Page 168 of The Bratva King

A gunshot cracks through the chaos, and the guard near my door drops out of sight.

The rear passenger door is wrenched open. Hands grab me, yanking me from the vehicle. Cold metal presses against my temple.

“Don’t move.”

Matteo.

Every part of me goes still.

I never thought I’d hear that voice again. Part of me didn’t believe he was actually alive.

And now, I know.

Another man drags Lila from the car at the same time. She fights, kicking and clawing, but he’s too strong. The guard on her side is down beside the SUV.

“Gabriella.” Matteo’s voice is just as I remember. Smooth. Controlled. Terrifying.

His free hand closes around my throat, dragging me back hard against his chest.

"I've been watching you," he says. "Imagine my surprise when I pulled up just now to take my son home, and find my wife sitting here." He laughs humorlessly. "The charge was not meant for you. It was just insurance, in case someone came looking before I was ready. A distraction to pull them away from the building. But this works, too."

He set the explosion. He saw me and used it. Nik will never forgive himself. I can’t let Matteo get what he came for.

“Fuck you.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” He pushes the gun harder against my head. “I have been looking. Waiting. And here you are. You came to me.”

“I came for my son!”

I can hear Lila fighting, shouting, and cursing.

I can’t breathe. His arm locks tighter around my throat, and the gun digs into my skull.

“Where’s my son?” I choke out the words.

“Our son.” He laughs. “Looks just like me. A bit strange, but I’ll fix that.”

Rage floods through me, burning away the fear.

Then, everything happens at once.

I drop my weight suddenly, throwing him off-balance. His grip loosens just enough. I grab his wrist in both hands, twisting hard. The gun shifts away from my head.

He tries to get his arm back around my neck. Grabs a fistful of my hair and tries to slam my head against the SUV. I push out just in time and kick my leg back.

I fight like I never have before. For Luke. For myself. For every time this man has hurt me. He’s trying to shoot me. I understand this is my life or his death. I reach for the cold metal. I kick. Slap.

The barrel presses against my cheek. I jerk my head to the left and slip my finger over his on the trigger. I pull away as much as I can, but his arm is a vise around my waist.

I wiggle my finger, forcing every ounce of strength I have into the tip. I squeeze, praying he doesn’t shift the barrel at the last second.

POP!

The shot goes wide.

The sound is deafening. I feel the heat of it, and the percussion. My ear feels like someone jabbed a screwdriver through it.

And then I’m falling.