Peter nods toward me. “Sasha told me.”
Ruth flicks her eyes from him to me. It’s finally dawning on her that she’s exactly where she doesn’t want to be. Her plan had been to reignite the war. But all she managed to do was unite us against her.
I shift my weight, looking for an angle, any angle. Bogdan’s hand hovers near my arm, ready to pull me out of harm’s way if Ruth decides she wants to go down shooting.
Peter takes a step forward. Guns raise in his direction from the Irishmen, Peter’s men raise their own weapons in return. One stupid move fromanyone,and we’re all dead.
“Let. Her. Go.” Peter says.
“We don’t have to do this, Peter!” Ruth shouts. “Together, we kill Sasha and take over! It’s simple! We can do this cleanly—together.”
She’s raving now, completely out of options. It’s the classic case of a cornered animal—you must be careful or risk getting bitten.
“Ruth,” I say, “you’re surrounded. Your men are outnumbered. Walk away while you still can.”
Her eyes flash again, a storm in them. “You think I give a shit about walking away, Orlov?” She digs the barrel into Gabriella’s side. My hand tightens on my gun until my knuckles ache. “I came here for blood. And that’s what I’m going to get.”
My pulse drums in my ears. I line up the shot in my mind over and over—shift left, one inch above her heart, or the shoulder to knock her off balance. All of it ends with a risk to Gabriella—a chance I can’t live with.
But Peter has a clearer shot.
“You harm one hair on her head, and I’ll flay you alive.”
She cocks her gun. Gabriella sucks in a breath.
Time slows.
Peter moves. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t warn. He just raises his gun and fires.
The shot is clean. Brutal. Final.
Ruth’s body jerks. A red bloom spreads across her chest. She turns, facing me. She looks surprised. The gun slips from her hand. She falls to her knees, then into a heap.
The man next to her hesitates. Then he raises his weapon.
Time to end this.
“Gabriella, down!”
She drops.
My men open fire, aiming carefully not to hit Peter’s men. The remaining Irishmen fall before any of them can get a single shotoff.
I signal one more time, and the gunfire stops just as quickly as it started. Peter lowers his gun, and we face each other from opposite sides of the warehouse. Gabriella regards me with wide eyes, waiting for me to tell her what to do. I hold my palm parallel to the ground and lower it. She gets the message: Stay down.
“We are not finished,” Peter says.
I keep my weapon up, my eyes never leaving Gabriella. “No, we’re not.”
“I should kill you where you stand, Sasha,” he says. “You kept her from me. You let me hunt my own blood. Your father hid Louisa. You have much to answer for.”
His voice breaks on Louisa’s name. He’s not just angry. Peter is grieving his love and lashing out at the only man left to blame.
“My daughter,” he says. “All these years you and your father stole from me. I’llneverget them back.”
“Peter,” I say, “we can hash this out later. But now is not the time, not with guns.”
Guns. They remain drawn on both sides. This isn’t over yet. It could be if Peter wanted it to be.
