“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please don’t?—”
“I can’t let you destroy what we built.” Marco’s voice cuts through the chaos, and I see him standing behind Dante, weapon drawn.
“Marco!” I gasp, desperation cracking my voice. “Help me! Please!”
But the cold calculation in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“This isn’t about saving you, Kasi.” His voice is flat, businesslike. “You’re an asset. A very valuable asset that my cousin is about to kill.”
Dante spins around, his gun swinging away from my belly toward Marco. “You treacherous piece of shit.”
“You never understood the big picture, Dante. The Russians don’t want a dead martyr. They want a living, breathing signatory who can keep operations running smoothly.”
“She destroyed the documents!”
“It doesn’t matter! Her identity is all we need!”
The cousins face each other across three feet of bloodstained marble, weapons trained on each other, while the sounds of gunfire echo through the mansion.
“She’s mine,” Dante tells Marco.
“She belongs to whoever can use her most effectively,” Marco counters. “Right now, that’s the Bratva.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That was always the plan.”
Marco lunges forward, grabbing for Dante’s weapon. The cousins crash into each other, wrestling for control of the gun as they stumble across the bloodstained marble.
“You treacherous bastard!” Dante snarls, his finger still on the trigger.
“Should have stayed dead!” Marco slams Dante against the wall, both hands fighting for the weapon.
They spin around, grappling violently. The gun goes off twice, bullets punching holes in priceless artwork as they struggle. I press myself against the wall, watching in terror as two men who’ve controlled my life try to kill each other.
Marco gets leverage, slamming his knee into Dante’s ribs. The gun swings toward the ceiling as Dante gasps for air.
“I built this empire!” Dante chokes out.
“You built nothing but problems!”
Three rapid gunshots echo through the room. Dante’s body jerks with each impact, blood spreading across his chest as he slides down the wall, leaving a crimson trail on white marble.
“Cousin,” he whispers, touching the spreading stain.
Marco stands over him, breathing hard, weapon still smoking. “Business is business.”
I stare in horror as Dante’s eyes go blank, his hand falling away from the blood. He’s really dead this time. No faking, no survival, no coming back.
“Now then,” Marco turns to me. “You’re coming with us.”
“Marco, please?—”
“Boris!” he calls out. “Secure the asset!”
Boris Petrov appears in the doorway with two of his men, their weapons trained on the room. “Is finished?”
“Dante’s gone. The woman is ready for transport.”
