♛Chapter Thirty Five♛
Lola
If Mikhail hadn’t witnessed the abomination downstairs with me, I would’ve thought I was hallucinating.
The big bad Bratva boss, hand-feeding collateral?
When I reach the top of these way-too-long stairs, I barge into Ayla’s room without knocking.
She’s too skittish to answer anyway. Ayla whips around like she’s ready to scream bloody murder. Her lips part, chest rising fast.
“Roman, leave—” she starts. But the name dies in her throat when she sees me.
“Sorry,” she mutters quickly.
“Does he do that a lot?” I ask, blunt.
“Do what?”
“Barge in like that,” I clarify, jerking my chin toward the door.
Her face turns crimson. “Yes,” she says softly, eyes on the floor.
Huh.
I wonder if there’s more to that answer. Are they sleeping together?
I don’t ask. She’d combust from embarrassment if I did. I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “You okay?”
She nods, then adds quickly, “Thank you. For that day. Someone left clean clothes and food.”
I nod once.
Ayla hesitates before stepping a little closer. “Did you... did you figure out what they’re going to do with me?”
I shrug. “They didn’t tell me shit.”
She sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. “How long are they keeping me?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether or not Roman gets bored of scaring the shit out of you and your family.”
“That... might take a while.”
I stand, stretch, and head for the door. “Thanks for the chat,” I say casually. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
Right before the door shuts, I toss one last glance over my shoulder. “Oh,” I say loudly, tapping my back pocket. “Shit. I wonder where I left my phone.”
Except I don’t go back in, even though I know it’s on the bedside table.
I want to test her. Will she pick it up?
Who would she call? What would she say? I close the door behind me and press my ear to it.
The hallway stays silent, but I can feel the tension radiating through the walls. I wait. Seconds tick by.
The bed creaks. She must’ve picked it up.
“Baba?” Her voice is small. But there’s a spark of hope buried underneath.
“Baba, I’m okay… I think. I don’t know. They’re not telling me anything.”
A pause.
“What do you mean stay calm? Baba, what are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”
Soft footsteps move across the rug. She’s pacing. My ear stays to the door. “Don’t do anything,” she whispers. “Please, Baba, you know we are no match for them.”
I’m glad I left her my phone. Because I can tell by spying on her now, it was the right call. Her baba’s definitely planning something, and it doesn’t sound good. I’ll wait till she hangs up. Then I’m telling the Bratva.
“What do you mean hide? From what? I just want to come home. Please, I’m scared. I want my mother. I want Emir. Please don’t hurt anyone. Just talk to them. Maybe it’s not too late. Baba, no. Don’t do this. Please.”
Pop.
Pop-pop.
Gunshots.
Ayla screams. I’m already moving. I throw the door open just in time to see her drop my phone. Her hands are shaking, pressed to her ears. Her eyes meet mine, huge and soaked with fear. I want to fucking choke her.
Her fucking family is putting my Mikhail in the line of fire. A bullet sings past us, shattering the vase on the nightstand. Ayla shrieks and dives for under the bed. Not a chance. I lunge, grab a fistful of her hair, and drag her back hard.
“You don’t get to hide,” I growl into her ear. “Not when your father just made my man a fucking target.”
She gasps in pain, trying to fight, but she’s too slow.
Too small. If I have to use her as a human shield to get to Mikhail alive, I will.
I promised him nothing would happen to me, and I never break my promises.
Especially not to him. We hit the stairs.
She stumbles behind me, crying now, trying to keep up. My grip never loosens.
“Lola! Stay upstairs!” Mikhail bellows.
No, Misha. Where you go, I go.
I see him below, crouched behind the overturned couch, gun aimed at the window.
Blood trickles at his temple. Fire burns in his eyes.
Roman’s beside him, barking orders. Sergei’s half-hidden behind the piano, reloading.
Even the maid crouches low, pistol in her shaking hands.
The Bratva is under siege. Because of her .
I duck behind the banister. Bullets fly. Glass explodes. Furniture splinters. I spot Mikhail’s backup piece still sitting on the dining table.
I shove Ayla forward. “Move.”
We sprint across the open space like hell is right behind us. A bullet catches the edge of a dining chair, spinning it. Another grazes Ayla’s arm—she yelps. I grab the gun, yank her by the collar, and slam the cold barrel against her temple.
She gasps, still crying. I step into the open, just far enough to make sure they’ll see me. Whoever’s shooting is watching.
“You listening, you fucks?” I scream.
Gunfire slows.
“I swear to god, one more bullet and her brains paint this wall.”
“L-Lola, please—”
“Shut up,” I hiss. I’ll shoot her if it means Mikhail walks out of this. I pitied her at first, back when I thought she was innocent in all of this. But now? With my man in danger? All I see is her father in her.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. “You want her alive? Then back the fuck off.”
“I thought you were my friend,” Ayla whispers. She’s sobbing now. She really thinks we’re friends, just because I helped her once or twice. It’s kind of sad, honestly. She doesn’t get how the world works.
“Your Baba just sent men with machine guns into Bratva territory to collect you like a piece of lost luggage. Don’t talk to me about friendship.”
The bullets stop entirely.
I’ve never handled a gun before, but how hard can it be? Just point and pull the trigger. Roman’s eyes land on the gun pressed to Ayla’s temple. “What the fuck are you doing, Lola?! Get that gun off her!” His voice shakes the whole house.
“Both of you, go upstairs!”
I don’t even glance at him. My grip stays firm. The gun doesn’t move.
“You think the Pakhan’s gonna pull the trigger?” I snarl. “Maybe not. Maybe he knows the etiquette of whatever this war is.” I let Roman see the fire in my eyes. “But I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll blow her fucking head off.”
He storms over and tries to drag her toward the stairs, but I don’t let go. Through the haze of smoke and adrenaline, I find Mikhail’s eyes behind the couch, wild, locked on mine. I mouth the words to him. We’ve got each other’s backs.
He gives the faintest nod. He trusts me. Yeah, I hijacked the Bratva, sat at the table just because I’m his woman. Not at the highest seat, but it’s still a seat. And I’m playing this game on my terms, something even these monsters can’t manage. I know I’ve got Misha behind me.
I let Ayla go when minutes pass without a single bullet, shoving her to the floor. “Go. I’m done babysitting.”
She hits the ground hard, her knees scraping the wood. Roman’s already crouched beside her. “Ayla—”
She jerks from him and bolts. Her feet slip on the floor as she scrambles up the stairs.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Roman hisses at me.
I don’t care. Because the second she’s gone, Mikhail’s on me.
He yanks me into him and we collide like magnets snapping back together.
He holds me. Tight. And for a moment, the world disappears.
I close my eyes against his shoulder and grip the back of his shirt.
I can feel his heart hammering through his chest like it’s trying to escape.
Just like mine. Roman stands on the stairs, panting, braced against the railing.
He says nothing. He lets us have this.I break the moment.
“Everyone out!” I scream, whirling around. “Now! Sergei—get the fuck up! You too, Elena! Out!”
I may be brave, but not enough to challenge Roman’s command in a full room where no bullets are flying. No one else needs to witness this. Sergei nods and grabs thetwo younger men I didn’t even notice during the shootout. They vanish down the hallway. The maid follows.
Roman storms back. “You don’t know how this works, Lola. You never go against what the Pakhan says.”
I get in his face, fire roaring in my chest.
“I do now.”
“You listen—”
“No. You listen. I’ll follow the rules, sure. I’ll play nice. But not when it comes to Mikhail.”
“You always follow—!”
“Not when it’s him!” I snap.
The tension crackles like a live wire ready to blow. Mikhail growls. Low. Controlled. Barely held back.
“I’m barely holding it together right now. Don’t make me lose it. Talk to her with respect, Pakhan.”
Roman turns his glare on him. “You’re fucking whipped, Misha. You’re not thinking straight.”
“Is he? Or are you? You almost got Bratva men killed because you couldn’t handle one girl being put at risk,” I spit. “You want to talk about weakness? Don’t look at him or me.”
He doesn’t respond.
Crack.
Then another.
And another.
A second wave of bullets slams into the outer walls. I move, but Mikhail’s faster. He tackles me, shielding me with his body as glass explodes around us. Roman fires twice out the window, but it’s no use. The shooters are already gone.
They waited until Ayla was out of the line of fire. Cowards. The mansion falls quiet again. I lift my head, fingers tangled in Mikhail’s shirt.
“You okay?” I whisper, eyes scanning him.
He doesn’t answer. My palm is wet. I lift it. Blood. There’s a deep, soaking wound in his side.
“Mikhail—” My voice breaks. “Misha, no. No, no—Roman! He’s hit!” I scream.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, pressing both hands against his side. The blood pours out, warm and slick, slipping through my fingers like water. “You’re okay, Misha. You’re okay. Stay with me.”
His eyes go glassy. His breath is short, uneven. His lips part, and his chest stutters as he tries to speak.
“Don’t talk,” I beg. “Save it. Just stay awake. Stay with me, okay?”
His bloodied hand trembles in the space between us. His fingers reach for my hair, tangled, damp, and gritty with sweat. He tucks a strand behind my ear.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.
I choke on a sob. “Mikhail, please—”
His thumb brushes my jaw.
“I’ll always protect your life with my own,” he whispers. “Always.”
Roman shoves towels into my hands. “Put pressure here. I’m calling in a surgeon.”
Mikhail’s arm drops. His eyes flutter closed. I scream so hard it tears my throat raw.
“MIKHAIL!”
If he dies, I know without a doubt I will follow right after him.