We move toward the staircase. One of my men throws smoke into the right corridor, cutting off the shooters near the library. Another team enters from the west side almost at the same time, and for a few seconds the house becomes pure confusion. Men firing through smoke. Shadows moving behind doorframes. Boots on marble. Bodies hitting the floor.
Then a voice cuts through it.
“Enough.”
The gunfire doesn’t stop immediately. It breaks apart slowly, like no one wants to be the first man to lower his weapon.
Kirill Volkov stands at the top of the staircase.
My father.
He wears a dark suit, no tie, white hair pushed back from his face. There’s a gun in his hand, but he holds it lowered at his side.
Behind him, several of his men remain armed.
Behind them, half-hidden near the corridor, I see Dmitri. His face is bruised. One eye dark. Mouth swollen from my fist. Still handsome enough to hate. Still alive enough to kill.
His eyes find mine. For the first time, I see fear in them.
It’s not enough.
Kirill looks down at the hall, at the dead and wounded men scattered across his marble floor, then at me. “You always did enjoy making entrances,” he says.
My gun stays in my hand. “You should have given Dmitri to me.”
“You should have learned patience.”
“She was my wife.”
“Was?” He cocks his head.
“Don’t pretend as if you don’t know.”
His face shuts down. “I don’t know what games you’re playing, but I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Alexei says my name under his breath, but I barely hear him.
Kirill sees the hit land and doesn’t smile. That’s the worst of him. He doesn’t need obvious cruelty. He prefers clean cuts.
“She’s dead,” I yell, “because of your son.”
For a second, I think that my father has an iota of sympathy left for me.
“You brought this on yourself,” he says, proving me wrong once again. “You made one girl into the center of your pride.”
My finger settles on the trigger.
Then Dmitri fires.
Not at my men.
Not in panic.
At me.
The shot hits my left side, high along the ribs, more burn than impact at first. For one second, my body doesn’t understand it. Then pain opens, hot and sharp, and I stagger back half a step.
Alexei fires immediately. Dmitri jerks behind the wall, swearing. My men surge forward.
