocent life.

Behind Dimitri, I can make out other figures. Blurry silhouettes waiting in the periphery. Aleksandr, along with Ivan, Viktor, and Lev. They are here, too, ready to tear this place apart to get me out.

Dimitri and Morozov say something. Words that linger like smoke and broken glass. But I can’t hear them. Not really. It’s like I’m trapped underwater, the sounds distorted and meaningless. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my prayers.

Please, let Dimitri save me. Please, let my baby live.

I try to focus, to fight through the fog of terror surrounding me. I can’t afford to be passive in my own rescue. Dimitri taught me to look for opportunities and to never accept defeat. But with a gun pressed to my head and my baby's life at stake, options seem nonexistent.

“I'm going to give you a choice, Popov,” Morozov announces, his voice dripping with malice. “Drop your weapon and I'll kill you quickly. Keep it, and I'll make you watch as I put a bullet through your woman's pretty head before I finish you.”

Dimitri's jaw clenches, the only indication of the wrath raging inside him. His eyes lock with mine again, and something passes between us. A plan. A promise.

I inhale slowly, trying to steady my racing heart. The tension in the room stretches taut, ready to snap. Morozov's grip loosens slightly as he grows more confident in his victory.

“Five seconds,” he calls. “Four...”

I watch Dimitri's eyes.

“Three...”

His gaze flicks downward for a millisecond.

“Two...”

Morozov jerks me tighter, laughing like the unhinged monster he is. His thumb strokes my jaw in a mockery of tenderness as he taunts Dimitri. I feel the press of the barrel shift slightly against my temple.

And then Dimitri pulls the trigger. One clean shot. One flash of fire and thunder.

Morozov's grip goes slack. The gun clatters beside me as Morozov’s body drops like a dead stone, slamming into the floor behind me.

For a heartbeat, I don’t move. I can’t. My limbs won’t obey. The ringing in my ears drowns out everything else. The smell of gunpowder fills the air, acrid and biting.

Then I feel warm and familiar hands on me.Dimitri.

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