Peter just stares, the hurt on his face plain. “You were leaving?”
“Yes.” I stand straighter, no longer afraid. “Because of this, the killing, the revenge, the power games, they never end. And I’m not raising children in the middle of it. I won’t.”
Then I say it. “But I love Sasha.”
Peter inhales sharply, like he’s physically struck by the words.
My eyes sting with tears. “I love him, and he loves me. We’re having a baby. Two, actually. And they deserve better than this blood-soaked bullshit you’ve both been drowning in. I deserve better. We all deserve better.”
Peter stares for a moment, then violently shakes his head once. “He kept you from me. He lied to me.”
“He protected me,” I shoot right back. “From you. From this. And maybe he went too far. But you were the one who tried to kill me!”
“No!” he shouts. “No.” He pauses, staring at the floor in front of him. “I… tried to kill my own daughter. My grandchildren.” He sounds like he’s moments from dropping to his knees. “No.”
“You want to be angry, fine. But don’t pretend you didn’t play your role in this.”
Silence hangs. Peter says nothing, staring forward. Reality is settling on him, that if not for luck, he would’ve been responsible for the murder of his family. And there’s nothing to do but come to terms with that.
Before anyone has a chance to say another word, the warehouse doors slam open. Johan bursts through like a fist, flanked by more armed men. His eyes blaze as he strides without fear into the no-man’s land between Peter and Sasha.
At first, he doesn’t speak. He scans the scene, assessing, looking over the bodies. “Enough,” he says finally. “Both of you—enough.”
His gaze sweeps from Sasha to Peter. The three men lock eyes, the tension in the room somehow managing to ratchet up even higher. He cranes his neck, spotting Ruth’s body.
“Looks like I missed one hell of a party.”
“This isn’t your concern, Johan,” Peter says. “This room doesn’t need any more guns.”
“You’re right about that. But you’re wrong about the first part. Thisdoesconcern me.” He sweeps his arm. “My father, mysister, and the father of my nieces or nephews. There isn’t a situation on this earth that concerns me more than this.”
That silences Peter. Sasha says nothing, those dark, narrowed eyes locked onto Johan. He’s observing, not reacting.
Johan gestures to me. “Father, look at her. She’s terrified. And she’s your blood, pregnant with your grandchildren.” The wordgrandchildrenhangs heavy. “Are you really going to keep this war going, knowing it’ll end in you tearing apart what’s left of this family?”
Peter’s lips tremble.
Johan steps closer to him. “Don’t choose ego over this. It can all end now. We can finally have peace. Just say the word. Please.”
Sasha shifts, watching like he’s still ready to kill if he has to.
Peter’s hand trembles around the gun. Then his gaze drifts to me again.
“Please,” I echo. “End this. Give us a chance to be a family”
The gun lowers. He drops it, the weapon landing on the warehouse floor with a clatter. Peter wipes a hand over his face, smearing the sweat sheening his brow.
“Peace,” he says. His voice is hoarse, raw. “We’ll broker a peace. No more war. No more secrets.”
The air shifts in the space, just enough.
Sasha holsters his gun, rushing forward and taking my wrists. He doesn’t speak, just looks me over to make sure I’m unharmed. When he’s satisfied, he pulls me into him, pressing his forehead against mine, breathing me in like oxygen.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peter sink onto a crate, rubbing his temples, as if he’s still in disbelief over what just happened, whatnearlyhappened. Johan’s close. He’s not forgiving but not accusing either. In that moment, he’s a son by his father’s side.
No one knows what comes next. But at least for now, the guns are quiet.
CHAPTER 45
