FIONA
The bedroom is too quiet.The kind of quiet that makes every creak in the floorboard sound like a gunshot. Every gust of wind outside is like breath on the back of my neck.
I told Aleksei to call when he’s here, because having him on the phone was making me more anxious.
My parents sit on the edge of the bed, my mother gripping my father’s free hand so tightly her knuckles are white. She whispers prayers in Italian under her breath, the same few lines on repeat like she’s trying to build a wall of protection around us. My father’s leg bounces uncontrollably, the gun still clenched in his other hand.
I lower to the floor with my back against the nightstand, one hand clamped around the revolver. More of those men could come for us, and the thought makes every hair on my body stand up.
I can’t sit still. My mind won’t stop replaying everything that happened tonight. The gunshots, the blood, the way that man looked at me in the last seconds before he died. The thought alone forces me up, and I drift toward the window, careful not to let the curtain shift even an inch too far.
Outside, Viktor’s and Leonid’s SUVs are still parked at the curb, but there’s no sign of them. Nothing but the sickening crawl of dread tightening in my chest.
My mother cuts through the fog. “Fiona, come back. Don’t let them see you, just in case.”
I step away, pulse hammering like a war drum. “Aleksei will be here soon. We’re going to be okay.”
My father lets out a harsh breath, the blood caked around his forehead now. “I should have killed them both when I had the chance.”
Mom shakes her head. “And they would have killed Fiona if you had. We are alive. That’s what matters, Tony.”
She squeezes his hand until he exhales.
“You’re right. That’s what matters.”
Sudden footsteps downstairs have my heart dropping to my stomach. My father stands beside me while my mother gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Wait here,” I whisper, already moving before either of them can stop me.
The doorknob turns. My phone rings.
I lift the gun with both hands, finger tight on the trigger, and I don’t hesitate. I already know I will pull it if I have to. I will kill again if it means protecting the people I love.
“Fiona,” Aleksei’s voice booms from the other side.
Relief crashes into me so hard, my knees nearly give.
We shove the dresser aside, and the second I wrench the door open, he’s there—eyes wild, chest rising and falling hard, hair a chaotic mess like he’s been raking his hands through it nonstop. He stares at me for a long moment, drinking in every inch of me, looking for wounds, for blood, for anything that might mean he arrived too late.
Then his hands are on my face, warm and frantic. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m okay.”
“Slava Bogu.” His forehead drops to mine and he kisses me slow and deep, his arms crushing me to him like he needs the proof that I’m real.
When he finally leans back, he doesn’t let me go. His face stays buried in my neck, breathing me in, as if he’s grounding himself in the scent of my skin.
“I was worried.”
The rawness in the words hits me in the chest, and I wrap my arms around him just as tightly, holding on like I’m afraid the world might rip us apart again.
Behind him, his brothers and several of their men file into the room, weapons drawn, eyes sweeping every corner.
Aleksei turns to Kirill. “Take her parents to the SUV and have the men stay with them.”
My parents both hug me before they head out.
When they’re out of earshot, I ask, “Did you find Viktor and Leonid?”
