I thought, after seeing my mother’s corpse, that I could surrender my autonomy, my future, my heart, my servitude, to my father. I thought fear was enough. But the moment I saw Maxim, who trusted me, who put his life on the line for me, for his gang, for Alexei, for our children—I knew I was wrong.
I would rather die myself, than live as my father’s pawn a minute more.
Karine and Manya, wherever my fierce, wolf-hearted little girls are now, will survive. My father won’t be here to torture or shape them or tie his strings to them. They are like their mother, and I know they will lead brilliant, vivid, beautiful lives. I only pray they forgive me, as I never forgave my mother.
Horror shows in Mirka’s face. Her beautiful mouth is open wide, her eyes round. She goes for the pistol at her hip as my father staggers backward, hands splayed and fingers clawing futilely. I wish I could cross the room and empty my clip into his black heart. But I will settle for this.
The pistol slides from my hands, and I take a deep breath. The guards move as though in slow motion, lunging for their guns, cocking, preparing to rain fire down on me, Maxim, and his men. I know I’ve sacrificed all of our lives to kill my father—but in the end, it may be the only good thing any of us has done.
I am ready for death. I close my eyes and release my final breath.I finally have something worth dying for.
I would have liked to live longer. I would have liked to hear Maxim say he loves me. I would have done damn near anything to see his face as he met his daughters,ourdaughters, and we began a life together. I don’t fear the Bratva anymore. I know now it can be ruled by good men, by good women. I know we could have freed my father’s captives, taken over his massive empire, and forged it into something better, something good, something fair and just and worth being proud of.
I let that fantasy future bring a smile to my lips as I welcome death.
What a beautiful lie.
I hear the gunshots before I feel them: a fast, hard, percussive rain of bullets. Automatic weapons unleash, the ear-splitting sound filling the hollow factory floor, amplified and deafening.
This is it.
Only—I don’t feel the bullets hit. I don’t feel pain. I feel the cold wind, the wet sleety snow howling through the broken building. I feel my heart hammering hard against my ribs, feel icy breath in my lungs.
Silence. Absolute.
I feel a hand on my arm. Lips against my ear. Hot breath. Familiar voice. “Annika,” Maxim whispers. “It’s over.”
Impossible.We’re dead. We have to be dead.
Why aren’t we dead?
“Annika.” Maxim’s hand slides into my hair. “Look at me.”
I obey, eyes opening slowly. Maxim stands before me, face blood-spattered, AK hanging from his free hand. He’s pale, sweating.I shot him, I remember, horror cinching tight in my gut.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, touching both hands to his chest. He grimaces. “We have to get you to a hospital. We have to—”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, and despite the blood pooling beneath him on the concrete floor, I believe him. “But first, we have to get out of here.”
Someone coughs on the other side of the room. I look up, startled. Every guard lies dead, crumpled along the far wall. Mirka is among them, a beautiful corpse. And my father, pistol skittered too far from his grasp, both hands clutching his bleeding chest. His stomach rises and falls shallowly—he coughs again.
I look to Maxim. His face is set grimly. At his back, his men stand with rifles recovered, grasped to their chests. They’re all alive. Somehow, they managed to fire before the guards. Somehow, we won against impossible odds.
But it’s not over. Not yet.
I extricate myself from Maxim, crossing the frigid room. Snow plumes down through holes in the roof, catching in my lashes, on my lips. I pick up my father’s pistol, and stand above him.
His eyes glitter. Even near death, a cruel smile stirs his lips. “You think you’re any different? Please. What you find deplorable now, you will find lucrative later. The Bratva makes monsters of men.”
I level the pistol between his eyes. “Good thing I am not a man.”
He coughs, red spatter spilling from his lips. Still, amusements shines in his eyes.My eyes.“You can be corrupted just the same, and it’s already begun. Rule Russia as I would have. No—better. I know you are capable. You were born to walk on the backs of weaker men.”
“Yes. Perhaps.” I kneel beside my father, and touch his own pistol to his temple. “You were always a bastard. But you were never useless. Prove your value one last time, Snake. Where are my children?”
* * *
We step out into freedom, into the snowy night, black sky and endless white. Sacha has one of Maxim’s arms over his shoulder. I have the other.
