Page 78 of Bratva Bride
She sprints to the car, pulling Mila out from beneath the wreckage. My daughter clings to her mother, silent tears cutting down her cheeks, eyes huge with terror.
I stare down at Kirov, who just grins up at me, lips bloody and eyes full of hate and triumph. I want to end him. I want to pull the trigger and send a message, but the feeling of being watched is too strong, the rooftops crawling with threat.
Kirov laughs again, the sound echoing off the alley walls as if Alexei himself is laughing with him. “You’re already dead, Konstantin,” he whispers.
Gunfire cracks above us, raining sparks and shards of stone. I fling my arm around Nadya, pulling her and Mila close behind the twisted wreck of our car. Another shot punches into the pavement inches from my shoulder. I look up, heart pounding, and see him—a slim, dark figure perched on the edge of the rooftop, backlit by the city’s neon.
I look down at Kirov, who coughs blood. He was just a decoy. Alexei wanted me out in the open.
I duck, scanning the rooftop again.
Nadya’s breath hitches. “It’s him,” she whispers, face ghost-pale, rage and terror warring in her eyes.
Kirov, still sprawled at our feet, grins with broken teeth, blood running from his mouth. He coughs, then calls out, voice full ofspite, “You’ve pissed him off good this time, Konstantin. Taking his mother out like that. Alexei doesn’t forgive. Not for family.”
Alexei fires again, the bullet tearing through the side mirror, missing me by inches. I press my family closer, mind racing—cover, angles, options. None of them feel like enough.
Kirov spits again, face contorted. “Your son is dead, Konstantin. You’ll never see him again.”
“No!” Nadya shouts, her voice wild, raw, breaking open. “Don’t listen. He’s lying—he’s trying to break you.”
Kirov lifts his head, laughing even as he bleeds. “You can chase after him, Konstantin. Or you can choose your family. Choose wisely. Chase your revenge and lose them both.”
I put a bullet to Kirov’s forehead. I see the life leaving his eyes before I hear the screech of tires. Kirov’s backup, no doubt.
“Go!” Nadya cries, grabbing my sleeve, voice shattering. “Go! If you don’t, we’ll lose Nikolai forever!”
Alexei’s gun spits fire again, the bullet ricocheting close enough that Mila screams, hiding her face in Nadya’s side. The decision tears me in half—son or family, revenge or love. I freeze, every instinct and memory battling inside my skull.
Nadya’s voice cracks, breaking through the roar in my head. “Go! Get him! Please, Konstantin!”
But I can’t. I can’t leave them here, not with Alexei still hunting, not with Mila’s small, shaking body pressed into my chest. I pull them tighter, my arms a cage. I want to promise I’ll chase him, I want to tell Nadya I’ll bring our son back, I want to be the man who can do both, but the words choke off in my throat.
Nadya twists against me, fighting to get free, screaming, her grief splitting the night wide open. She collapses to the ground, pounding her fists against my chest. “Why won’t you go? Why?”
Mila clings to her mother, sobbing, terror and confusion mingling in her cries. I drop to my knees, gathering them both, holding them as tightly as I can, every muscle screaming at me to run, to do something, anything, but I stay—anchored by fear, by love, by the impossible weight of all I could lose.
23
NADYA
Konstantin’s gripis iron around me and Mila, his breath harsh in my ear. I can barely hear over the pounding in my chest, the chaos swirling all around. Somewhere above, the echo of boots and a shifting shadow lets me know Alexei is gone for now, but we’re still trapped, the street a labyrinth of broken glass and bodies.
He shakes me, desperate. “Nadya, get up. Please. I can’t carry both of you, and this is a dead end. We have to move. Please, Nadya, I need you.”
His voice is raw, cracking in a way I’ve never heard before. I want to collapse. I want to scream and let grief have me, but Mila’s terrified eyes keep me tethered to life. I nod and force my legs to move, every muscle trembling.
Then another volley of gunfire explodes, splintering the concrete near our feet. I throw myself over Mila, the world spinning as I brace for pain, for death. I wonder, in one brief, cold second, if this is it—if this is how it ends, if Mila’s last memory of me will be this panic, this terror. No, I can’t let her die. Not tonight. She can’t die.
The attackers fan out, blocking the only way out. We’re surrounded, cornered, the night growing tighter around us.
Then shots erupt from above, quick and precise. One of the men blocking our escape crumples with a cry, then another falls. I blink through the haze and see figures dropping down from a fire escape, guns flashing. Rifat leads them, his face fierce and focused, blood at the corner of his mouth, but unbowed. He waves us toward him.
“Move!” Rifat shouts, his men keeping the attackers pinned.
A car screeches to a halt nearby, tires smoking. The rear door swings open, and Arman leans out, eyes sweeping the scene, hand gripping the frame. “Get in, all of you!” he commands, voice calm and absolute.
For a split second, Konstantin’s hand tightens on my arm. I see the calculation, the mistrust, the reluctance. I don’t have time for it. I wrench away and shove Mila toward the car. “Go, Mila! Get in, now!” She scrambles forward, face streaked with tears, and I follow, pulling her close to my chest.
