Ivan screamed again. A long drawn-out howl of pain as he stumbled back down to the ground from weak, shaking knees. He writhed around, blood pouring from him. Yet still his eyes gleamed with rage and vengeance.
“As long… as I’m alive,” he breathed out shakily, “she’s mine. I’ll find a way… to make her pay. One phone call… one call,” he took a breath, blood pulsing from his wounds, “and you won’t even find her body, Bratva Prince. I have more allies than you will ever know.” His words were almost a whisper at the end, his eyelids fluttering against the pain.
Alexander took a deep breath and then sighed. “It would be better to keep you alive so we can find those you are linked to in your traitorous ways, Ivan, but if you’re determined to die…”
He lifted the gun higher.
Took aim.
And placed a bullet in Ivan’s forehead.
I gasped, my hand flying to cover up the sound as it slipped from between my shocked lips. My emotions were released again, and a strange feeling washed over me. I slumped in exhaustion, my body going limp and the gun in my hand hitting the floor with a soft thud. Peace and disbelief.
Ivan was dead.
Ivan was dead!
Alexander was alive.And so was I.
Without warning, my overtired body was racked with great, heaving, unstoppable sobs. I curled against the softness beneath me, my mother’s pin snagging on the edge of the large area rug. This moment couldn’t be real, it was all a dream. I had to cry to grieve, to rid myself of the pain that what had just happened was all in my head. Because how could I actually be free? How could I no longer be strapped to an abusive husband, an orphan surviving in a world of bloodshed?
It wasn’t real.
Alexander didn’t win.
I shut my eyes against the pain.It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
“Marisha?” A voice I recognized, a voice that made my heart leap, said my name softly. But I couldn’t make myself open my eyes and see his face. I feared that if I did, he wouldn’t be there. The sound of him was only a figment of my broken imagination. A construct of the hope I still held, the hope I needed to abandon because if Ivan was the victor, then I was as good as dead.
“Marisha?” His voice spoke again. My name, my name on his lips was the only thing I needed to die happily.
When I didn’t move, didn’t respond, strong arms scooped me up and cradled me against a damp, chiseled chest.
“It’s okay,” his voice crooned, hugging me gently. “It’s over.”
I still didn’t believe it, even as I began to sway as he carried me out of the study, into the hallway, and out of this cursed house. I didn’t accept the beautiful truth, even as the smell of flowers and the feel of fresh night air against my skin urged me to open my eyes and see the truth.
It wasn’t until he set me down against the cool grass and I heard other voices nearby that I blinked slowly, inviting moonlight and starlight into my eyes.
Alexander was stood very close to me, talking with his father and half a dozen other men. Decatur, the sight of him sending a thrill of fear through me, came to stand next to Alexander and add his own voice to the conversation.
I caught snippets of what they were saying.
“He was never going to honor the deal…” Alexander.
“I have recordings made tonight that prove…” Decatur.
“Clean it up, we’ll deal with the rest at home.” Eduard Vasiliev.
I closed my eyes, sinking into the ground beneath me, and I let exhaustion take me as the adrenaline bled away.
Chapter Twenty-three
Alexander
Marisha was still sleeping. Her face was nestled against the soft goose down feathers in my pillow, her red hair splayed across the white material like a fan. I hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d fallen asleep; how could I? She was finally mine. God, she was an angel.
She stirred, her bruised mouth pursing as she remembered the night in her dreams, and I reached out to stroke her cheek. A sad attempt to soothe the nightmares away.
