Chapter 29 Ilya #2
The warehouse has gone quiet except for the distant sounds of fighting from the other entrances. Sergei's men have their weapons trained on us, and we have ours trained on them. A standoff, perfectly balanced on the edge of violence.
"Choose, Ilya," Sergei says. "Show everyone what you really value. Show them your weakness. The other one dies slowly, proof that no one is invincible, especially when they don’t respect their betters."
I look at Mara, and she looks back at me, her gaze steady and clear despite the pain she must be in and the fear she must be feeling.
And then she speaks, her voice shockingly calm despite the gun pressed to her head.
"You'd better find a way to save us both," she says—not to Sergei but to me. "Svetlana might have been difficult, but I’m not getting out of this at the cost of another woman's life."
I stare at her, momentarily shocked. Not because she's defying Sergei's plan, but because in this moment, with death and the promise of more pain inches away, she's thinking about someone else. I’d let anyone on this earth die to save her, but she’s far better than I am.
The kind of woman who makes me want to be a better man.
"Mara—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Both of us, Ilya. Or neither of us. That's the only choice I’ll be able to live with."
Sergei laughs, but there's an edge to it now. "How touching. But you don't get to make demands, Miss Winslow. You're not in control here."
"Neither are you," I growl, rage curdling in my gut as I stare at the scene in front of me, at the man who would dare to threaten not only me but the woman I love.
And then I whistle—one sharp note that echoes through the warehouse.
The chaos is instantaneous.
Kazimir and his team burst through the loading dock entrance, weapons blazing. Alexei's team comes through the side door at the same moment. We planned this, timed it down to the second. A coordinated assault from three directions, an overwhelming force with no hesitation.
Sergei's men try to respond, but they're caught in a crossfire, outnumbered and outmaneuvered. The warehouse erupts into violence—gunfire, shouting, the smell of smoke and blood.
I move before Sergei can react, closing the distance between us in seconds. He tries to swing his gun toward me, but I'm faster, knocking it aside and driving my shoulder into his chest. We go down together, and I hear Mara scream my name.
One of my men is already cutting her free, his knife slicing through the zip ties. Another is doing the same for Svetlana. I catch a glimpse of Kazimir taking down two of Sergei's men with brutal efficiency, and then I'm focused entirely on the man beneath me.
Sergei is strong and well-trained, and he fights like a man with nothing to lose. We grapple on the concrete, trading blows, each trying to gain the upper hand. He gets his hands around my throat, squeezing, and for a moment my vision starts to darken.
Then I remember the way I felt when I found the penthouse empty.
I remember the bodies of my men, killed because I wasn't there to protect them.
I remember every moment of the last few hours, the terror and rage and desperate need to get Mara back.
I think of leaving her here, with no one to protect her.
Of failing a woman I love yet again.
I break his grip with a violence that surprises even me.
I flip him onto his stomach, wrenching his arm behind his back until I hear something pop. He screams, and I use the moment to grab my knife, pressing it against his throat.
"Ilya!" Mara's voice, closer now. "Ilya, stop!"
I look up and see her standing a few feet away, freed from her restraints, blood on her wrists and her eyes glittering with rage. She's looking right at me.
The fighting around us is dying down. Sergei's men are either dead or surrendering, and my men are securing the warehouse.
Kazimir is finishing off a man on the floor, bleeding out from several wounds, and Svetlana is pressed with her back against a support beam, looking around in terror as she crouches on the floor and tries not to be in the line of fire.
But all of that fades into background noise as I stare at Mara, the woman who is everything to me.
"Are you hurt?" I ask, my voice rough.
"I'll be fine." She takes a step closer. "Are you?" I can see a flicker of worry in her eyes, and it loosens something in my chest. She doesn’t hate me completely, then.
"I'm fine." It's a lie—I can feel blood trickling down my cheek, my ribs are probably cracked, and my knee feels as if I wrenched it taking Sergei down—but none of that matters. I stare at her, swallowing hard.
"If I'd had to choose," I say, the words coming out before I can stop them, "it would always be you. No matter what. Always you."
Her lips part as if she’s on the verge of saying something, as if she wants to argue, but she finally just nods. As if maybe she’s finally accepted what we are to each other, this dark and complicated thing that defies easy definition.
"I know," she says softly.
Sergei groans beneath me, trying to move, and I press the knife harder against his throat. "Don't."
"Ilya." Kazimir appears at my side, his weapon still drawn. "We need to go. The shots will have caused a commotion. We’re going to have to deal with paying off cops and more complications if we don’t get out of here.”
“We will, shortly.” I’m still looking at Mara, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Kazimir starting to go toward Svetlana.
“Stop,” I snap, leaning up with Sergei still pinned. Kazimir halts, but I can see the conflict in his eyes.
“Get out of here.” I tear my eyes away from Mara and look at Svetlana. “You survived, thanks to the good heart of the woman you tried to hurt just a few days ago. Get the fuck out, and I don’t ever want to hear your name or see your face again. Come back into my life, and you’ll regret it.”
Her face pales, but she nods, looking at Mara for a brief second before she pushes away from the beam and to her feet, bolting for the door.
Mara once again looks as if she wants to say something, her gaze cutting to Svetlana’s retreating form, but Sergei starts to struggle again, and all of our attention is rediverted.
"And him?" Kazimir nods at Sergei.
I should kill him now. Quick and clean, a bullet to the head, justice for what he did. I’m the pakhan of my territory. But I look at Mara, and I remember what she said about not keeping her in the dark.
About her being mine, and me hers.
About how I felt, for that brief moment, as if I wanted someone who could be my equal in every way. Darkness and light, melding together. A woman who can be as violent as she can gentle, who can meet me in the worst places and bring us both out on the other side.
"Mara," I say quietly. "Come here."
She hesitates for only a moment, then walks toward me, stepping over debris and spent shell casings. When she's close enough, I can see the bruises on her face more clearly, the dried blood on her wrists, the exhaustion in her eyes.
But she didn’t break. She fought through it.
She’s the strongest person I know.
"You asked me once what I do," I say. "You wanted to know about my world, about the darkness I live in. You wanted to know me."
"Ilya—"
"This is it." I gesture at the warehouse, at the bodies, at Sergei bleeding beneath my knife. "This is what I am. This is what my life looks like."
Mara bites her lip. "I know."
"Do you?" I shift my grip on the knife, and Sergei groans with pain. "Because I'm about to show you something you can't unsee. Something that will change you. And you can be a part of it, if you want to be. A part of my world. Someone I trust."
Mara's eyes move from my face, to the knife, to Sergei and back again, and I watch her process what I'm offering. What I'm asking.
“You killed a man in your gallery. One of his men. You did it in self defense. This is a different line to cross. This one requires intent.” I hold out the knife, handle first. "This man took you.
Hurt you. Killed my men. He was going to force me to choose which of you died, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.
He would have tortured you and taken great pleasure in it. "
Mara stares at the knife, and I can see the war playing out on her face. The part of her that's horrified by what I'm suggesting, that was always taught that this is wrong—and the part of her that's angry, that wants revenge, to prove she's not a victim.
"If you do this," I say quietly, "there's no going back. You'll be part of this world, not just an observer. You'll have blood on your hands, literally and figuratively. You'll be mine in a way that can't be undone."
She swallows hard. "And if I don't?"
"Then I'll do it myself. I’ll always protect you, Mara. But you said you needed to be beside me, not kept locked away behind me. This is what it means to be an equal, in my world.”
She draws in a slow breath. “You won’t think less of me if I don’t?”
I shake my head. “I would always protect you, kotenok. I will kill anyone I have to in order to keep you safe. I’ll keep your hands clean, if that’s what you want. You asked for choices. I’m giving you one.”
Slowly, Mara moves to stand in front of Sergei. She crouches down, then kneels in front of his face, her gaze meeting mine. And her hand reaches out, covering mine over the handle of the knife.
“It takes more force than you think,” I say quietly. “When you’re ready.”
It’s as if Sergei is already dead. As if this moment is between her and I, and nothing else. She looks at me, and in her eyes I see fear and anger and…relief. Like she's been waiting for permission to be the person she's always wanted to be.
My hand tightens around the knife, under hers, and hers tightens over mine.
Sergei is struggling now, realizing what's about to happen, but I have my knee on his back and he can't move. "Here," I murmur in Mara's ear, leaning forward and cupping her cheek as I press the knife down. "Quick and deep. Don't hesitate."
"Ilya, please—" Sergei gasps, but I press down harder, cutting off his words.
"He doesn't get to beg," I tell Mara. "He didn't let you beg. He didn't let my men beg. He doesn't get mercy."
Mara's breathing is rapid, her body tense against mine. I can feel her heartbeat, fast and hard, and I know she's terrified. But she doesn't pull away.
"Together," I say. "Now.”
“Fuck you!” Sergei snarls, and we move together, our hands joined on the knife, as the blade slides across Sergei's throat. Blood sprays hot and dark, and Sergei makes a gurgling sound as I lean forward, capturing Mara’s mouth with mine as the life flows from his body underneath us both.
Mara gasps, and I pull her closer, my tongue tangling with hers as I breathe her in before I pull back, my forehead against hers, my entire body throbbing with a sudden, violent need.
"Stay," I murmur. "Stay with me. See it through."
And she does. She stays pressed against me, our hands still on the knife, still in Sergei's throat, until his movements slow and then stop. Until the light fades from his eyes and he's just meat beneath us, a body that once had a spark of life.
Only then do I release her hands.
She pulls back, staring at me, and then at her palms, at the blood that covers them.
Sergei's blood. Our blood, in a way—the blood we spilled together, the life we took together.
She's breathing hard, her eyes wide, and for a moment I think she's going to break.
That I've pushed her too far, asked too much, destroyed whatever chance we had.
But then she looks up at me, and what I see in her face isn't horror or regret.
It’s the same violent need that I feel coursing through me, right now.
“Kazimir,” I snap, my voice a low growl. “Get the men out. When Mara and I leave, come back and clean this up. Find some coverup. Make it look like someone else broke in, leave signs that look like it was a territory conflict, whatever. I don’t care. But don’t come back in until she and I leave.”
Kazimir grunts his understanding. I reach for Mara, not bothering to wait for the last footsteps to leave before I drag her mouth to mine, my breath coming hard as my teeth graze her lower lip.
“Mine,” I breathe. “And yours.”