Chapter 24 #3
“The south exit.” I’ve got the whole damn place memorized. It’s always my way. I know the south exit leads to the parking garage, shielded only with tall hedges and a wrought iron fence.
Yana doesn’t hesitate but kicks off her heels and springs, her figure disappearing into the night. Fucking wish she had been here instead of Matvei since she’s twice as fast.
"Are you okay, Anya?" Zoya asks, calm and unruffled as always. She checks on Anya with a quick glance. I love that my sister looked after my wife first, knowing she’s a more vulnerable target.
"I'm fine, but Semyon—"
“He’s had worse," Zoya says after a quick assessment. But in the dark, I can’t tell if she’s only saying it to ease Anya’s fears. My vision swims.
Anya shakes her head. "He's bleeding."
Zoya remains composed. “We'll take care of him. The Romanovs will have medics.”
“I’m good,” I grind out through clenched teeth. I feel impotent, bested, and it fucking pisses me off. They could’ve hit Anya. Who the fuck was that? “Don’t worry about me.”
But I can’t ignore the way Anya looks at me, her eyes wide and glistening with fear. She’s trembling, and something tells me this is more than fear. Something deeper that reaches inside me, tightening like a fist around my chest.
My vision goes dark around the edges. Khristos. I’m losing blood.
“I’ll be back,” Zoya murmurs, retreating with her weapon drawn. “Anya, stay here with him.”
“Of course,” Anya says, shaking her head. “As if I’d go anywhere.” Her lips draw downward in a pout. I’d smile if it didn’t feel like my shoulder was going to implode.
“Who would just come here, shooting?” She shakes her head. She hovers, her hands near me as if she somehow wants to anchor me in place. “Oh, Semyon.” Our fingers lace together, sticky with blood.
“Someone with ties to the Irish.” The pieces are starting to fit together.
I need meds so I can focus, so I can slide them all into place and call checkmate.
“Matvei’s instincts were right. It was a fucking distraction.
Rafail and Rodion aren’t here, so I can fucking guarantee they were at the far end of the estate before they pulled their moves. ”
What I don’t tell her is they would likely know my instinct would be to protect Anya, and Matvei would be too slow for a chase. This was calculated.
Anya frowns. “They came close enough to shoot. I saw something on one of their wrists when he turned to go, something that reminded me of the video with Eli.”
Of course. The faction’s symbol. The Irish syndicate hasn’t been quiet about what they want. Tonight, they finally made a move.
“I can’t believe no one’s looking,” Anya whispers. “You’re bleeding out on their patio, Semyon. Shots rang out, and no one gives a damn. What the hell?” She shakes her head, her voice wobbly. “How is this normal?”
I don’t know what I can tell her to reassure her. I’m doing my best to stay conscious.
But the raw emotion in her gaze is something it takes me a moment to process. I've never seen it before. She's shaking, yes—but there's something more. Something deeper.
What does it mean? Maybe I have seen it before and never realized it.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The intensity of her stare makes my chest tighten. The world swims in front of me, and my face feels too hot, the skin too tight. Shit.
I give her a grim smile. "Violence isn’t enough. Life and death happen in the blink of an eye in our world, and the world just keeps spinning, Anya.”
Slowly, the weight of my words sinks in. But I can feel it—her fear isn’t just for herself anymore. It's for me.
Matvei returns, panting slightly but composed. He leans in. “Definitely the Irish,” he confirms, his gaze flicking to Anya. We listen as he gives us more details, but it’s only confirmation of what we already knew.
Zoya returns with Mikhail Romanov, the Romanov family pakhan, and someone I don’t know by his side, a young man with swarthy skin dressed all in white. His medic, I’d guess.
“Alright,” he says with a tight smile. “Let’s get you inside and patched up.”
"We're not safe," Anya says. “God, Semyon.”
I reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
"We never were, Anya."
Yana returns to us, triumphant and fierce, dragging a bound hostage in her wake.
Mikhail’s brows shoot up. Anya pales. The man stumbles, a smear of blood trickling from his temple.
Yana has a hand fisted in the back of his shirt, the other clutching a gun pressed tightly against his ribs. She moves as always, with deadly grace.
“Got this bastard sneaking toward a getaway car. Couldn’t get the others, but we’ll get answers out of him.”
I step forward, ignoring the burning ache in my shoulder. Anya shifts nervously, but I wave her off. I’m in control now. “Who sent you?”
“You know who,” he says in a drawl, not bothering to hide his thick brogue.
“We’ve got all night,” Yana whispers, smirking.
His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed as he spits on the ground. “You’ll get nothing out of me.”
I shake my head. This bastard’s responsible for a threat against my wife. My blood boils. “We’ll see about that.”