Page 102 of Marked (Russian Sinners 1)

What?I heard inhales of breath all around the warehouse and then the utter silence. It felt like a graveyard.

“You are lying,” Boris’ voice was choked. I slowly raised my eyes from his phone to meet Boris’ gaze.It can’t be!

“Dad?” I called out, hoping for some code or hint from him to tell me not to worry.

“Boris, you know I’m not lying. Alexandra didn’t want to raise her daughter in your world, full of crime, and you were unwilling to let it go.” I couldn’t breathe, my whole world as I thought I knew it, I really didn’t. My whole life.

“Breathe, milaya,” Dimitry’s voice pulled me back and my gaze focused on him. “That’s right, breathe.”

I never asked him what milaya meant,the thought crossed my mind. What stupid timing for that thought too.

“If you still don’t believe me, Boris, have your daughter’s paternity test done and it will be your proof.” My dad’s voice echoed through the phone.

“Dad, no.” My voice was a whisper but it was so deadly quiet, he heard me.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I still love you and will always love you.”

A gunshot sounded and the whole world broke loose. Suddenly, we were in the middle of a warzone. Fear kept me frozen and Dimitry took over, shielding me with his body as he pulled me across the warehouse floor, trying to find some sort of cover for us to take.

“Give me a gun, I can help,” I muttered to him.

“Milaya, you are not a killer,” he murmured against my ear. “You are a healer.”

He shot his gun with precision, and bodies fell like hot pancakes. It was such a commotion, I couldn’t figure out who was on our side and who wasn’t. I spotted Igor creeping towards us at the same time Dimitry did. He was a foot away from us and I realized enraged Dimitry was a terrifying Dimitry.

Dimitry grabbed him by his neck before Igor could put his hands on me, picked him up above his head, and slammed him across the warehouse floor, his back splatting against the ground.

I followed Dimitry’s gaze as he glanced up. I saw Misha and I could have cried. Dimitry brought reinforcements.

“Keep us covered,” he spoke in his earpiece and saw Misha nod in confirmation.

Dimitry cracked his knuckles and he marched against Igor. He lifted him again by his neck, and threw him backward into the wall, his head cracking at the sound of hitting it.

It sounded like Igor wouldn’t be coming out of this alive. I had no doubt he had a major concussion.

Dimitry pulled me towards some crates as more of Boris’ men swarmed for us.

“Dimitry, I love you,” I announced while he punched another one of Boris’ men. “I don’t care about anything in your past. Just you. Like I really, really love you. Want to have your babies kind of love you.”

“Now?” he asked in wonder but there was a wide smile on his face.

“I don’t think it is a perfect time to have babies now but whatever you want. I just love you.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant now you tell me you love me. Amidst all this?” Then he shoved his fist into another faceless guy.

I smiled. “Yes. I wanted to tell you the other day but I chickened out.”

“I love you too, milaya.”

He focused on his next victim and I couldn’t help but smile stupidly amidst this bloodbath. Dimitry loved me too. I turned to see Misha and his team cleared people on the left of Dimitry, and behind him.

But then I saw it. The gun pointed at Dimitry by Igor.

“No!” I wasn’t sure if I shouted it or just thought it.

Diving forward, without thought of consequences, the bullet meant for Dimitry blasted into me and I blew backwards. The hot pain seared through me, and I thought I'd pass out at that moment. Then I saw Igor pull the trigger again and heard the gunshot. I knew there was no way I’d survive two bullets. The ground started falling under me and last thing I heard was Dimitry’s voice.

“Anastasia!” He rushed for me, his jaw so tight, I thought his face would break. “Damn it, I’m supposed to save you.” I watched his beautiful face over me. His tender eyes stared at me, glimmering, and his face crumpled with pain which reflected the physical pain I felt right now. With the last bit of strength, I raised my hand to press my palm against his cheek one last time.

---