Crack. The sound of bone breaking made my stomach drop.
Salvatore staggered, clutching his nose as blood spouted between his fingers. He didn't fall. He snarled and charged. Igor met him, twisted, locked an arm, and heaved him over in a perfect shoulder throw. Salvatore flew in a brutal arc and slammed down on the deck. The impact reverberated through the boards.
His skull hit hard. He was dazed; getting up wasn't happening. Igor straddled him and rained punches until Salvatore stopped moving—his face a bloody ruin—then finally pulled back. His chest heaved. There was still wildness in his eyes, but when he looked at me, it softened into something almost tender.
The gunfire tapered to nothing. Around us, the enemy lay broken and silent. Igor's men controlled the deck, guns sweeping the scene.
We had won.
"Mom!" Stella's voice cut through the haze. She was still in the cage, tiny hands gripping the bars, her face drained of color.
"Stella!" I wanted to run, but Natasha was still in my grip.
"You won't always win," Natasha hissed suddenly. "You think next time, when something like this happens, Igor will always save you like he did now?"
"Shut up!" I pressed the blade deeper and left another red line across her neck.
Igor strode over, blood spattered on his face, his suit torn and ragged.
"Tie her up," he ordered the two men at his side.
Two black-clad men hauled Natasha from me. They slammed her down and bound her wrists and ankles with rough rope.
"No, let me go!" she screamed, but they treated her like cargo and dragged her aside.
They'd secured Salvatore, too. He was out cold, his face swollen beyond recognition.
Only then did I realize what it meant—we were safe. My blade slipped from my numb fingers and tumbled to the deck.
Igor wrapped me in his arms. His hold was warm and impossibly solid. I couldn't stop the tears. The fear and adrenaline and exhaustion crashed over me. I cried until my shoulders shook and my tears wet his suit.
"It's over," he whispered into my hair, his big hand smoothing my head. "You were so brave, Elena. You did great."
"I was so scared," I sobbed. "I thought—I thought we—"
He kissed my forehead. "We're alive. You saved all of us."
"Stella—" I pushed him away, and he didn't resist.
"I know," he said, gentle.
We rushed to the cage together. Igor's men were already prying at the lock, tools clinking against metal. Igor couldn't wait. He picked up a pistol that had fallen on the deck, aimed at the padlock.
"Stand back!" he barked.
He fired. The lock blew apart, metal shards scattering.
The gate swung open. Stella lunged into my arms.
"Mom! Mom!" she sobbed, breathless, clutching my shirt like her life depended on it.
"It's okay, baby. It's okay," I held her until she stopped shaking.
Igor wrapped both of us from behind, his chin resting on my head, warm breath on my hair. The three of us huddled under the moon, the deck around us smeared with blood and bodies. But we were alive. We were together.
"We're going home," Igor said, his voice low and rough.
He lifted Stella, and she scrambled onto his shoulder, burying her face in his neck.
