“Vera.” His hand tightens on my shoulder. “Look at me.”
I can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in short, shallow gasps, fighting with everything I have to keep control.
“She doesn’t look well,” someone says. My uncle, I think.
“Should we call a break?” Konstantin suggests.
“No,” Dimitri says sharply. “We’re fine. Just give her a moment?—”
Then everything happens at once.
The window explodes.
Glass shatters inward with a sound like the world breaking apart. Someone screams. Then gunfire—rapid, deafening, so loud it drowns out every other sound.
Bullets tear through the walls and the air where my head was just moments ago. The conference table splinters. Someone else screams. Chaos erupts as everyone dives for cover.
I freeze. My mind goes completely blank, unable to process what’s happening. This isn’t real. Thiscan’tbe real. This doesn’t happen at peace meetings, this doesn’t?—
Dimitri moves.
He grabs me so hard it knocks the wind out of me, practically throwing me to the ground. My knees slam into the floor, pain exploding through my legs, but I don’t have time to register it before he’s on top of me, covering my entire body with his, one hand pressing my head down, the other arm wrapped around my middle.
His weight crushes me against the floor. I can’t breathe, move, or see anything except the industrial carpet inches from my face. More gunfire. More screaming. The smell of gunpowder burns my nose.
“Stay down,” Dimitri growls in my ear, his voice rough with fear. Actual fear. “Don’t move. Don’tfuckingmove.”
I can feel his heart pounding against my back, racing so fast it feels like it might burst. His breath is harsh in my hair, coming in sharp gasps. His body is tensed over mine like a shield, protecting me from the bullets that keep coming.
He’s terrified.
The man who never shows fear, who maintains control no matter what, is terrified. I can feel it in the way he’s holding me and the ragged edge to his breathing.
“Dimitri—” I try to say, but he cuts me off.
“Shut up. Just shut up and stay still.”
More gunfire. Someone’s shouting orders—Konstantin, maybe, or Roman. I hear my father’s panicked voice, calling for his men. The sounds blur together into a nightmare of violence and terror.
Then Dimitri is moving, hauling me up with bruising force. “Come on. Now.”
He half-drags, half-carries me across the room. I glimpse bodies on the floor (guards, I think, I can’t tell, there’s so much blood) and then we’re through a door I didn’t know was there.
A panic room. Reinforced walls, no windows, a heavy door that Dimitri slams shut behind us with a clang that echoes like a tomb sealing.
The gunfire is muffled now, distant. We’re alone in this small, dark space. Emergency lights cast everything in a sickly red glow.
I collapse against the wall, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. My ears are ringing. I can taste blood—I bit my tongue at some point, but didn’t even notice. My dress is torn at the knee from hitting the floor.
Dimitri leans against the door, breathing hard. His suit jacket is shredded on one side. And there’s blood.
“You’re bleeding,” I gasp, pointing at his arm.
He glances down like he’s just noticing. “It’s nothing. It barely grazed me.”
“You were shot,” I protest.
“I said it’s nothing.” He presses his hand against the wound. “We need to stay here until it’s clear.”
