Chapter 57 Simona
SIMONA
“Hey!” I bolted up the path, screaming to remove the attention from my father, who crouched opposite a Range Rover. The windows smashed above him. He was jamming a magazine into his gun when he and Dyadya Vassili spotted me.
The bullets stopped.
“Take me!” I shouted.
My father glared at me, the look darker than night as I lifted my hands. I did a circle in the nippy air, my stilettos sauntering straight through smeared blood.
“And me …” came a faintly Scottish shout from the distance.
Chyort. I glanced back. Jake sprinted toward me, blinking as if he hadn’t thought this through.
Muttering curses, I pinched the bridge of my nose.
He was supposed to stay in the car and ring his father.
The same father who finally resembled a vicious Scot when he phoned us during our drive.
Big Brody had gotten word from Lachlan over an hour ago—prepare the clan.
Although armed, they lacked a destination.
We’d promised to fix this slaughterhouse—one river of blood, instead of two—before they arrived.
But by we, I’d meant me.
I’d fix this.
Unable to rely on Baran in his grief, I’d given Vassilievich an assignment: dig into Lorenzo Ferri’s family history.
Find a connection. Vass had been committed to watching Mia and persuaded another classmate to take on the assignment.
The student had uncovered much, including Lorenzo’s mother’s past mental illness.
He’d learned that Lorenzo’s biological father had beaten her in a rage after watching a UFC match, featuring Vassili and Louis Gotti.
He’d lost money betting on the fight, and she’d paid the price with bruises and preterm labor.
That incident had resulted in his father’s imprisonment, even though she had not wanted to press charges many times before.
Vass’s classmate also found that Lorenzo’s mother had almost lost custody of him when he was two for medication noncompliance.
And there was a trail of Child Protective Services cases, abuse and neglect, but it appeared that Lorenzo’s mom fled from state to state, evading accountability, and had plenty of time to fill the eight-year-old’s head with more lies before her suicide.
I needed to update everyone as quickly as possible. Just then, the door opened. Weapons snapped in our direction. At my side, Jake’s hand found mine and refused to let go.
“What are you doing, Baby MacKenzie?” I whispered.
The muzzle of an SKS rifle nudged his forehead. Jake stepped into the gunman’s path, still holding my hand.
“Who are you?” The Russian gunman demanded in broken English.
“Jake MacKenzie. We’re here to …” His eyes snapped to mine.
“We’re here to explain why everyone is testy. And I am thrilled to commence my engagement with Rurik Mikhailov.” The sarcasm in my tone slipped when Jake squeezed my fingers so tight the blood stopped. “On one condition. Lev and Edik forgive Natasha.”
My grin would look so much better with an eyeroll, but shadows stood in the attic windows. My educated guess? Those shadows belonged to the Mikhailovs, who viewed this fight from their snooty opera-box seats.
The man nearest me spoke into his Apple Watch.
“I have Simona Resnova. A male escort accompanies her … a Jake … Mac … MacKenzie. She wishes to announce her engagement with Rurik. She has further stipulations. Advise.” A second later, he glanced at the tiny screen, then a smile broke across his face.
“Come in. We shall raise a glass. Celebrate.”
“Where’s Natasha?” I asked.
“Clearing the home in search of her now. We spotted an unknown male on video a while ago.”
“Lorenzo Ferri?” My father and uncle joined me, a questioning look as I said the name.
The lieutenant shrugged. “Da, maybe? He was identified as not one of the Resnov Bratva. However, Lev enjoyed the show.” His dry chuckle made my knuckles itch. “Not to worry, I presume she’s alive. Edik, he’s with her.”
As if softie could fight? Well, I’d misjudged Jake. Never thought he’d jump into an icy lake to save me. Never thought he’d—
We strolled toward the door. Jake hadn’t let go. The touch was firm, not punishing for my game of Russian Roulette. My father glared at our adjoined fingers. Ever the protector, he claimed the space ahead of us.
Uncle Vassili strolled at my opposite side. His voice was a clipped growl. “Why did you do this?”
“I saved us all, okay?”
“I made you a promise, Sima.”
“Which was never your problem, Dyadya.”
“When we get inside,”—Vassili took my arm and stopped me outside the door—“I talk. You and the other MacKenzie shut up. Understood?”
“Got it.” Jake nodded.
I did too, hoping that my uncle would carry out his plan. He entered. I stood back. Jake remained at my side. The enforcer behind us gestured with his gun.
I ignored the threat.
Inside, an echo of footsteps coupled with my cousin’s voice. Heard Lachlan’s Scottish brogue, telling her how much he loved her. Natasha’s quiet sobs. Khoroshiy. They were alive. A relieved sigh escaped me.
Natasha was safe.
Tears burned my eyes. My voice wobbled, weak and pathetic. “We will all be fine.” I pressed my thumb against a smudge on Jake’s cheek and relished how his breath hollowed. “Jake, that adventure. Better than an SS Robinson thriller, da?”
“We’ll start a book club.” He offered a bark of a laugh, deep, scratchy, and comforting. “We should do this again sometime. Tell me we can do this again sometime … You can’t marry Rurik.”
“She will,” our escort snapped.
We ignored him. Introspection burned in Jake’s eyes. A furrow dipped his brow. He was assessing my next move. Already anticipating it.
A teasing smirk played on my lips as I cried a river on the inside. “Okay, no Rurik. You will leave your doctor for me, da?” Let’s pretend a bit longer.
“Yes.” Jake’s voice and hands showed no hesitation. His thumbs caressed the crease of my forced smile. “Simona, I once scoffed at the term, love at first si—”
My lips crashed against his with a punishment no man could break. Teeth nipping. Tongues colliding.
Ages passed before we stepped back. Jake panting for air, my breasts straining against my bra.
After a moment of us staring at each other, I flipped the switch. Trained my emotions to normal. Normal for Russians. My attention returned to the henchman with the cold gaze. “Escort Jake to his rental on Crocket Road. Unscathed.”
“Wait—wait,” Jake said, voice hoarse, while the man clamped a hand on his arm. He threw a fist, punching the man in the jaw. Another guard rushed from the driveway, lifting the butt of his rifle.
“Don’t!” I ordered. “Or I will never marry Rurik. I’ll inform the Mikhailovs that you two are the cause of my refusal.”
The gun stopped swinging from behind Jake. The original man swiped blood from his nose with his suit-clad forearm.
As Jake called my name, I strolled inside the house. Well, Sima, time to marry into this lawless family.