Page 17 of Broomsticks and Bloodstains
The street leading to the market was already filled with families and laughter. The little market celebration sprawled down the boardwalk, with vendors hawking food, craft items, cheap masks and props, and bootleg liquor among the offerings. Children darted between stalls in costumes, while men in leather jackets leaned against walls, eyes sharp, conversations much quieter than the music and laughter that filled the air.
Everywhere there were people in masks and costumes. Just like Popov’s masquerade, but… grittier.
“Oh my God, Maksim! This is incredible!” She clapped. The joy on her face and the way her eyes lit up did something strange to my chest.
As she stopped at every booth, I kept her close, my hand on the small of her back as we moved through the crowd. I was scanning, always scanning—and that’s when I saw him.
One of my brothers. A man I trusted. Too close to an Armenian street boss we’d marked as an enemy years ago. Their heads bent together in conversation, words I couldn’t hear drowned by the crowd.
My blood ran cold.
I leaned down to Sofia. “Stay here.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Just to check on something that shouldn’t be happening.”
Her gaze followed my line of sight and her hand caught my sleeve. She didn’t need to know who they were to understand that something wasn’t right. “Maksim! You can’t just walk up to them,” she hissed. “They’ll see you coming a mile away.”
I turned my head, glaring, but she didn’t flinch. “Then what do you suggest?” The question was rhetorical, yet she didn’t take it as such.
She bit her lip, thinking fast. Then her eyes sparked with something reckless. “Let me. I’ll pretend I’m drunk—just some girl stumbling around. Nobody pays attention to drunk girls.”
Every muscle in me went taut. “No.”
She stepped closer, voice low, urgent. “You need to know what they’re saying. If you go, they’ll shut up. If I go….” She shrugged, trying for casual, but I could see the pulse hammering in her throat. “They won’t think twice.”
Before I could stop her, she was moving—slipping through the crowd, weaving with just enough of a stumble to sell it.
I swore under my breath and melted back into the shadows, my gaze never leaving her.
She drifted near, swaying, pretending to study a food stall while her ears tilted toward the men. Too close. Too bold. But it worked.
Until it didn’t.
I saw it the moment the Armenian’s eyes narrowed, his smile twisting. He clocked the shift in her—how her steps straightened, her focus sharpened. She realized too late. She turned to go, hurrying toward me, but he was already moving.
He caught her before she reached the next stall, dragging her into a dark slit of an alley.
My heart dropped and my blood turned to ice.
I shoved through the crowd, fast and merciless, ignoring the shouts as people stumbled out of my way. By the time I reached the alley, the bastard had her pinned against the wall, a knife pressed to her throat.
“Who sent you?” he snarled. “Tell me, little bitch, before I cut that pretty mouth open.”
She was crying, shaking her head, swearing she didn’t know what he was talking about. “No one! I swear—I don’t know anything!”
The tip of his blade pressed deeper, and a crimson trail trickled down the column of her throat.
That was enough.
I didn’t hesitate. My hand was on the Armenian before he even sensed me, steel flashing once, twice, the sound of his breath choking off in a wet gurgle. He dropped—dead weight on the concrete.
Sofia gasped, tears streaking her face, her body trembling as I pulled her into my arms.
“You’re safe,” I rasped, my voice harsher than I meant. “I’ve got you.”
But she wasn’t safe. Not really. Not anymore.
