The interior of the monastery is worse than the courtyard. Smoke hangs thickly in the air, making every breath burn.Debris litters the floor, forcing us to pick our way carefully through the rubble. The walls are cracked, chunks of stone falling periodically with crashes that make my heart jump.
Dimitri moves with the confidence of a man who's navigated worse situations. He keeps me close, one hand on my lower back, guiding me around obstacles. We pass through what was once a corridor lined with frescoes, now blackened and peeling. The faces of saints stare down at us through the smoke, their expressions seeming to judge the violence we've brought to this holy place.
I think about the baby growing inside me. About the tiny life that doesn't know yet about the world it's being born into. About whether I'm being reckless, following Dimitri into a collapsing building when I should be protecting our child.
But I also think about Katya, waiting at the estate. About the future we're trying to build. About all the women and children who will suffer if Mikhail escapes and continues his campaign of manipulation and revenge.
Some things are worth the risk.
We reach what was once the main chapel, and I stop breathing.
The space is massive, the vaulted ceiling soaring overhead. Or it was. Now half of it has collapsed, leaving a gaping hole through which I can see the night sky. Moonlight streams through the opening, illuminating the destruction. The altar at the far end is crumbling, ancient stone cracked and broken. And standing before it, silhouetted against the moonlight, is Mikhail Volkov.
He turns when he hears us enter, and even from this distance, I can see the blood staining his expensive suit. Dark patches spread across his chest and shoulder. He's been wounded,probably in the firefight outside. But he's still standing, still smiling that cold, calculating smile.
"Dimitri." His voice echoes in the ruined chapel, cultured and smooth despite his injuries. "I knew you'd come. You always were predictable."
Dimitri raises his weapon, the barrel pointed directly at Mikhail's chest. "It's over, Mikhail. Your men are dead or captured. The families will know the truth about your manipulation. You've lost."
Mikhail laughs, the sound bouncing off the crumbling walls. "Have I?" He spreads his arms wide, gesturing at the destruction around us. "Look at what I've accomplished. The Bratva families are at war. Your reputation is destroyed. The empire you built is crumbling. Even if you kill me, the damage is done."
I feel Dimitri tense beside me, see his finger tighten on the trigger. But something makes me reach out and touch his arm. Not pulling him back, just a gentle pressure. A reminder that we're in this together.
I step forward, my own weapon lowered but ready. "You're wrong."
Mikhail's cold blue eyes shift to me, and I see surprise flicker across his features. "Am I? Tell me, little bride, what am I wrong about?"
"Everything." I move closer, my boots crunching on broken stone. "You think you've destroyed the Bratva, but all you've done is expose its weaknesses. The old ways are dying, yes. But something new is being born."
"How poetic." His smile widens, but there's something brittle about it now. "And what, exactly, is being born?"
"A Bratva that doesn't sacrifice its children for power." I think about my father, about Sergei, about all the lives destroyed by men like Mikhail. "One that doesn't treat women as property to be traded. One that doesn't destroy itself from within because of pride and revenge."
Mikhail's expression darkens. "You're naive. The Bratva has survived for generations because of those traditions. Without them, it's nothing. Just another criminal organization that will be crushed by the authorities or consumed by rivals."
"Maybe." I stop about ten feet from him, close enough to see the pain in his eyes, the way he's favoring his wounded side. "Or maybe it will be something stronger. Something that can adapt and survive because it's not bound by outdated codes that serve no one."
For a moment, something flickers in Mikhail's eyes. Not quite doubt, but something close. Regret, perhaps. Or recognition that the world has changed while he was planning his revenge.
"You really believe that?" His voice is softer now, almost curious. "You think you can change centuries of tradition?"
"I think we have to try." I glance at Dimitri, seeing the pride in his green eyes. "For our children. For the next generation. So they don't have to grow up in a world where they're pawns in someone else's game."
Mikhail is quiet for a long moment, studying me with those calculating blue eyes. Then he laughs again, but this time it sounds hollow. "You're just like he was. Dimitri, I mean. When he was young, before the world taught him better. Full of idealsand hope." He touches his wounded chest, his hand coming away bloody. "I tried to teach him that hope is a weakness. That sentiment gets you killed. But he never quite learned that lesson, did he?"
"No," Dimitri says, his voice rough with emotion. "I learned something better. I learned that some things are worth fighting for. Worth dying for."
"Like her?" Mikhail's gaze moves between us. "Like this woman you've known for what, a few weeks? You're willing to throw away everything we built for her?"
"Yes." Dimitri's answer is immediate, absolute. "Without hesitation."
I feel tears prick my eyes at the certainty in his voice. This man who's spent decades building walls around his heart, who's survived by being ruthless and calculating, is choosing me. Choosing us. Choosing love over power.
Mikhail shakes his head slowly. "Then you've already lost, old friend. Because love makes you weak. It makes you vulnerable. It gives your enemies a target."
"Maybe," I say, drawing his attention back to me. "Or maybe it makes us stronger. Because we have something worth protecting. Something worth building."
Above us, the ceiling groans ominously. Dust and small stones rain down, pattering against the floor like deadly rain. The entire structure is unstable, ready to collapse at any moment.
