Chapter 23 For Family pt I #2
He twisted to the side, crashing through the door rather than stopping outright, and rolled them roughly across the ground until he had his feet under him enough to get them moving again.
None of it was gentle. None of it was something he would choose to force her through.
But it was a damn sight better than sticking around in that warehouse and waiting for an execution.
“That’s impossible,” Pavel said with a firm shake of his head. “Konstantin’s kid died in the firefight that killed your brother.”
Evelina heaved out an exasperated breath and turned again to look toward the uninhabitable structure that was supposed to be her home.
She had thought it would be harder to look at under clear skies and without the brain-numbing pulse of adrenaline coursing through her, but the sight was surprisingly … freeing.
It wasn’t like she’d ever liked that house. Or the life she’d lived within its walls.
Think about that later. There was so much to think about later.
“Well, he was pretty fuckin’ clear about it,” Otto said with a grunt. “Right after he blew a goddamn hole in Pyotr’s head.”
Pavel sighed heavily. “That’s…. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
Evelina closed her eyes as the vision of her aggravating cousin dropping to the ground, his brain spraying out behind his body, replayed in her mind. It was really over. He was gone, and with him, their stupid rivalry had come to an end.
“Lina?” Otto moved closer and brushed his fingers over the back of her shoulder, just shy of the fresh bandage adhered to her skin.
She put her back to the house again and managed a smile for him.
She knew he hadn’t been thrilled about how any of that confrontation had ended, and least of all that she’d felt the bite of another bullet.
Really, one of them getting shot had been unavoidable in that warehouse.
It was a miracle her worst injury was the graze that had torn open the skin over her shoulder, no matter how much it stung.
She was just glad he hadn’t ended up like Pyotr.
Pressing her fingers lightly to Otto’s chest, Evelina said, “I’m—I will be—okay. It’s just a lot.” Her smile faded. It was a lot.
“It is a lot,” Pavel echoed. “And I’ll admit, it’s hard to believe. But I can ask around for you, see who might have heard what rumors about Konstantin or his ilk. You’re right, at least, that there are still some parties who would be reluctant to talk to you.”
The reminder was frustrating, but it was also why Evelina had chosen to reach out to Pavel in the first place.
“I appreciate it. Remember, we likely don’t have much time.
” Because if it was true that Grisha was a Morozov—the heir, no less—then he couldn’t possibly have spent years infiltrating the Nikolaevs just to ultimately kill only Pyotr, and perhaps make one or two failed attempts at her.
Even with the added ‘prize’ of getting himself a baby mama, it was too large an investment for too small a victory. She knew in her gut he would be back.
It had always been the Morozov’s goal to destroy them completely, after all.
“I understand,” Pavel said with a nod before striding away.
Otto turned in place. “Looks like Grigoriy’s here.”
Evelina allowed herself a singular moment to gently stretch her sore muscles before turning toward what had become of the main yard.
Between the previous day’s shootout and the fire—the veritable stampede, the body drops, the singed spots from raining ash, the physical debris, and of course the heavy vehicles not paying attention to things like driveway perimeters—it was nearly unrecognizable.
On the bright side, any blood that remained on the grass was thoroughly contaminated.
Still, she scrunched up her nose. “We can’t have a conversation standing in this.” She hadn’t expected it to also be so muddy.
Otto jerked his chin to the side. “Side yard’ll be less muddy.”
He wasn’t wrong. The small courtyard off the eastern side of the property would have been untouched by the fire itself, though had probably still been damaged by overspray and other things. But it was also meant for sitting and relaxing, so it was more concrete than lawn.
Evelina swept her gaze around, spotting Grigoriy and the one man he’d mentioned bringing with him as they stepped from their SUV.
“That does sound more comfortable.” She just wasn’t sure if comfort was a factor she should be dwelling on.
While she mulled it over, she cast another frustrated glance down at the outfit she’d thrown together for the day.
One of the new sets she’d picked up from that shopping trip—which now was ninety percent of her wardrobe.
And after that tumble over dirty concrete, not to mention her bleeding, it was definitely ruined.
Maybe the muddier, thrashed yard was more appropriate.
Otto caught her wrist before she could move forward. “Don’t stand in the mud.”
She blinked at him for a beat and her lips twitched. “It’s just mud.”
His brow furrowed. “Until you need to run and your feet are stuck, yeah.” He gave a gentle tug, pulling her backward a step. “Walk around.”
Oh, boy. She supposed even she was a little on-edge after the incident at the warehouse, so him still being in Raging Bodyguard Mode an hour later actually wasn’t surprising. “Okay,” she said quietly, seeing no need to challenge his patience over a few extra steps.
Grigoriy’s companion hung back, far enough that he could keep line-of-sight but wouldn’t hear them clearly unless they talked at loud volumes.
The brigadier himself met her halfway up the drive.
The man was a respectable six-feet tall, with a strong jaw, hard eyes, and a thin layer of dark hair curving over his head.
Evelina was pretty sure he was close to the same age as Artem, but he’d held his position as brigadier for a handful of years longer.
She offered him a polite, cool smile. “It’s good to finally meet you, Grigoriy.
” There was no need to offer her name, of course, and it was time she buttoned on that invisible woman-in-charge coat she’d been working to fashion for herself.
Because with Pyotr dead, she was pakhan.
It was just a matter of delivering the news.
If someone else was suddenly going to declare themselves a challenger, it would be immediate or not at all.
He raked his gaze over her, repeated the motion with Otto, then raised his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “This is how you greet a brigadier?” He looked past her, toward the house at her back. “Look what you allowed to happen to our base.”
She felt her hackles rise with his choice of words. “What I allowed? And where were you, brigadier, while two of your compatriots were dying?”
His lips lifted in a sneer. “Because they were weak. I have never been responsible for another man’s crew, nor another man for mine.”
“Easy to call yourself strong when you just hide away and let shit pass you by.”
“Mind how you speak to your elders, girl.”
Evelina matched his stare and kept her tone even, if not a bit clipped. “Mind how you speak to your pakhan.” She wouldn’t stoop so low as to hurl demeaning insults, yet, but she wasn’t going to accept the disrespect, either.
She was just glad she’d asked Otto not to interject his opinion of the inevitable insult with his gun. This time.
To Evelina’s surprise, Grigoriy laughed.
The sound was low and somewhat ominous, his sneer changing into something closer to a smile that in no way softened his face, and his arms fell back to his sides.
“My pakhan?” He drew a deep breath. “You called me out here, to bear witness to what you have made of the Nikolaevs without even taking the mantle, and assume I will recognize you as my pakhan?”
She was going to smack him if he blamed her for the house one more time.
“I assume nothing, Grigoriy.” She made sure to wipe the emotion from her face, refusing to look away.
“Pyotr is dead. Grisha is either a traitor or a rat, depending on the truth of his claims. But, I’ll repeat myself for you this once, the only man who stood in opposition to me is dead.
” Evelina pressed her fingers to her chest. “I am pakhan now. Your next job is to learn acceptance.”
A muscle ticked in Grigoriy’s jaw as his eyes narrowed. His fingers twitched. “Burn in Hell, blyad.”
Otto took a step forward at the same time as Evelina shifted her weight to intercept him.
And a bullet whistled past her leg, close enough to sting but far enough not to do true damage.
She didn’t register the sound of the shot until after she felt the brush of it.
She stumbled once before Otto caught her around her waist and hauled her flush to his side, curses spewing from his lips and gun already raised.
Evelina stared at the gun in a surreal daze. Had they reloaded it? Was that the one she’d used, even, or his newer one? How are we in another shootout again?
Except the bullets had stopped.
She pulled herself back to the moment and found Grigoriy watching them coldly, one arm raised in an obvious signal. And behind him, another SUV had appeared, the new one bearing a cabin-full of armed soldiers.
He’d planned this from the start. He’d arranged to meet her in order to strike her down. And he hadn’t thought the effort was worth more than six men.
No, that’s not right. She realized the courtyard was completely silent, despite that she distinctly remembered seeing men on security when they had arrived after getting her shoulder patched up. Even if Pavel had made it off property before the gunshots, there were other men nearby.
Men who didn’t know Pyotr was dead.
Men who hadn’t decided to support her, either ever or at least until she motivated them.
Men who would stand back and watch both her and Otto be massacred rather than remember their loyalty to her goddamn name.
Evelina twisted herself free of Otto’s grip—a feat she doubted she would manage a second time in her life—and moved just a single step forward as she raised her chin. “You missed.”
Grigoriy’s lips lifted in a chilling smile.
“Oh?” She didn’t consciously see him move.
One moment, he was perfectly still. The next, he’d crossed the space between them and latched his hand around her throat, careless of how close he’d just brought himself to her guard as he lifted her off her feet.
Otto fired almost before her brain processed Grigoriy’s movement. It looked like the bullet tore through the top of Grigoriy’s shoulder, the older man’s momentum having already spared him from something worse. The man himself gave no indication of feeling the shot.
Then Evelina was struggling to breathe, her booted toes dangling over nothing.
“Motherfucker,” Otto growled. “I swear—”
“Save your breath, boy,” Grigoriy said, never taking his eyes from her. “I’ll send you over next.”
Evelina swung her eyes around, her brain scrambling. She was clawing at the hand at her throat without having even realized it, but he was ignoring her nails as thoroughly as he’d ignored the bullet. And he’d positioned her between himself and Otto to make sure Otto didn’t shoot again.
She couldn’t fucking breathe.
The men standing behind Grigoriy blurred, doubling in number when she tried to look their way.
She’d always thought having double vision was more literal—that the true figure developed a sort of echo or overlapping shadow—but apparently that wasn’t the case.
The doubles just popped up in near-ish positions.
That was not something she’d ever cared to learn.
She pounded on Grigoriy’s wrist, dropping her eyes back to his in time to catch their gleam. And she swore she could read his mind in that moment.
Still think I missed?
It pissed her off. Everything pissed her off. She was not going to fucking die like this.
So she sank her nails into his forearm, letting them drag as she railed against him, and swung with all the strength of her raging, Russian-Italian temper … and her pointy-toed boot.