I grab her arm and shove her behind me as I scan for immediate threats. “You okay?”
“Yes. What about?—”
“Good.” I tug her with me. “This way.”
We hurry toward the massive bar in the center of the gallery, a stone island fortress in a sea of glass and drywall. I push her down behind the bar, shielding her as bullets chip the marble above us.
“Stay down.” I press into her shoulder, ensuring she’s as low as possible. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
Despite her panicked gasps, she nods. She trusts me, and I don’t take that lightly.
I don’t deserve her faith in me, but I’ll die before I betray it.
Screams from the main gallery redirect my attention back to the fight. I peer over the edge of the bar. Five visible attackers, all in black, wield the same weapons.
Tactical formation.
This isn’t some random hit. This is a professional job.
Across the room, Roman backs up to a column, firing with methodical precision. Two bodies sprawl at his feet, blood pooling from their heads. Vitaly covers his flank, a cold, stony smile on his face. Kirill waits near the emergency exit, picking off any enemy who tries to escape that way.
Vanya darts between overturned displays. He appears behind an attacker and slits his throat. When I blink, he’s vanished again.
I squeeze Aurora’s shoulder once more, then rise to a crouch. “Stay here.”
“Don’t leave me.” Her fingers claw at my wrist, nails biting deep enough to draw blood.
“I have to help them.” I pry her fingers loose, then give her a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”
Before she can protest, I slip around the end of the bar, gun raised. An attacker spots me and swings his weapon in my direction.
I fire first.
His head snaps back, a spray of red misting the white wall behind him.
The gallery has emptied of civilians. Around scattered, unmoving bodies, my family and our assailants face off in a deadly dance. Bullets fly. People shout.
I catch Kolya’s eye from across the room. With a jerk of my chin, I indicate the left flank.
He nods.
We move together, converging on the three remaining attackers from different angles. Caught in our crossfire, they don’t stand a chance. The last one falls with Kirill’s bullet in his throat, gurgling as he dies.
Silence descends. No more gunfire. No more screams. Just the ringing in my ears and the harsh breathing of survivors.
Roman calls from the back of the room. “Clear?”
Vanya emerges from behind an overturned display case, blood spattered across his face like abstract art. “Clear.”
“Perimeter secure.” Kirill’s flat affect never changes, even as he stands over the men he’s killed.
I holster my weapon and scan the room again.
Seven attackers down.
All of us still standing.
The Bratva anyway. The civilians fled. They weren’t the targets, so few of them suffered injuries.
