Chapter 37 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
Smoke rolls off the lawn like fog, swallowing the lantern glow and turning music into static. A bullet slices past my right ear—close enough that the heat of it kisses my skin—and I pivot, gun up, eyes raking every shadow.
Where’s Dmitry?
I spot him near the pergola, one hand braced on the beam, barking orders at a guard. I push forward, weaving through overturned chairs and fallen tablecloths, blood pounding in my temples.
“Father!” I shout. It’s the first time I’ve called him that in years.
He looks over, just as a muffled crack splits the air. Red blooms on his chest. His eyes—wide, startled—find mine one last time before his legs fold. He drops, face-down in the grass.
Time fractures. I’m moving, but the world feels slow, syrup-thick. I reach him, kneel, press a hand to the wound pulsing dark right at the center of his chest. He’s gone before I can reach him.
Boots scuff behind me.
I rise, gun leveled at his attacker, only to freeze.
Alexei steps from the smoky haze, lowering his rifle with casual grace. The lanterns catch the edge of his smile.
“You,” I breathe.
“Took you long enough to figure it out, brother,” he says, almost fond. “Well…too late now.”
I rise slowly, fists clenched. Rage coils tight inside me. “You shot him.”
“I did,” he says, with all the serenity of a man discussing the weather. “And it felt good.”
We begin circling each other, slow, measured. Like wolves. Like everything has always been leading to this moment.
“Why?” I demand.
“You mean why him and not you?” he shrugs. “Well…you were next. But we don’t always get what we want.”
His tone is light, almost conversational. My hands itch for my gun. But I want to hear him. I need to.
“I thought,” he continues, “if I could convince him you were the threat, the danger to his legacy, he’d do the dirty work for me. I planted enough doubt. Enough fear. Even hired men to attack the warehouse so he’d think it was a rival move—you trying to sabotage him from within.”
“You…” I feel bile rise. “You manipulated him into thinking I killed Roman.”
He nods. “I thought I could nudge Father into doing the dirty work—make him think you killed Roman…that you’d turned on the family. Then he’d finish off Nikolai and Mila in revenge. Easy. Almost worked too. Until Nikolai’s condition came to light. That ruined everything.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” I ask.
He sighs, theatrical. “When he found out Nikolai was sick, he insisted on testing me as well. Family first, right?” His mouth curls. “But I didn’t carry the gene.”
My heart slams in my chest.
I narrow my eyes. That’s impossible, unless…
“You’re not his son,” I breathe.
There it is. The truth unspooling between us like wire primed to snap.
“Yes, tragic I know. No Buryakov gene in me. Mother’s little secret finally exposed. The great patriarch realized he’d groomed another man’s bastard while you—his real heir—stood in the way.”
I clench my fists. “So you decided to erase us.”
“After everything he put me through, he was going to disown me just because I didn’t have the right blood,” Alexei says, voice trembling with something like fury—or sorrow.
“Cast me out, strip everything. I took precautions.” His eyes flick to Dmitry’s lifeless body.
“Now the line ends with you. And soon, with your precious children.”
I step closer, every muscle taut. “You’ll never touch them.”
Alexei raises the rifle again, casual as a shepherd lifting a crook. “We’ll see,” he says before firing.
The crack splits the night air. I drop flat, rolling behind an overturned banquet table just as the bullet shreds through the fabric canopy above me. Splinters rain down. I don’t stop. I shove forward on my elbows, draw my gun, and fire back—once, twice—forcing him to duck behind a marble column.
Everything narrows to the thud of my heart, the wet grass beneath me, the phantom heat from the muzzle flash.
I rise and charge.
Alexei fumbles, scrambling to reload, but I’m on him.
I tackle him into the ground with a roar, fists slamming into his ribs, his jaw, anywhere I can reach.
He grunts, tries to bring the rifle up, but I knock it aside and punch again, knuckles cracking.
His lip splits. Blood spatters across my shirt.
“You think you can destroy my family?” I snarl, wrapping my hand around his throat.
He gurgles, eyes bulging.
My back prickles. I sense movements behind me before a hard blow crashes into my side. Pain erupts as I stagger off Alexei, only to find myself facing three of his men, emerging from the darkness like shadows.
I barely lift my guard before the first one slams a boot into my ribs. I grunt, doubling over. Another smashes the butt of a gun across the back of my head. Stars explode in my vision. I hit the ground hard, breath gone, weapon lost.
One grabs my arms. Another pins my legs. Alexei climbs to his feet, panting, wiping blood from his chin.
He spits. “Stupid bastard. You always thought you were better than me.”
“Still am,” I rasp, even as blood fills my mouth.
“You thought you could humiliate me and walk away?”
I blink through the haze and see Kirov standing over me, his face twisted into something feral and unforgiving.
“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” he spits, drawing a long knife from his belt.
Before I can respond, he kicks me in the ribs, hard enough to send a white-hot spike of pain through my side. I curl instinctively, trying to protect my head, but he’s relentless. Another blow lands, then another, until I’m half-blind from pain and choking on dirt and blood.
“You made me look like a joke,” he growls. “In front of her. In front of everyone.”
He crouches down beside me, grabbing me by the collar and hauling me up just enough to plunge the blade into my side. The shock of it is worse than the pain at first, a cold burn that spreads through my entire torso. I gasp, trying to scream, but no sound comes out.
He leans in close, breath hot and reeking of sweat and blood. “This is for Nadya,” he hisses, and twists the knife cruelly before yanking it out.
I collapse again, one hand clutching the open wound, the other scrambling for something, anything, to fight back with. My vision is darkening at the edges, and the sounds of the fight around me are fading into a dull roar.
And then I hear Alexei’s voice.
“You’re making a mess of it, Kirov. Just end him already.”
Kirov lifts the blade again, ready to deliver the final blow. My arms feel like lead, my legs refuse to move, but just as he raises his arm high—
The blade rises.
I can see my death in Kirov’s wild eyes, in the way his lips curl with triumph, like this is what he’s been waiting for all along. I try to lift my arms, try to move, but my body won’t respond. I’m drowning in pain, slipping.
Then—
A gunshot rips through the air.
She stands ten feet away, arm outstretched, grip steady despite the tremble in her frame. Her face is pale, almost ghostly in the moonlight, smeared with blood that’s not hers. The pistol in her hand wavers as Kirov’s body hits the ground.
“Nadya,” I croak, disbelief choking me.
She doesn’t move. She just stares at me like she’s seeing the worst thing imaginable. Kirov jerks forward, cursing under his breath, rising to his feet again even as blood spills from his shoulder.
“Get the fuck away from my husband,” Nadya snarls.
Kirov laughs. “You don’t have the guts.”
“Try me,” she says.
“Well then,” Kirov says, licking his lips. “Go ahead, shoot me.”
Nadya’s hand trembles.
From the distance, I hear a voice. “Mommy! Mommy, help me.”
“Nikolai,” I cough through my blood. I know Nadya heard him too.
“Nikolai, baby where are you?” she says.
Kirov laughs. “You can’t find him now. Try to shoot me and I’ll make sure his neck breaks off before you can fire the next shot. Save your husband.”
Nadya glances at me, making a split-second decision. Kirov runs into the line of trees, while Nadya beelines for me.
“No,” I cough as I try to sit up. “Don’t. Nadya, it’s a trap.”
But before she reaches me, another shot rings out. She stumbles to a stop, wide-eyed. It wasn’t aimed at her. It wasn’t us.
It’s Lev.
He barrels in from the side, shouting over the chaos, rifle blazing as he takes down two of Alexei’s men trying to flank us. “Get him out of here!” he yells, voice raw. “They’ve got Nikolai! Go—GO!”
I try to stand, try to grab Nadya, but my legs buckle again. Lev’s at my side in seconds, shoving his shoulder under mine, half dragging me toward the hedges. Nadya runs ahead, checking corners, gun still tight in her grip.
“Where’s Nikolai?” I rasp.
“They took him,” Lev says, face grim, looking around. “Now’s not the time, we need to—”
The air shatters again. And this time, the bullet finds its mark. It punches into Lev’s back with a sickening thud.
He jerks, choking. His knees buckle, and both of us collapse. He lands, dragging me with him.
“No,” I whisper, horror freezing my blood.
Blood soaks through his shirt, seeping between his fingers as he presses down, but I know it’s bad.
“Lev,” I say, grabbing his face. “Stay with me. Just stay. Please.”
He gives me a faint, bloody smile. “Guess…I still owed you…one last favor,” he whispers.
“No,” I shake my head, throat burning. “No, you don’t get to die, you stubborn son of a bitch.”
His hand grips mine, weakly. “Protect…them…”
His eyes go glassy. Then still.
I scream. I don’t know if it comes out loud or just inside my head. Nadya is sobbing, both of us leaning over him. We’re vulnerable, but nobody is shooting at us.
The night splits with the roar of engines.
Tires screech against gravel. Headlights slice through the darkness as black SUVs storm the driveway.
My men—those who survived, those who are loyal—pour out like a tide of vengeance.
Gunfire erupts again, but it’s not aimed at us this time.
It’s covering us. Driving them back. I see flashes of familiar faces—Maksim, Anton—shouting orders, fanning out like shadows with purpose.
But it doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
Because I already know the truth.
They can push Alexei’s men back. They can surround the estate and reclaim every inch of the bloodstained ground. They can stand guard over what’s left of the guests, secure every hallway, sweep every floor. They can hold the perimeter all night long if they want.
But they can’t undo this.
They can’t bring my father back.
They can’t save Lev.
They’ve taken my son.
My father is dead.
My most loyal man—my friend—is gone.
Blood pools around us, soaking into Lev’s shirt, into the ground.
I sit there, staring at the emptiness, feeling nothing but the scream inside me. I’ve lost everything.