33. Lance
33
LANCE
T he raucous barrage of bullets hitting metal, rock, and cement makes my ears ring, and I grind my teeth as more than one missile comes dangerously close to my body. My odds of being hit are getting higher by the minute as Sokolov and King men drop, narrowing the Agosti men’s range of targets.
And while I mow down half a dozen snipers on the roof in less than a minute, they quickly learn to duck for cover—as do the men hiding just out of range along the perimeter of the compound.
“We’re losing too many men!” Tatiana calls.
“We can hold a bit longer!” Killian bellows back.
But even Lucian is retreating back into the safety of his home, dragging Natasha with him as the cross-firing bullets come dangerously close to hitting them. Releasing a string of cusses, I take my chances, aiming carefully at Lucian’s Italian leather dress shoes to stop him from taking her out of sight.
The target’s too small, though, and he keeps jostling Natasha, making her stumble backward and into my line of fire. Cussing, I redirect my aim, mowing down several of the guards to the right of the front door.
That stalls Lucian as he flinches sideways, instinctively avoiding the onslaught.
“He’s taking her!” I call a warning.
“Cease fire! Duck for cover!” Tatiana yells.
And as one, Sokolov and King men all obey her order.
I do as well, slipping back into the front seat of the Escalade, and I stare at the pockmarked windshield of the once pristine car. There will be no explaining that to a cop if we get pulled over. Not without a fat stack of cash to smooth the story over.
Panting in the back seat, Tatiana and Killian share a look that I catch in the rearview mirror.
“He was waiting for us,” Tatiana observes, stating the elephant in the room.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this was his plan from the start. Damn it! He knows us too well.” Killian punches the ceiling of the car, releasing his frustration on the inanimate object.
“He’s had his sights set on my father’s empire for a long time,” Tatiana breathes, letting her head fall back against the headrest. He won’t stop until he’s crushed us.
“Or you hand it over to him,” Killian agrees grimly.
Tension crackles in the air, and I wonder just what Tatiana might be thinking. Her sharp blue eyes are inscrutable as she looks out the shattered windshield toward the entrance of Lucian’s home. Deep in the shadows, I can just make out two figures—most likely the Italian don with his hostage.
“I don’t know that Natasha will let me,” she murmurs. “I’m worried she’s going to force his hand if I can’t break her out of there.”
“Don’t say that,” Killian growls.
Silence stretches between them, and I glance back at the formidable pair of leaders once more. We’re the only three left alive in this car, and I can feel Killian’s desperation humming in the air. How Lucian brought us to this point, I don’t understand. I’d like to consider us a force to be reckoned with. But it feels like Lucian’s using us as child’s play right now.
“He’s coming back out,” I state flatly, watching as the Italian don steers Natasha back onto the front terrace.
From reading her lips, I’m pretty sure she just called him an impressively vulgar expletive. Then again, I suppose she could be speaking in Russian. From the look on her face, I would wager it’s the former.
Tatiana sighs. “Let me handle him,” she says. Then her piercing blue eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “If this all goes horribly south, I’m going to agree to his terms and hand over my power. If that happens, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I say.
“Shoot my sister.”
“What?” Killian and I echo each other’s disbelief in perfect stereo.
“You better have good aim, Knight. And you better shoot her somewhere that won’t kill or permanently injure her. But it’s the only way to ensure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”
I turn to look Killian in the eye. Then I shift my gaze to meet Tatiana’s fully. “I’ll do anything but that.”
A line of machine-gun bullets drum up the nose of our armored car, punching fresh spiderwebs in the windshield, and I know that means our time is up.
“We don’t have time for this,” Tatiana snaps. “If you want to keep my sister alive, just do as I said. It’ll be a last resort!” Then she throws her door open once more and slowly steps out of the car.
“Are you ready to negotiate yet?” Lucian asks, his lips curling into that arrogant smirk as I take my position, preparing to aim without drawing suspicion.
“Just get it over with and kill me already,” Natasha snaps from where she stands, firmly within his grasp. “I’m getting bored with your stupid mind games, and I won’t let my sister hand over the empire my family has worked so hard to build. Not to you. Not ever.”
“Natasha, shut up,” Tatiana says, her voice cold, calculating, detached. But I see the way her hands tremble before she clasps them behind her back.
That draws a laugh from Lucian, and he cocks his head to the side—as if entertaining a notion he only just considered. “You know, I’ve been thinking during that nice little respite. And I suppose I could be willing to compromise…for the right price. After all, the Sokolov empire won’t do me much good if you and all your men are dead, now would it, Miss Sokolov?”
“I suppose not,” she says dryly.
“Well then, I’ll make you a deal—the same one I made your father, actually, before this whole feud started.”
Tatiana tenses visibly, and Natasha jerks against Lucian’s hold—as if his mention of her father personally offends her. Considering Lucian is the one responsible for his death, it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s exactly what her reaction means.
Pulling Natasha’s head slowly, almost gently, back until his lips are near her ear, Lucian says just loud enough for us to hear, “Keep that up, and your husband’s not going to have anything to hold onto tonight when you’re in bed.”
Killian growls, stepping away from the car, as if ready to come at Lucian and turn this into a proper bar brawl. But he freezes when the don’s eyes catch his movement.
“Ah-ah-ah,” the Italian don chides, cocking the gun against Natasha’s temple. “Alright. No more interruptions, lovebirds,” he taunts. “It’s time to let the grown-ups talk. So, Tatiana—you don’t mind if I call you Tatiana do you?”
“You can call me whatever the hell you want so long as you get that gun out of my sister’s face ,” she grits through her teeth, her body vibrating visibly with fury.
“Hmm,” Lucian hums playfully. “Funny you should say it like that, because what I would love most to call you right about now is wife .”
Tatiana gasps, as if struck by a physical blow.
Natasha pales, her eyes growing wide, and for the first time, she completely stops fighting.
My blood runs cold as the air in the courtyard turns deathly still and silent. It’s so quiet, I could hear a pin drop, and I shift my grip on my gun as I sense our last resort looming on the horizon. There’s no way she’ll agree to marry the sick bastard. Not after everything he’s done to their family.
“So, what do you say, Tatiana?” Lucian prods. “Marry me. Today. And before you say a hasty no, just think of it. We could form a lasting alliance between our two great families. Any sons you bear me will rule over both our territories when they come of age. Hell, I’ll even agree to leave you in charge of the Sokolov men for as long as you desire. The rest of our lives if that’s what you want.”
“You…don’t want to rule my territory yourself?” she asks, her voice halting with the pain of even considering his offer.
“Well, of course I do. But that’s why it’s called a compromise . Now, that’s a pretty generous offer—if I do say so myself. But know,” he adds, cutting off Tatiana’s words before she can make her choice. “This marriage will be a contractual alliance, one you will be agreeing to in front of all your men and mine—and the Kings, for that matter. So, I would recommend you take a moment to seriously consider it before you give your answer.”
Another pregnant pause settles over the battlefield. My finger itches toward the trigger as I search for any opening to kill Lucian before Tatiana speaks. But I can’t find one. Natasha’s too exposed, too vulnerable. And I worry that even if I do manage to clip Lucian, he could accidentally pull the trigger on his gun and kill her.
I can’t risk it.
“If you won’t accept my conditions,” Don Lucian continues when Tatiana’s prolonged silence seems to wear on his patience, “just remember, I do fully intend to hand the lovely Mrs. King here over to the families she’s wronged over the years. Who knows, maybe I’ll set up an auction and give her to the highest bidder. I bet she’d go for an impressive price. And then I’ll let you watch as they tear her apart. And you and I will both know that you could have done something to stop it—if only you could have set aside your pride and looked at what’s best for your people.”
“I’ll do it,” Tatiana states, the answer jumping from her lips almost before he’s finished speaking. “I’ll marry you.”
Vocal objections rise from the Sokolov men around us, and I glance back to find a good number of them frowning in disapproval. They shift uneasily, uncertain of what to make out of their pakhansha ’s sudden shift in tactics.
But from the looks of it, no one is more upset by this turn of events than Natasha.
“Today?” Lucian presses.
“Today,” Tatiana agrees.
“Ti, no,” Natasha pleads tearfully, trying to take a step forward.
And from the pain in her voice, I can tell that her concern is no longer for the well-being of their family’s name or the former glory of her father’s empire. She’s imploring as a concerned sister that Tatiana not to marry Lucian. She’s begging Tatiana as a girl who loves the person she grew up with and doesn’t want to see her be miserable.
Because no one deserves the kind of hell on earth Tatiana will experience if she traps herself in a marriage alliance to Lucian Agosti.
But the deal is done. I can see it written plainly in the determination of Tatiana’s face. And so can Lucian. He reels Natasha back in once more, a greedy smile spreading across his face.
“Done,” the don says, bringing a ringing sense of finality to the negotiations. “Why don’t you come untie your sister, then? And you and I can head to the church together?”
My body hums like a live wire, every fiber of my being straining to find some way out of this conundrum. But I don’t know what it would be. And once Tatiana falls into Lucian’s possession I don’t see how we’ll ever get her back.
Chin held high, the Russian princess stalks cooly up the gravel drive to climb the terrace steps.
“Ti, please,” Natasha whispers as her sister draws near. “Go back. It’s not too late. Nothing is worth that sacrifice.”
With a soft smile, Tatiana stops in front of her sister. And completely ignoring Lucian, who looms darkly at Natasha’s elbow, the elder Sokolov sister reaches for the bindings around Natasha’s wrists.
“You are,” Tatiana says, her voice kind and brimming with a love I’ve never heard before. “And so are all the men Father entrusted to my care. If this is what it takes to keep you all safe, then this is what I’ll do.”
Natasha’s restraints fall to the ground, and she throws her arms around her sister’s shoulders. Pulling her close, she bites back a sob as she hugs Tatiana ferociously.
Behind Natasha, a strange flicker of emotion passes over Lucian’s face. It’s so fleeting, I’m almost positive I imagined it. But if I had to name the odd emotion, I would almost say it was akin to regret.
And he lets the sisters take a moment to truly say their goodbyes.
Then Tatiana cups her sister’s chin in her soft, beautifully manicured fingers. And she holds herself regally as she says, “Go to your husband, sister.”
“I love you,” Natasha murmurs so quietly I can only read it on her lips. Squaring her shoulders, she presses her mouth into a determined line, and she does as Tatiana said.
Her feet pick up their pace as she races down the steps, and as if he can’t wait to see her safe, my foster brother rushes forward to meet her.
“Killian,” Tatiana says, turning to stand beside Lucian, who looks like the cat who ate the canary. “You be good to her.”
Killian gives her one solemn nod, and I get the horrible sinking feeling that, rather than a wedding, Tatiana’s being ushered to her own funeral.
“ Muzhchiny, idite domoy, ” the pakhansha commands.
And as one, the Sokolov men gather their dead in their vehicles and slowly form a procession as they depart. Slipping into our Escalade, we follow along with the rest of the King men. The peace that follows feels like a tentative one, but it seems that the war between our three families has ended as quickly as it began.