Chapter 24
CINDY
The gun feels wrong in my hands—heavier than at the range, slick with sweat despite the textured grip. My palms are trembling so hard I have to wrap both hands around it to keep it steady.
This isn't like the shooting range. No safety officer. No ear protection. No paper targets that can't shoot back.
The metal is warm from Luka's body heat, and I'm hyperaware of the safety being off. One wrong twitch and I could shoot him. Or myself. Or nothing at all when it matters most.
My stance feels wrong. What did he teach me? Isosceles? Weaver? My mind is blank, panic erasing months of careful instruction. I default to what feels natural—feet apart, both hands on the gun, trying to keep the barrel from shaking.
The weight of it, the reality of it—I might have to kill someone. Not a paper target. A person. My finger hovers outside the trigger guard like he taught me, but it wants to creep inside. Some primitive part of my brain is screaming to be ready.
I can do this. I can protect myself and my man. And our baby.
Luka moves ahead of me through the smoke-choked corridors. The man shows no fear. When people say they would walk through fire for someone, this… this is what it looks like.
Luka is walking through fire for me.
Even injured and exhausted, he's magnificent. He’s deadly grace wrapped in blood-soaked clothing.
I love him.
I knew I loved him, but now it’s a soul-deep feeling.
Later, after everything is settled, I'm going to think about why I just jumped the guy in a fucking closet minutes after he saved me from certain death. Right now, all that matters is staying alive long enough to have that conversation.
We round a corner, and I see them.
Drew is crouched behind an overturned table, frantically trying to reload what looks like the same gun he used to terrorize me an hour ago. His hands are shaking—whether from fear or adrenaline, I can't tell. He keeps fumbling the magazine, cursing under his breath with each failed attempt.
Did he really think he was just going to murder me or sell me off and face no consequences?
Yes. That’s exactly what he thought. That was how he moved through life. He did whatever he wanted. He was a cruel man who was never held accountable.
Luka is about to do exactly that.
Anna stands a few feet away, blood smeared on her cheek, her perfect hair a tangled mess. Her designer clothes are torn and filthy, but even disheveled, she still carries herself with that insufferable arrogance. She's always believed she was untouchable, protected by charm and beauty.
She's about to learn how wrong she is.
Drew stands and aims his gun at Luka. Anna does the same, pulling a small pistol from her jacket.
I panic for a split second. Drew or Anna. Two targets, two threats. I don't know what to do.
Thankfully, I don’t have to make a decision.
The first shot takes Drew center mass, spinning him around and sending him crashing into the wall behind him. The second follows a heartbeat later, punching through his chest with a wet sound that makes my stomach lurch.
My brother—my tormentor, my nightmare, my family—slides down the concrete wall and hits the floor with a sound like a sack of wet cement. Blood spreads beneath him in a dark pool. His eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling, finally, blessedly silent.
I should feel something. Grief, maybe. Or satisfaction. Or at least some kind of closure after all these years of him making my life hell.
Instead, I feel nothing. Just a vast space where fear used to live.
"Drew!" Anna's scream pierces the smoke-filled air, raw and desperate. For a moment, her mask slips completely. I see something I've never seen before—genuine emotion. Genuine loss.
She loved him. Despite everything, despite all the poison and cruelty and casual violence, she actually loved him. They were twins, after all.
The revelation should make me feel sorry for her. It doesn't.
"You killed him," she whispers, dropping to her knees beside Drew's body. Her hands flutter over his chest, coming away red. "You actually killed him."
"He pointed a gun at my woman," Luka says, his voice flat and emotionless. "What did you think would happen?"
Anna looks up at him, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivulets. But underneath the tears, I can see her mind working, calculating. Even in grief, she's looking for an angle, a way to turn this to her advantage.
"You don't understand," she says, climbing slowly to her feet. "You can't understand. This is so much bigger than you know."
Luka's gun never wavers from its target. "Enlighten me."
Anna laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "Did you really think this was just about a debt?”
"You have no idea who you're really working for,” Luka replies calmly.
"I know exactly who I'm working for. You just fucked up. You just killed one of Kozlov's people."
I frown, looking from Luka to Anna. Luka's posture changes, becoming more alert. Whatever that means, it's significant.
Anna smiles, seeing his reaction. "My brother and I pledged our allegiance to the Kozlov Bratva months ago. And you know what that means."
I don't know what that means, but judging by Luka's expression, he does. This is probably not the time to pepper him with questions.
"And Dad?" I ask, trying to piece together the implications.
"He's not your fucking father," she snaps. "Just some sentimental old fool who took pity on you."
"He's also not dumb enough to hook up with Kozlov," Luka mutters.
Again, I don't know how he knows that, but the tension in his voice tells me everything I need to know about Yuri Kozlov.
He’s dangerous.
That much was evident, but they were both acting like he was the judge and jury. Like he was somehow the boss of the underworld.
Shit, was he?
I really needed to ask more questions about this whole Bratva thing. I thought ignorance was bliss, but I’m beginning to see that ignorance is dangerous.
"They were using me to bait you," I say, the pieces starting to fall into place.
"Very good, Cinderella." Anna's smile is all venom. "Though it took you long enough to figure it out."
"Yuri said you intercepted one of his shipments six months ago," I continue, keeping my gun trained on Anna even as my mind races through the implications. "Something worth about five million dollars. He wants it back."
Luka's jaw tightens, but he doesn't look surprised. "What else?"
"He said I was worth at least that much to you. That you would trade for me." The memory of that cold assessment makes my skin crawl. "There was a man at dinner once who offered to buy me. You shut him down."
"He was testing the waters even then."
Anna laughs. "You have no idea how long we've been planning this. How many pieces we've had to move into position."
"The necklace," I accuse. "You planted that tracker when I went to the pharmacy. You've been feeding them information about our movements, our routines, everything."
"Give Cinderella an A." Anna's smile is all malice.
My finger tightens on the trigger. The urge to put a bullet between her eyes is almost overwhelming. She violated my privacy, turned me into a weapon against the people I love, and now she's standing here gloating about it like it's some kind of game.
"The car tracker, too," I continue, forcing myself to stay calm. "You had someone plant it while I was waiting for you at that bar."
"Of course. Though I have to admit, I was hoping you'd run that night. Would have made things so much easier if you'd just disappeared on your own."
"But I didn't run."
"No," Anna agrees, her voice turning cold. "You came back to him like a lovesick puppy. Made everything so much more complicated."
"You know what the funny thing is?" I ask, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "I actually felt sorry for you once. Thought maybe we could be real sisters someday."
Anna's face hardens. "We were never sisters. You were just the charity case our father took pity on."
"Maybe. But at least I know what loyalty means."
Her eyes flash with something dangerous. "Loyalty? Is that what you call fucking your kidnapper? Your baby daddy?"
I freeze.
My hand instinctively moves to my stomach. I see Luka's posture change and see the muscle in his jaw jump. For a moment, I think he might put a bullet in Anna right here and now.
"Move," he orders Anna, gesturing toward a section of exposed piping that runs along the wall.
"Luka, you don't understand—"
"Move."
Something in his voice makes even Anna comply. She stumbles toward the pipes, her heels clicking on the debris-strewn floor. She allows him to secure her wrists to the metal with clinical efficiency.
"Kozlov will bury you for this," she says as he tightens the restraints. "You think killing Drew settles anything? This is just the beginning. They won't stop until you're both dead and buried. You crossed a line, and Kozlov will not let this rest."
"Let him try," Luka replies, stepping back to examine his handiwork. Anna is secured to the pipe at an awkward angle.
He walks to the corner where a red gas can sits. I watch him kick it with his boot. He turns to Anna before he slides his gun into the waistband of his jeans.
He carries it back to where she’s restrained and pours the gas around her.
Just like they had done to me.
"You can't," Anna breathes, her eyes wide with sudden understanding. "Luka, please. Just let me go. Let me disappear. You'll never see me again, I promise."
For just a moment, I feel a flicker of something that might be pity. I think about asking Luka to show mercy, to let her live.
But then I remember she was going to do this to me. The lighter dancing around my face. The casual way she talked about watching me burn.
"You had your chance," Luka says quietly. "Multiple chances. You chose to threaten my family."
He grabs my hand and starts leading me toward the exit as Anna's protests grow more desperate.
"Kozlov will hunt you to the ends of the earth for this!" she screams. "They'll never let you rest! You have no idea what you've just started!"
"He can certainly try," Luka says calmly.
He nods at one of his men standing at the entrance.
I watch the man produce a lighter. My stomach turns.
“Luka,” I whisper.
He says nothing.
Anna's screams are cut off by what sounds like a muffled pop—the sound of gasoline igniting. The whoosh of air being consumed.
And then I smell it. Not just fire, but something worse. Something that makes my stomach revolt even as Luka pushes me toward the SUV. Burning hair. Melting fabric. And under it all, something sweet and sick that I know will haunt my dreams.
I hear her for exactly three seconds. High, inhuman shrieks that don't sound like they could come from a person. Then silence. Somehow that's worse.
"Don't look back," Luka orders, his hand firm on my lower back.
Luka pushes me inside the waiting SUV and climbs in behind me.
His man in the driver's seat hits the gas without being told.
I look over my shoulder and see flames shooting up from the building, orange tongues fighting through thick black smoke.
The man who lit the fire strolls out like something out of a movie. I watch him get into another SUV.
Luka pulls out his phone. "Dimitri, I need you to send a message out on the network. Citywide distribution. Every family, every crew, every two-bit hustler with delusions of grandeur."
He pauses, listening to something on the other end.
"The message is simple," he continues. "Anyone who touches my family dies. Anyone who threatens what's mine becomes a memory. Anyone who thinks they can use my woman or my child as leverage learns the difference between breathing and not breathing."
Another pause.
"Make sure Yuri Kozlov gets a personal message. I want him to understand exactly what kind of war he just started."
He ends the call and tosses the phone onto the seat, then reaches over to take my hand. The touch is reassuring after everything we've just been through.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"I'm fine. You're not."
I'm getting a better look at him now. There's blood on his left arm and covering his shirt, more than I initially realized.
"I'm okay."
"Are you shot?"
He ignores me.
"You're going to the hospital," I say firmly. I lean forward and tap the driver on his arm. "Hospital."
He looks in the rearview mirror to check with Luka.
"Luka, you are going to the hospital," I demand.
"Fine," he mutters, but I can see the exhaustion starting to catch up with him now that the adrenaline is fading.
There is no way I’m letting him die. Not when we just started a war.