“I can’t think of a life where you are not with me.”
I wanted to put everything in front of him, to say it all out loud, hoping—desperately—that I could still save those dreams.
But I couldn’t, because I wasvery wrongto have those dreams in the first place. And his next message made that clear.
“This is bizarre and nonsense. You are pathetic if that’s true because I have no plans of keeping you in my life. I’ve had enough of your dramas. I’m blocking you now.”
I wanted to reply to him that he didn’t have to block me, because I was never going to text him again anyway. But I kept that to myself.
“Hey, what happened?”
Dex’s voice pulls me back to the present. I realize I’m crying again. Damn it.
I wipe my tears quickly. Every time that memory resurfaces, it leaves me like this.
“Nothing,” I chuckle weakly. “Just got carried away—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence. A gunshot rings through the air.
Then another.
And then chaos erupts inside the restaurant.
The shots were fired by my bodyguard, and that only means one thing.
I’m under attack.
My bodyguards immediately form a tight circle around Dex and me. One of them speaks sharply into his tactical earpiece.
“Miss Mikhailov is under attack.”
Outside the restaurant, several cars screech to a halt almost simultaneously. My security goes on high alert in an instant. They move us fast, steering us toward the kitchen.
Malt shoves a gun into my hand before locking the door behind us.
Dex and I duck behind the counter, crouching low. My eyes stay locked on the door, the gun steady in my grip, finger ready. Outside the closed door, the sounds of gunfire echo.
I take deep breaths, forcing my heart to steady as I recall everything Papa taught me.
And then the door bursts open. It crashes to the ground with a violent thud, dust rising thick into the air. Through the cloud, I see silhouettes of men, and I shoot. I don’t know how much damage I manage to do. I don’t aim for their heads. I can’t. I realize just seconds too late that I’m not strong enough to become a killer. I aim for bodies, hoping to slow them down, to buy us time.
They return fire. Bullets slam into the counter. I duck behind the thick wall, heart hammering so loudly it drowns out everything else.
Is this what Dad meant when he said,“In our world, you either kill or get killed”?
But I’ve already lost my chance. More men pour in. Too many. Booted footsteps close in, spreading out, circling us like predators. My grip on the gun turns painful.
Someone bends down. I tighten my hold, knowing that even if I shoot now, it won’t matter.
But I never see his face.Another round of gunfire erupts. This time, it’s one-sided. The shots come from the doorway. Within seconds, every man in the room collapses. Bodies hit the floor one after another, bullets clean through their heads. It’s over so fast it feels unreal.
Silence falls.
We stay hidden even after the gunfire stops, my lungs burning as I force myself to breathe quietly.
Then footsteps approach, unhurried, controlled. Polished brown shoes come into view. A man crouches down in front of us. A gun hangs loosely from his hand, a blue bracelet on his wrist.Matleon. His face is serious tonight. His eyes search my face. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but all he finds is panic, raw fear, and shock.
Dex moves out from behind the counter on the other side.
