Stolen By The Bratva King (NYC Russian Royals #2)

Chapter 58

58

Leon

T he two halves of me are at war.

On one side stands the man who knows what he’s losing. The husband who loves his wife.

That man wants to beg, claw, scream, debase himself, anything to make this stop. My soul on a platter, even, served up to The Devil like a fucking hors d’oeuvre if it meant I could have a future with the woman who dug my heart from beneath a landslide of pain and nursed it back to health.

On the other side is the bratva boss, the coldly pragmatic creature who knows exactly how this will play out.

Movies lie; in a situation like this, both parties are gonna eat lead, and beyond that, you can only hope Lady Luck gives you the glad eye.

Reggiani can take a good headshot when he wants to; he shot my father in the face from twice the distance, so I’m betting I’ll get the same treatment.

No point beating around the bush.

“I should have killed you thirty-four years ago,” Reggiani says.

“And I thought I’d killed you .” I shrug. “So it’s about as fair as it gets. Anything to say before we do this?”

“Actually, yes.” Reggiani arches a brow. “I’m surprised and impressed to see how far you went. Your parents are no doubt rolling in their graves to know what a lawless bastard you became.”

My grip tightens on my gun. “This city is safer under me than it was during the bad times. And you, a so-called mafia Don, brought everyone low by not only murdering innocent people but seeding suspicion and paranoia. Who would have guessed that the great Bernio Reggiani was a filthy snitch?”

“You think I should be ashamed?” Reggiani laughs. “Think again, piccolo stronzo .”

“And Dante?” I ask. “You made him believe he was meant for something, but he didn’t have a prayer. Did you really sit in some olive grove in Italy, dreaming of the day when your weasel of a son would be the second coming of the Reggianis?”

His nostrils flare; I’m getting to him.

Good. It’s all I have left; a chance to stick him where it hurts.

“I wish you’d been my son,” Reggiani says ruefully. “It kills me to say that, but no one else will ever hear it, so I may as well speak it aloud.”

“I don’t blame you, but I would rather be six feet under.”

“Good job that’s where we’re both headed, then.”

We’re playing now, trading insults and stalling the inevitable. He and I both know we’re dead men.

Emery is gloriously, vitally alive. My fears were never about myself; I wanted to know she would be safe. Anything else was a bonus; if my life was forfeit, that was no big ask. I never wanted to live without her.

I didn’t anticipate how bad it would feel to know she would have to live without me.

She will grieve, cry, wring her hands, and hurt like never before. Perhaps she won’t eat, fading away as her broken heart starves her body and soul.

Will she remember who she is, for my sake?

I always thought it was your own life that’s meant to flash before your eyes before you die, but all I see is Emery.

I take a step closer to Reggiani, willing him to pull the trigger so I can do the same. We will spin off into eternity simultaneously and, more than likely, end up in the same fucking place.

I want to live.

For her, for me. Even in these final moments, I’m clutching at straws, desperate for anything I can?—

A tinkling sound focuses my attention, and I realize my foot caught half a broken bottle on the floor.

If I can dissuade Reggiani from shooting me in the face, I may survive. But I will only have one opportunity to distract him, and even then, it’s dicey.

Emery’s face flickers in my mind like an old movie reel, and I’m ready.

A sliver of a chance is better than none. Go.

I hook my toe firmly into the broken bottle and fling my leg in front of me, sending the sharp glass missile straight at Reggiani’s head. His eyes see it happen, but his reaction time isn’t quick enough.

The bottle smashes into his face, and I hurl myself to the ground. Reggiani’s gun flares as I fall, but I’m firing too, and the combined sound of the gunshots sets off a high-pitched scream in my head.

The left side of my chest erupts in agony, and I roll away, landing on my back as a strong gust of wind hits me.

Someone is coming into the lodge.

It could be a dying dream, but if it is, it’s beautiful. Emery is leaning over me, and although I can’t hear her, her lips move, and I understand.

“Don’t go, Leon,” she’s saying. “Stay with me.”