Chapter 48
CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT
KIRILL
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” I roar at my father. “You’d watch your own daughter die just to teach me a lesson?”
Ruslan’s nostrils flare, his voice dropping to a quiet hiss. “I’ve sacrificed far more for this family than you can imagine.”
My mother’s sweet face flashes through my mind and something heavy and dark settles in my chest. He actually believes that killing the woman he claimed to love was a noble act of duty instead of the sick betrayal it was.
“Save the lecture on loyalty and sacrifice for someone else. I know how you murdered your own wife.” Surprise bleeds through his expression. “You deprived your children of a mother so you could force a ring onto a woman who faked her death to escape you.”
Katya’s head snaps toward our father, her eyes filled with horror and disgust. I hate that this is how she’s learning the truth, but I can’t hold back now.
Ruslan’s lips curl into something ugly, his careful control finally cracking. “I would’ve ruled half of Russia and all of New York with the Voronins if it weren’t for that stupid bitch.” He gestures sharply at Dinara. “The one whose daughter you married.”
Fuck. How does he know about that?
I have my answer a second later, when Miron steps forward beside my father, arms crossed, wearing the dead-eyed look of a man who sold his soul long ago.
Miron was one of the few men I trusted implicitly. He knew everything. Worse, I put him in charge of finding Dinara’s mother. Promised her she could trust him. The weight of that mistake is a block of cold concrete sitting on my chest.
“Good to know you’re a spineless piece of shit,” I spit at Miron, whose only response is an indifferent glare.
“You could learn a thing or two about loyalty from Miron.” Ruslan rests a hand on his shoulder with something close to affection.
“Did you really think a man you recruited from the FSB, from my homeland, wouldn’t be loyal to me first?
I told you a long time ago, Kirill—I have eyes and ears everywhere. ”
A sick feeling builds under my ribs, but I can’t dwell on past mistakes. The only thing that matters is getting Dinara and Katya out of here alive.
“This is between you and me. Let them go,” I demand through clenched teeth. “String me up, torture me, do whatever you need to, but let them walk out of here.”
Ruslan begins to pace, his boots clicking rhythmically against the concrete.
“You only have yourself to blame. I warned you to stay away, but you married her instead. Even knowing she’s here to tear apart our family.” His expression turns vicious. “I tried to take care of the problem, but you fucked that up again.”
It takes me a moment to understand he’s talking about the attack at Rosa’s. That was him trying to kill Dinara, not the Ghost.
“Why?” I choke out. “Just because you wanted me to marry Varvara? A woman I’d never be happy with.”
“Because of who she is.” He wraps a hand in Dinara’s hair and jerks her head back hard enough to make a choked noise escape despite the fabric gag in her mouth.
He stares down at her, his expression vicious.
“You’re the spitting image of your mother.
Stupid to think you could come to my club and I wouldn’t know exactly who you are. ”
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I growl. Every muscle in my body tightens like a pulled bowstring, ready to snap forward. But I know his men are watching from the shadows, weapons trained on me. One wrong move and everyone in this room dies.
My father laughs. “Or what? What power do you hold over me?”
“Tell me something,” I husk out, buying time, trying to find an angle. “Was the Ghost even real? Or was this whole thing just another one of your games?”
“You think I’d play a game with my business like this? The Morozov alliance would have solved everything. They’re richer than God and willing to give us carte blanche to do whatever we want. They would’ve funded an entire army if you hadn’t put a ring on this Syndicate cunt.”
Dinara squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out my father’s hateful words.
“I don’t give a shit what the Morozovs promised you. Dinara and I brought all five families in this city together to launch a counterattack against the Ghost tonight. But I guess you already knew that.”
He lured me here tonight specifically to sabotage the alliance, choosing to let the Ghost win if it meant watching me fail and crawl back to him for help.
He bares his teeth. “You made a mistake, son. You chose a woman over the oath you swore to me, to the Bratva, to your own blood.” When he speaks again, his voice is wistful. “Do you think I relished killing your mother, my wife? I didn’t. It destroyed something in me, but it was necessary.”
He pulls a knife from his belt, one meant for killing at close range.
“You think you have what it takes to be the pakhan of this family?” He holds the knife out toward me, handle first. “Prove that duty comes before all else. That you are only loyal to the Bratva.”
A sick sense of foreboding washes over me.
Ruslan stands directly between the two chairs, knife still in his grip. Katya’s sobs make her whole body shake, but our father doesn’t even glance at her. All his attention is on me.
“Prove to me you deserve the crown.” He extends the knife toward me, his voice coaxing. Like he’s a proud father teaching his son to ride a bike instead of asking him to murder one of the two people in this world he loves most.
I keep my face blank as I walk forward, my shoulders hunched, letting him think the weight of this choice is crushing me. My eyes move between the two women like I’m being torn apart inside.
Despite her look of misery, Dinara jerks her chin toward my sister, the message clear: Save Katya.
The fact that she’d sacrifice herself without hesitation makes me love her so much it physically hurts.
Every step feels like walking through quicksand. When I’m close enough, I reach for the knife with shaking hands, letting Ruslan see my hesitation.
Right before he hands it over, his fingers tighten on the handle. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kirill. My men are everywhere. If you try something, the punishment will be so much worse than death.”
I nod, throat tight. Stepping behind the chairs, I move slowly as if gathering courage. My father’s attention is rapt on me, waiting for me to make my choice.
I stand behind Dinara, getting into position. It’s only now that her shoulders shake, her body surrendering to the terror of the moment. Katya squeezes her eyes shut, as if willing this nightmare to end.
I wish I could tell them that I could never choose, that I’d gladly die so they could live, but warning them defeats the purpose.
So I do the only thing I can. I narrow my focus until the world disappears, leaving nothing but the pulsing vein in my father’s neck that I’m aiming for. After, I’ll lunge forward to shield both of them as best as I can. At least I’m still wearing my bulletproof vest.
I raise the knife, muscles coiling?—
The world goes dark, the overhead lights die, plunging the warehouse into pitch black.
Something hits me from the side like a battering ram. It’s Miron. I recognize his grunt as we go down hard onto concrete. The knife flies from my hand, skittering away into darkness.
His hands find my throat and squeeze. I drive my elbow into what I hope is his face and feel the satisfying crunch of cartilage.
He’s well-trained, but I’m fueled by rage and desperation and the absolute certainty that if I don’t win this, both women die.
Gunshots explode through the air, muzzle flashes lighting up the space in strobing bursts. Shouting, bodies hitting the floor. The sharp crack of return fire from multiple directions.
What the fuck is happening? Is this an outside attack or just chaos and panic in the dark? I pray to a God I don’t believe in that none of those bullets are aimed at Dinara and Katya.
Miron’s grip tightens, cutting off my airways. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
I drive my knee into his ribs, feeling something crack under the impact. His grip loosens enough for me to suck in a breath.
I flip our positions, using the momentum to throw him off balance, and get on top. I start hammering punches down into where I think his face is, knuckles splitting open, blood making my hands slick. I don’t stop, every blow is driven by fury and betrayal.
He bucks hard, trying to throw me off. I pin his arms with my knees and grab his head with both hands and twist sharply.
The snap is audible even over the gunfire and his body goes limp beneath me, hands falling away from where they were clawing at my wrists.
One less traitor our world has to deal with.
I shove off him and pat down his body, searching for weapons. The only thing I find is a knife strapped to his ankle. A pistol would have been much more helpful, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Dinara? Katya?”
I roll away, gasping. Praying like hell that they’re okay. That I’m not too late to save them from the war erupting around us.