Chapter 20
Maksim
Iwake to Kira being ripped from my arms.
One second, she's curled against me, both of us finally at peace despite the nightmare surrounding us. The next, rough hands are dragging her away.
"No!" I'm on my feet before my body remembers it's injured. Pain explodes through my shoulder and ribs, but I don't care. "Let her go!"
"Wedding time." One of the guards—the tall one from before—grins as Kira fights him. "Boss wants the bride looking presentable."
"Maksim!" Kira's screaming, clawing at the guard's arms. "Don't let them—"
I lunge forward, and two more guards appear, blocking my path. My fist connects with someone's jaw, but then someone hits me from behind.
My vision blurs. I can feel blackness creeping in, but I refuse to be knocked out. I stumble but stay upright, throwing another punch. My bad arm is limp and useless, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to use it. I need to reach her. I have to stop this.
"Maksim, no!" Kira's voice is desperate. "Don't—they'll kill you!"
"I don't care!" I'm fighting like a madman now, wounded and fevered but fueled by pure desperation.
Then something hard connects with the back of my skull. There’s no fighting the blackness. I'm falling, reaching for Kira even as darkness swallows me.
The last thing I hear is her screaming my name.
Consciousness returns slowly, painfully.
My head throbs. Everything hurts. It takes several seconds for me to remember what happened.
I force my eyes open and immediately wish I hadn't. The cell spins, nausea rising in my throat. Concussion, probably. Just another condition to add to my collection of injuries. Another hindrance to overcome.
They are becoming too many. I close my eyes and take stock.
I'm alone. Kira is gone.
The realization makes me want to scream. Or vomit. Or both. How much more can I take?
Not much.
I’m half-dead already. And is there really any point in fighting? Giving up would end my pain. I can go to sleep and wait for the bullet that will end things for good.
My mind drifts as I fight to stay conscious. It’s an internal war. I so want to give up, but there is a fire burning low in my gut that refuses to quit.
It’s that survival instinct that kept me alive through six years of torture. Even when I knew things were bleak, I couldn’t make myself quit.
Then I see Kira. It’s a kaleidoscope flashing through my mind. Memories of her.
And her scream just before I lost consciousness. I open my eyes again.
I will die. I know that, but I can save her from a brutal death. Could I kill her to save her?
I have to. I will not let her be tortured. I know what that feels like. For her, it would be far worse. I drag myself upright, using the wall for support. My legs barely hold me, but I force them to work. I move to test the cell door.
Still locked. Still solid. Still impossible.
Viktor's words echo in my head: "Your precious Kira never lifted a finger against you."
The familiar feeling of powerlessness threatens to drown me. This is Georgia all over again—locked away while terrible things happen, unable to stop any of it.
Except this time, the woman I love is the one suffering because of my failures.
Then I hear them. Chapel bells.
The sound drifts down from somewhere above, clear and mocking. Beautiful bells announcing a wedding. Or two.
My blood runs cold.
It's happening. Right now. Roman is marrying Anya while forcing Kira to watch. Destroying both sisters in one calculated move.
And I'm locked in a cell, bleeding and useless.
I slam my fist against the wall, ignoring the fresh pain. Scream until my throat is raw. Pull at the bars until I have no more strength.
Until I hear footsteps in the hallway.
This is it. This is when I die.
I turn as the cell door opens. I will look my executioner in the eye.
Viktor stands there, looking older than death itself. He's holding a gun—small caliber, suppressor attached.
"You?" My voice is raw. I thought Roman would want the satisfaction of ending me.
"I’m here to finish it." He steps inside. "This is my wedding gift to Roman. You, permanently silenced."
"He's going to kill you too." I lean against the wall, too weak to fight properly. "You know that, right?"
"I know." He raises the gun. “But this buys me time.”
“Time to do more evil.”
Viktor's smile is bitter. "You were the perfect weapon. Aimed at exactly the wrong target."
"And you helped aim me." The fury rises despite my exhaustion. “Congratulations.”
He smirks. “One of us will live to see tomorrow. One of us will have a woman in our bed again. I think I made the right choice.”
"His loyal dog, finishing the job."
“This time, you'll definitely be dying. No miraculous survivals. No returns from the dead. Just gone."
The gun points at my chest. Center mass.
I close my eyes, and Kira's face fills my vision. Her smile. Her tears yesterday. Her voice saying she loved me.
At least I'll die knowing the truth. She never betrayed me. That she loved me through everything.
Small comfort, but comfort, nonetheless.
The cell door creaks.
I open my eyes to see it swinging inward. Viktor spins, confused.
Semyon stands in the doorway, his own weapon raised.
"Step away from him, Viktor." Semyon's voice is deadly calm.
"Semyon?" Viktor's gun wavers. "What are you—how did you—"
"I've been working with resistance inside Roman's organization for weeks." Semyon moves into the cell. "Waiting for the right moment. This is it."
"You can't stop this." Viktor's desperation bleeds through. "Roman has won. The wedding is happening right now—"
"Then we'd better hurry." Semyon's gun doesn't waver. "Put yours down. Step aside. Or I put you down. Your choice."
For a long moment, Viktor doesn't move. Weighing options. Calculating odds.
Then he sighs and lowers his weapon. "I'm dead either way. At least this way, maybe I die with some honor."
"You lost honor six years ago." I force myself forward, legs unsteady. "When you sold me out."
"I know." Viktor sets the gun on the floor. "For what it's worth—I'm sorry. To you. To Kira. To your father's memory. I'm sorry for all of it."
Semyon shoots him.
The suppressed shot is quiet—barely louder than a cough. Viktor's expression shifts from resignation to surprise to nothing as he crumples.
I stare at his body, feeling nothing. No satisfaction. No rage. Just emptiness.
"Can you walk?" Semyon is at my side, supporting my good arm.
"I'll crawl if I have to." I look at him. "Kira—"
"Is upstairs at the wedding." He hands me Viktor's gun. "Along with her sister and about two hundred witnesses. We need to move fast."
"How did you—"
"Later." He pulls me toward the door. "Right now, we stop a wedding. Or two. Then we deal with Roman."
"Deal with him how?"
Semyon's smile is grim. "However necessary. The real war starts now, brother. And this time, we're fighting the right enemy."
We move into the hallway. I feel a second wave of energy. Well, energy might have been a strong word, but I was moving. I could fire a gun.
There was still time. I could save her.
If we're fast enough. If I can stay conscious.
My shoulder screams with every movement. My vision blurs. My legs threaten to give out. But I keep moving. It’s time to finally get something right.
"Come on." Semyon pulls me forward. "Your woman needs saving. Let's go be heroes."
Despite everything, I almost smile.
Then we're running—as much as my broken body allows—toward the chapel.
I will die trying to save her.
I know she would rather be dead than live through the fate he has planned for her. And I will gladly take my last breath if I know she’s at peace.
Kira
Roman's smile is the cruelest thing I've ever seen.
"You get front row seats to watch me marry your precious little sister," he says, and there's savage satisfaction in every word. "And then you'll take her place with Volkov."
The words take a moment to register. Then horror crashes over me.
"You sick bastard." I lunge toward him, but the guards holding my arms jerk me back. "She's nineteen years old!"
"Old enough to learn obedience." His smile is pure evil. "And you're going to watch every moment of it, knowing this is what your betrayal cost her."
"It wasn't betrayal!" I'm screaming now, past caring about dignity. "You set us up! You orchestrated everything!"
"Details." He waves a dismissive hand. "What matters is that you'll spend your last hours watching your sister marry me. Watching her realize what her life will become. And knowing that afterward, you'll be handed to Volkov like the whore you are."
He turns to leave. I thrash against the guards. "I'll kill you! I swear to God, Roman, I'll—"
"You'll do nothing." He doesn't even look back. "You're powerless. Finally. Completely. Just like I planned."
The door slams shut with a finality that echoes in my bones.
The guards release me, and I collapse to my knees on the cold floor. A holding room somewhere in the compound. Plain walls. One window too high to reach. A door that's now locked from the outside.
My prison until the wedding. I force myself to breathe. There has to be a way out of this. Has to be something I can do.
But what? I'm unarmed. Locked in. Guarded. And in less than an hour, Anya will be walking down an aisle toward a monster.
The door opens again, and I'm on my feet, ready to fight whoever comes through.
But it's Anya.
She stumbles inside, pushed by a guard who closes the door behind her without a word. She's wearing a wedding dress—my wedding dress, hastily altered to fit her smaller frame. White silk and lace that should symbolize joy.
Instead, it looks like a shroud.
Mascara streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes are red and swollen. Her hands shake as she stares at me.
"Kira!" She throws herself into my arms. We both collapse to the floor, holding each other as she sobs.
"I can't do this." The words come out broken. "Please, I can't marry him. He's old and he scares me and I don't—I can't—"