Page 99 of Unforgiving Saint (Starukhin Bratva)

When we leave the room, he pulls the door shut and follows me down the stairs. I wonder what happened to her, and I’m unsure if I should ask. Was she not able to become a good Bratva wife? Is that how he lost her? I stare at the tapestries lining the walls.

All this wealth can’t hide his loneliness.

Natasha is waiting for me in the hallway with a guard. They stop chatting when they see me with Sorokin. Natasha takes a fur coat out of the guard’s hands. “This is for you, Eden Zakharovna.”

The guard holds it up for me to slip on, and I shiver. The fur is soft against my skin as if I’m stroking warm butter, but I can’t stop thinking that it’s a dead thing.

Natasha laughs as she slips her fur on. “It will keep you warm, Eden Zakharovna, on those cold nights.”

They laugh, but there’s no kindness in it.

And I remind myself why I should always hate it here.

In the mornings,I can forget a little. Looking out the bedroom window, I can pretend I’m not here against my will. I can forget that Nikolai will never come back. I can forget the story my father told me—the story that devastated his life.

I can forget that Anton and Dominika are dead.

I forget it all while I sit at a little table having a breakfast of tea and toast. I spend the mornings alone before I spend time with Sorokin and the rest of the household. I won’t make allies hiding away.

Sighing, I look out the window at the bare trees. Winter has stripped the vineyard of its grapes and leaves, exposing gnarled vines to the cold in straight, uniform lines. I admire the geometric pattern and play games in my mind of connecting the dots.

It’s silly, but it keeps me from dwelling on missing Nikolai.

Something moves out the window, and at first, I think it’s a deer looking for something to eat in the vineyard. But then the deer stands up, and something flashes. I hear muffled shouting as men in camouflage run toward the back of the house.

The sound of shattering glass breaks the silence, and the shouting rises to hysteria. I dive to the floor, narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets that shatter the glass. A sharp metallic sound hits the floor, and a metal container spins, letting out a trail of smoke. I cover my belly and crawl to the door, hurrying out of the room.

The hallways of the Bratva’s most coveted stronghold have turned into a noisy battlefield. Screams and gunshots echo throughout the castle as Sorokin’s men fight to protect his territory. Infiltration always seemed impossible, but Gunsyn’s men are attacking, driven by a fool’s desperation.

I sprint through elegant halls filled with tear gas and breathe in ragged, burning gasps. The sound of the relentless fighting comes closer, making it impossible to know if someone is pursuing me. I’m barefoot, which might be an advantage, keeping my footsteps silent, or dangerous as I dodge broken glass. Desperately, I search for a place to hide.

Gunsyn will not take me again.

Finally, I spot an old tapestry hanging from the ceiling at the far end of the hallway. I slip behind it, praying that I’ll remain unseen.

As I crouch in the tight space, my mind drifts back to a time when I was locked in a closet, terrified and alone. Back then, Dad was there to rescue me, to wipe away my tears and tell me everything would be all right.

But he’s not here this time. He can’t come save me.

This time, I’m on my own.

If I want to survive, it’s up to me. I have to stop relying on anyone else—even Nikolai.

A pakhan’s wife shouldn’t only know how to kill with her looks.

With a deep breath, I steel myself. No matter how terrifying or dangerous, I must face this world head-on. But I’m not quite ready yet.

As I crouch behind the tapestry, I listen intently for any signs of movement. The sound of footsteps comes nearer, and I hold my breath, praying they’ll keep going. For a moment, it seems like they have, but then I hear a low chuckle.

The voice says something in Russian, taunting me as its owner searches. My heart leaps to my throat. Bitter fear fills my mouth as my breath quickens.

Panic won’t save me, only action. As I prepare to face whatever is out there, I hear a single gunshot and then a voice. “Ublyudki!” Natasha sneers before I hear her footsteps run away. I slip out from behind the tapestry and tiptoe down the corridor, searching for her.

The back door is wide open, and she must have headed for the range. I run full speed toward the low, squat building, ignoring the cold on the soles of my feet. The door is open, and I get on the ground, crawling, alert to any movement. As I approach the stalls, I hear the unmistakable sound of gunshots echoing. I hold my breath and force myself to continue forward.

“No!” I hear Natasha’s pained voice and see her behind a row of targets. I rush toward her as she crumples to the ground. A spotof red spreads across her gray T-shirt, quickly soaking it as she braces her hands against it. One of Gunsyn’s men stands over her, a cruel smile on his face as he aims his gun for a second shot.

“Natasha!” I scream. I don’t think, grabbing her Glock off the ground. I fire wildly at him. Somehow, every bullet finds its mark, and the man falls to the ground, dead. The motion of his fall disturbs me. It’s as if someone yanked all the bones out of his body. There’s a sickening crunch when his body impacts the ground, and his limbs bend in unnatural ways.

---