And everything happens at once.
Dimitri's men emerge from the shadows like avenging angels, weapons raised. Gunfire erupts, the sound deafening in the night. The Kozlov soldiers scatter, some returning fire, others diving for cover.
I press myself against the side of a small maintenance building, my hands over my ears. The firefight is brief but intense. Dimitri's men move with deadly precision, taking down the Kozlov soldiers with controlled bursts. I catch glimpses of Dimitri himself, his movements fluid and efficient as he advances toward the hangar.
Through the chaos, I see movement near the jet. Two men are dragging someone up the stairs. Someone small, with dark hair whipping in the wind from the engines.
Katya.
My sister is fighting them, her movements desperate and uncoordinated. One of the men hits her, and even from this distance, I see her head snap to the side.
Something inside me breaks.
I don't remember making the decision to move. Don't remember my feet carrying me across the tarmac. One moment, I'm pressed against the building, and the next I'm running toward the jet, my legs pumping, my lungs burning.
"Katya!" Her name tears from my throat, barely audible over the gunfire and engines.
But she hears me. Her head whips around, her eyes finding mine across the distance. Even in the harsh security lights, I can see the hope that flares in her face.
"Alina!" She screams my name, renewing her struggles against the men holding her.
I'm halfway to the jet when I hear Dimitri's voice, roaring my name. I don't stop. Can't stop. Katya is right there, so close I can almost touch her.
The Kozlov soldiers see me coming. One of them shouts something in Russian, and suddenly, they're dragging Katya back down the stairs, using her as a shield. The other pulls a knife, the blade glinting in the light.
I skid to a stop about ten feet away, my chest heaving. Up close, I can see the terror in Katya's eyes, the bruises on her face, the way her hands are bound in front of her. She's wearing the same clothes from the security footage, now torn and dirty.
"Katya," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's okay. I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."
"Alina, I'm so scared." Her voice breaks on a sob. "Papa said you were dead. He said you abandoned us."
The lie makes rage burn hot in my chest, but I force it down. "I'm not dead. I'm right here. And I'm going to get you out of this."
The man holding the knife laughs, a harsh sound. He's young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of desperation in his eyes that makes people dangerous. "You're not getting anyone out of anything. Back away, or I cut her throat right here."
He presses the blade against Katya's neck, and I see a thin line of blood appear. Katya whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut.
"Please." I hold up my hands, showing I'm unarmed. "Please don't hurt her. She's just a kid. She has nothing to do with any of this."
"She's leverage." The second man speaks now, older, with cold eyes that remind me of my father. "And you just made yourself leverage too. Morozov's wife, walking right into our hands."
Behind me, I hear running footsteps. Dimitri and his men, closing in. But they're too far away. If the Kozlov soldier decides to kill Katya, if his hand slips or his nerve breaks, she'll be dead before anyone can stop him.
The knife presses harder against her throat, and more blood wells up, trickling down her pale skin. Katya's eyes find mine, wide and terrified and so young.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry, Alina."
"Don't apologize." My voice cracks. "This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."
The man with the knife looks past me, seeing Dimitri's approach. His hand tightens on the blade, and I see the decision forming in his eyes. The calculation. If he's going to die anyway, he might as well take something valuable with him.
28
DIMITRI
My heart stops the moment I see Alina break from cover.
She's running across the tarmac toward the jet, her dark hair whipping behind her in the wind from the engines, and every protective instinct I've spent forty-two years honing screams at me to stop her. To grab her. To throw her back behind the maintenance building where she'll be safe.
