I look down at the weapon in my hands like I've never seen it before. My fingers are locked around the grip, knuckles white, and I can't seem to make them release, can't seem to make any part of my body respond to commands.
Dimitri's hand covers mine, warm and solid. Gently, so gently, he pries my fingers loose and takes the gun. The absence of itsweight should be a relief, but I feel nothing. Just that terrible, yawning emptiness.
"Come on." His arm wraps around my waist, supporting me as my legs threaten to give out. "We need to go."
He guides me away from the body. Away from the man who was supposed to protect me, who was supposed to love me, who instead sold me and killed my sister and tried to destroy everything I cared about. My feet move automatically, one in front of the other, but I'm not really walking. I'm floating, disconnected from my body, watching all of this happen to someone else.
The corridor opens into the main factory floor, and the scene that greets us looks like something from a war zone. Bodies lie scattered across the concrete. Dimitri's men move efficiently through the space, checking the fallen, securing weapons, coordinating cleanup. The air smells like gunpowder and copper and death.
"Pakhan." Alexei limps toward us, his face pale but his eyes sharp. There's blood on his shoulder, fresh crimson seeping through a hastily applied bandage, but he's alive. He's moving. "Building is secure. We have three prisoners for interrogation. The rest…" He gestures at the bodies. "Minimal casualties on our side. Borge took a bullet to the leg, but he'll live."
Dimitri nods, his arm still tight around my waist. "Get the wounded to the doctor. Have the cleanup crew standing by. I want this place sanitized within the hour."
"Already on it." Alexei's gaze shifts to me, and I see something flicker in his expression. Concern, maybe. Or pity. "Is she…?"
"She's fine." Dimitri's voice is firm, brooking no argument. "She's in shock, but she's fine."
Am I? I don't feel fine. I don't feel anything at all.
We walk through the carnage, past men I recognize from the wedding, from the estate. They nod respectfully to Dimitri, their eyes sliding away from me. Do they know what I did? Can they see my father's blood on my hands, even though Dimitri took the gun?
The cool night air hits my face as we step outside, and I suck in a breath. The factory sits in an industrial area, surrounded by other abandoned buildings and empty lots. Dimitri's SUVs are parked in a semicircle, engines running, ready for a quick escape.
"Wait." My voice sounds strange, hollow. "Katya. I need to see Katya."
Dimitri stops, his hand tightening on my waist. "Alina…"
"I need to see my sister." The words come out stronger now, cutting through the fog. "I need to say goodbye. Please."
He studies my face for a long moment, and I see the war playing out behind his green eyes. The Pakhan who needs to move fast, to get me to safety, to handle the political fallout. And the man who just watched me kill my own father, who knows what I'm feeling even if I can't feel it myself.
The man wins.
"Alexei," he calls out. "Send a team to the Popov compound. Find Katya's body and bring it to the estate. Handle it with respect."
"Yes, Pakhan."
Dimitri helps me into the back of his SUV, sliding in beside me. The leather seats are cool against my skin, and I realize I'm shaking. Not from cold, but from something deeper. Something that's trying to claw its way to the surface through all that numbness.
The drive back to the estate passes in a blur. Dimitri makes calls, his voice low and controlled as he coordinates with his network. I catch fragments of conversation. Viktor Popov is dead. The alliance with the Kozlovs is broken. The other families are scrambling. War might be coming.
I should care about that. Should be worried about what happens next. But all I can think about is Katya. My baby sister. Sixteen years old with her whole life ahead of her. Dead because of me. Because I defied our father. Because I married Dimitri instead of staying where I belonged.
"Stop." Dimitri's hand covers mine, and I realize I've been digging my nails into my palms hard enough to draw blood. "This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it?" My voice cracks. "If I hadn't married you, if I'd just done what he wanted…"
"Then you'd be dead too." His fingers thread through mine, holding tight. "Viktor was always going to sacrifice you, Alina. The moment you became inconvenient, the moment you threatened his plans, you were expendable. Just like Katya. Just like your mother would have been if she'd ever stood up to him."
I know he's right. Logically, I know. But logic doesn't touch the guilt that's starting to seep through the numbness like poison.
The estate gates swing open, and we drive through into the familiar grounds. Home. Except it doesn't feel like home right now. It feels like another prison, another place where bad things happen.
Dimitri leads me inside, past his men who are already taking up defensive positions. The house is on high alert, every entrance guarded, every window monitored. Preparing for retaliation that might never come.
He takes me to his study instead of our bedroom. The room smells like leather and expensive vodka, masculine and safe. He pours me a drink, pressing the glass into my hands.
"Drink."
