He commands,Half of you, go back and search. You—start shooting the crates.
I’ve barely opened my mouth. Gunfire sends wood splintering everywhere.
I crawl across the crate until I find him. I drop down on him. The impact makes him buckle. I roll, launching into a crouch. Leonid is shooting, covering me from the top. He isn’t just taking them out. He aims at crates, too—and the thrown debris keeps any of them from getting a clear line on me.
That’s how Yuris fucking do it.
I relish in the divine dance of chaos…
Until there’s a misstep.
There are too many of them. They find Leonid and shoot upward. Every gun is aimed at the crate he’s atop. He has no choice. The perch fragments beneath his very feet.
He has no choice but to jump.
Fuck.Fuck, fuck.
I hear the pop of his ankle from two feet away. Pain crumbles his features. He still forces himself upright, his gun still going off. Fine with whatever target it finds.
My need to protect my family burns through the thrill. Adrenaline crystallizes within me until I am as cold as my blade.
I tear through the Genovese. I haul my brother up and take his weight.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We’re a three-legged beast. I keep him upright with an arm, still shooting from the hand. My knife is out, slashing through whoever dares to come close.
“You’re a fucking maniac,” he groans, shooting with both hands.
“Amen,” I drawl.
We burst into the night.
The car is half a block away. With shots going off behind us and any cover hard-won, it may as well be miles away.
But we make it.
We always fucking make it.
***
My pulse has simmered by the time I get him back to the penthouse.
It took longer than we would’ve liked—but we had to lose the Genovese. I couldn’t stand the thought of them finding the penthouse.
Leonid’s putting on a brave face. I can tell he’s in pain. The arm slung around my shoulder ends in a white-knuckled fist. “Almost there,” I promise, navigating us to the couch.
The instant he drops down, despite his agonized moan, relief spreads across his face.
I turn, pulling out my phone to call Oksana. But—
“Iosif?” Janella’s voice sounds from down the hall.
And then there she is.
I freeze.
She’s changed out of her earlier clothes, switching out from that tight sweater and trousers that cupped her ass deliciously to a huge fuzzy sweater and tights. Her hair falls around her face in soft curls. She looks cozy.
