"It's not naive to care about someone." My voice is barely a whisper. "It's not naive to want to save someone you—someone you—" I can't finish the sentence. But I don't have to.
"Liesl, step aside." My father's voice has gone cold, the voice he uses when he's done negotiating and ready to close the deal. "This doesn't concern you anymore."
"It concerns me more than anyone!" I move to stand directly between my father and Andrei. "If you want to kill him, you'll have to go through me."
"Don't be dramatic." He reaches for me, trying to pull me aside. "You're upset. You're not thinking clearly. Once this is over?—"
"Once this is over, I'll never forgive you." I jerk away from his touch. "If you do this, if you kill him, you lose me. Forever. Do you understand? You'll never see me again. I'll disappear and you'll spend the rest of your life wondering if I'm alive or dead."
Something flickers in his eyes. Pain, maybe, or regret—but it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold determination.
"I don't want to lose you, Liesl. You're my daughter. My only child." He pulls a gun from inside his jacket, and my entire world narrows, my blood running cold. "But I won't let you get in the way of everything I've built. Everything I've worked for. If I have to choose between you and my empire?—"
He raises the gun and points it at Andrei.
"Then I choose my empire."
Time slows down. I see my father's finger tighten on the trigger. See Andrei reaching for his own weapon. See Volkov's men raising their guns.
And I make a choice.
I throw myself in front of Andrei.
The movement is instinctive and thoughtless. I don't consider the consequences or the danger or the fact that I'm putting myself directly in the line of fire. I just move, my body acting before my brain can catch up.
"No!" Andrei's arm comes around my waist, trying to pull me back. "Liesl, what are you?—"
"I won't let you kill him!" I scream at my father. "If you want to shoot him, you'll have to shoot me first!"
My father's face goes white. The gun wavers. "Liesl, move. Now."
"No."
"Liesl, I'm warning you?—"
"I don't care!" Tears are streaming down my face, my whole body shaking with fear and adrenaline and desperate determination. "I don't care if you shoot me. I don't care if I die. I'm not moving."
"You're being irrational." His voice is strained, and I can see his hand shaking slightly. "You're suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. You don't actually love him. You're just?—"
"I know exactly what I feel." I take a step forward, and Andrei's grip on my waist tightens. "And I know that if you pull that trigger, you'll have to live with killing your own daughter. Is your empire worth that? Is your alliance with Volkov worth murdering me?"
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Father and daughter, two people who used to love each other, now standing on opposite sides of a war. "Please," I whisper. "Please, Dad. Don't do this."
His jaw clenches. His finger moves on the trigger. And then everything happens at once.
Andrei shoves me aside with enough force to send me sprawling. A gunshot cracks through the air. My father staggers backward, blood blooming across his shoulder.
Andrei's gun is smoking.
"You shot him," I gasp. "You?—"
"He was going to kill you." Andrei's voice is hard as iron. "He made his choice."
Volkov roars something in Russian, and his men raise their weapons.
And the world explodes into violence.
Gunfire erupts from every direction. Andrei's men return fire from behind the vehicles. Volkov's men advance, using the SUVs as cover. The sound is deafening—crack after crack after crack, the sharp reports echoing off the cabin walls.
