I enter the panic room at full speed, taking in the scene in fragments—Irina on the floor, blood pooling beneath her.Tatiana standing over her, gun still smoking. My children huddled against the far wall, Bella’s body shielding them.
Tatiana’s head snaps up, her eyes widening as she registers my presence. Her gun swings toward me, but I’m already moving, already firing.
My first shot catches her in the shoulder, spinning her around. Not fatal—I want answers first.
“Konstantin!” My father’s voice, strained but strong.
“Get down!” I shout, diving for cover as Tatiana’s men open fire.
The room erupts into a firefight, bullets ricocheting off reinforced walls. I catch glimpses of Bella herding the children behind the heavy metal desk, of Julian pulling Lila to safety, of Elena—surprisingly—firing back with deadly accuracy.
“Mikhail’s in the east wing,” Arseny’s voice crackles in my ear. “Moving toward the vehicle bay.”
“Cut him off,” I order, dropping a guard with a clean headshot. “Don’t let him leave this mountain.”
Through the commotion, I spot my mother—Yelena, always composed, always controlled—working her hands free from what appear to be zip ties. Her face is a mask of cold fury I’ve rarely seen.
Tatiana is backing toward a side door, clutching her bleeding shoulder, barking orders at her remaining men. Her eyes meet mine across the room, hatred blazing in them.
“This isn’t over, Konstantin,” she spits. “I’m still—”
Whatever she’s still about to claim dies in her throat as a thin wire loops around her neck from behind. Yelena stands behind her, expression unchanged as she pulls the garrote tighter.
“Twenty-five years,” my mother says, her voice eerily calm as Tatiana claws at the wire cutting into her throat. “Twenty-five years I watched you try to destroy my family. It ends now.”
There’s a wet, decisive snap as Yelena twists the wire with surprising strength. Tatiana’s body goes limp, falling to the floor like a discarded doll. My mother stands over her, adjusting her pearl earrings as if she’s just finished arranging flowers.
“Always hated that woman,” she says simply, stepping over the body.
I turn my attention to securing the room, eliminating the remaining threats with mechanical precision. When the last of Tatiana’s men fall, I signal to Arseny.
“Status on Mikhail?”
“Cornered in the vehicle bay,” he replies. “He’s asking to negotiate.”
“On my way,” I say, then turn to assess the situation in the panic room.
Oleg and Viktor are freeing my father from his restraints. Julian and Elena are checking on Lila, who appears shaken but unharmed. And Bella—
“Nikolai, no!” Bella’s voice cuts through the aftermath, sharp with panic.
I turn to see my son breaking away from his siblings, running toward Irina’s fallen form. Blood has spread in a wide pool around her body, but somehow, impossibly, she’s still alive—one hand reaching weakly toward my son.
“Nikolai, please,” she gasps, blood bubbling at her lips. “I didn’t mean—”
Movement catches my eye—one of Tatiana’s wounded men, propped against the wall, raising his weapon with trembling hands. His target: my son.
I fire without hesitation, the bullet piercing his skull before his finger can complete its squeeze on the trigger. The man slumps lifeless against the wall, weapon clattering to the floor.
In the same instant, Bella throws herself between Nikolai and Irina, her body a human shield. She reaches for my son,pulling him back from his wounded mother, her eyes wild with protective fury.
“It’s okay,” she tells him, her voice gentle despite the insanity around them. “It’s okay, Nikolai.”
She turns to me, relief flooding her face as she sees the threat neutralized. Then, without warning, her eyes roll back. Her knees buckle, body swaying.
I cross the room in three strides, catching her as she collapses. Her weight falls against me, her head lolling against my chest. No blood, no wound—just the aftermath of terror, adrenaline, and exhaustion claiming its due.
“Bella,” I say, lowering us both to the floor, cradling her against me. “Bella, stay with me.”
