Jake nodded.
“Together, we are family. Happy. They own the KGB. We have our international liaisons. Sons and daughters betrothed. A marriage made in heaven.”
“Does your father know what Rurik called you?” His voice cracked as he accelerated past the speed limit. He shook his head. “No. Simeon can’t. And I get it—you’re stuck marrying him—but he’s racist, Simona. Your father needs to know.”
“Nyet!” My voice sharpened. “He is a loyalist … He understands one death births another. If he refused this alliance, he’d have to relinquish something else.”
“Like what, allow them to slay his brother?” Jake snorted, bitter.
“Da. Vassili would’ve been the pawn.” The words settled between us like wet ash. I loved mydyadya. But until today? I hated how Natasha and I’d become his sacrifice to protect the rest of our family. Now, acceptance sat heavy in me. Something sharper coiled beneath it. The way Rurik’s gaze crawled over me—devouring, worshipping, defiling. A sickness, fetish wrapped in silk.
Jake’s jaw flexed. “Okay, next question. Whytwodaughters for one … brother?”
His voice broke halfway through, and when he glared at the road, I saw it—enlightenment.
In Russia, daughters were a debt. Sons? Brothers? Currency. Now two lambs had paid for one bad wolf.
54
LORENZO
The momentthe Resnov caravan approached the estate’s long gravel drive, I was already in position. Last night, I followed Natasha and Lachlan to the grocery store with the app Rain had installed on my phone and spotted someone else. A Russian with an eagle head and snake body. The Mikhailovs’ tag. I watched everything—the acts she’d carried out with Lachlan. Sent a sweet video of her and Lach in bed to Vassili. Since I didn’t want to humiliate the Resnovsyet,I only forwarded it to Big Brody. It could go viral later. I also saw her abduction this morning.
“Russians are doing my job for me.”A smile curved my lips as my legs wrapped around a large branch toward the top of a massive Scots Pine tree. My rifle scope tagged the top of Lachlan’s head while he ducked in an SUV. The guards rushed around the yard like wolves guarding their den, and the Resnovs?
Vassili, his brute brother, Simeon, and their smaller entourage hid behind Range Rovers. Chests puffed at the audacity of the Mikhailovs for the fire fight. All pomp. All pride. Neither side realized their fates continued to balance on the twitch of my trigger finger.
Stay there, Vassili.Enjoy the show. Once I offed every Mikhailov inside, I’d approach the window with Natasha. Show them that they no longer owned her. If I didn’t make it out alive? I’d take her with me.
Scope pressed to my cheek, I lined up the shot. The world slowed—my heartbeat steady, my breath shallow. Crosshairs danced over foreign skulls. One squeeze, and another of Mikhailov’s lieutenant’s heads exploded from the caliber of my rifle. Blood sprayed the moss-dark stone.
Gunfire continued to erupt in staccato bursts. I took out a few more men, evening the odds for the five-man team behind that SUV. Then I scaled down the branches, hitting the grass in the front yard of the home across the street. In no time, I’d ran around the side of the Mikhailovs iron fence and jumped over it. Boots soft against the wet grass. Two guards rounded the back veranda, rifles loose in their hands as they barked about the commotion. My blade whispered across the first one’s throat before the other could lift his Kalashnikov to spray me with bullets. His gasp became mine as I drove steel into his belly, twisting until his body slackened.
Running toward the back door, I threw my tactical knife at another enforcer’s eye. It sank home, cutting down another before he could spray his Kalashnikov or warn the Mikhailovs about this impending breach.Perfect. Let them believe the Resnovs’ treachery had brought this storm. Let them feed each other their own bullets while I slipped behind, unseen.
Vassili? I’d soon watch him defenseless in the yard, bullets whining past his ears, while in the window above, his precious Natasha appeared—caught, cornered,mine. He’d get a grand view of me stealing his most cherished asset.
Today, I would not fail.
I slowed, approaching the door. It creaked open, ancient iron hinges betraying the old stone house. Inside, the halls smelled ofwax and damp stone. Two more Mikhailov brutes stood watch at the stairwell. I shot them with my silencer before they had time to curse.
Room by room, I advanced—death on each threshold. A guard in the library gurgled on his own tongue. Another, crouched at a window, didn’t hear me before the bullet entered his skull. My magazine grew lighter, the air heavier with copper. I pressed on, hunger sharpening with every kill.
At last—her voice. Muffled. Strained.
I followed it, pulse roaring in my ears. A half-open door glowed with sunlight. Inside—her. Natasha. My Natasha. Alive. Breathing. Sitting rigid, tied to a velvet chair, as a man with long pale blond hair crouched beside her.
My heart clenched—joy and fury colliding in a violent storm. Relief that the Mikhailovs hadn’t retaliated against her already. Rage that another man dared touch her. The obsession that had devoured me for years surged hot and choked in my throat. I stepped into the doorway, weapon raised. I murmured, “And she will be mi…” I pulled the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
Natasha’s eyes met mine—wide. Terrified, glittering with disbelief.
In that frozen second, I stood between triumph and ruin. I had found her. She was here, mine for the taking. But realization burned hot and threatened to swallow me whole … No more bullets.
55
