Chapter 28
Saint
Someone pulls a gun and fires at Artem's men, who return fire. Automatic weaponry is pulled from somewhere, and the sound of it is loud and deafening in this enclosed space.
People scream, run, and even dive for cover.
People are trying to get to the exits, but Artem's men are blocking them, picking off anyone who tries to leave. Others get trampled as things go to hell.
"Saint—" Gemma tries to lift her head, and I push her down, covering her with my body.
"Stay the fuck down!" I growl.
More gunfire sprays across the room. Glass shatters around us, electricity sizzles as bullets hit string lights, and people scream and cry. It's fucking chaos. It's hell.
I cover Gemma with my body. If bullets come, they go through me first. I'm not a praying man, but I hope my own body will be enough to shield her, or at least, minimize the damage. If I die, Marcello will take over, he'll ensure she's safe. That knowledge gives me a bit of peace.
"Gem—" Her eyes are wide, terrified. "I love you."
It's a shit time to make a confession, but I need to say it. There's a lot I need to say, but as bullets flies next to us, exploding the leg of the table, causing Gemma to scream, I know I may not get another chance.
"I need you to move," I tell her, as another bullet whizzes past us. "The exit behind us is unmanned. Someone got the guard. When I say go—"
"I'm not leaving you." Her nails dig into my arm.
"Gemma—" We do not have time to argue, but I can't force her to move if she isn't going to do it on her own. I close my eyes, cursing my wife's inability to save her own skin.
"I'm not leaving you!" Her eyes are wild. Terrified. But determined.
I look around, assessing things. She's not staying here. I allowed her to be involved in strategy, in planning. This, bullets and blood, this is where I draw the line.
Glancing around, I quickly assess the situation, the way Antonio trained me. There needs to be another way I can drag her out of here. There's no way I'll make it to the exit without covering her, and from what I see, there's no other way out.
Artem's men move with military precision.
They're executing his enemies, and anyone who pulls a weapon in their defense, is ending up in the crossfire. The smart ones are on the ground, hands visible.
This isn't a fight. It's a slaughter.
"Everyone down!" Artem's voice cuts through the chaos. "Weapons on the ground! Hands where I can see them!"
The shooting stops. Mostly. A few stragglers fire off rounds, but they're eliminated quickly.
Groans and cries fill the air. I hear someone pray in Russian.
I keep Gemma pressed to the floor, not convinced the danger has passed. I can feel her heart beating against my chest. She's scared.
"It's over," Artem says. His voice is calm as though he didn't just slaughter half the Bratva. "Igor is dead as are his captains. The rest of you have a choice—join me or join him."
It's slow, but I watch as the remaining men throw down their weapons, stand, and pledge their loyalty to Artem.
One by one. Until the warehouse is full of men pledging loyalty to the man who just murdered their Pakhan.
"Good." Artem walks through the crowd, inspecting things. "Very good. You've made the smart choice. The profitable choice." He stops at Igor's body. "Take him away. Give him a proper funeral. He was a good soldier, and he deserves to be buried with respect."
Men move, immediately, and fuck, I'm impressed. I'll admit it.
I'd fucking spit on my enemy before I buried them.
Artem barely gives Igor a second glance.
"Now." Artem claps his hands together. "We were having a party, yes? Let's continue! Music! Vodka! We celebrate new leadership!"
He's insane. He has to be.
I'm a fucking psychopath, clinically, and I wouldn't be ready to dance after having just painted the walls red with blood.
But his men are already moving. Turning lights back on. Setting up tables that got knocked over. Someone starts music. Loud. Thumping bass.
Within minutes, it's like nothing happened. Except for the blood on the floor. The bullet holes in the walls.
Gemma is shaking, as I pull her to her feet. I look around, trying to find Marcello. Is he one of the bodies?
Our eyes meet across the room.
No. Thank fucking God.
"Mr. Marini." Artem's voice. He opens his arms. "Let us talk."
Gemma's hands are on me, gripping me. Artem isn't looking at her. The dismissal is clear.
Good. I don't want her anywhere near this.
"Go to Marcello," I say.
She shakes her head, her fingers digging into my skin. I slowly detach her. Marcello is already making his way over. "Take her."
"Saint, don't." She reaches for me.
"Nothing will happen to your husband," Artem says, stepping next to me. "We simply need to discuss this transition."
Gemma stares at Artem, impressively defiant. Her silver eyes are full of defiance. "You just murdered—"
"My enemies," he interjects. "Saint is not my enemy. We are equals. And while I admire you, this is men's talk."
Wrong thing to say. Gemma's cheeks pinken, and I sense a fight. "Go," I bark. "Now." There's a warning in my voice, and immediately, Gemma's back straightens. Her eyes turn molten, and I know I'm in for some shit later.
But we agreed to certain things, and this is one of them.
She nods, turns, and walks out with Marcello.
"Shall I have my men frisk you," he asks, leading me to a back room. An office.
"I'm unarmed."
Artem smiles. "No weapon? Smart. I'd hate for there to be a misunderstanding."
He takes a seat. I do as well. There's no desk between us. We are just two men, powerful ones, discussing what comes next.
"Now. We have business to discuss. You and me. Man to man."
"What do you need to say? You've consolidated power. Would you like a congratulations?"
He laughs. "Wouldn't be unwarranted."
I remain silent.
"Let's talk about your wife."
I try not to flinch. Gemma is a weakness, and Artem has already clocked it. There's no use in hiding it, but I'm not looking to give him any extra ammunition. "What about her?"
"She's impressive. Smart. Strategic. That plan, backing Igor, creating legitimacy, using political pressure, it was excellent. I assume it was hers?"
"Yes," I admit. "I wanted to kill you."
He laughs again. "I like you, Saint, and I don't like many people." He sips his vodka. "I also like your wife."
I stiffen.
He waves me away. "Do not misunderstand. She's not my type. Too head strong. Too defiant. But she's smart."
I make a sound of acknowledgement in the back of my throat. Artem, it appears, cares to talk, and I let him.
"She got everyone in this room. In one place. At one time. All of Igor's supporters. All the fence-sitters. Everyone I needed to either convert or eliminate." He smiles. "Her plan made my job easier. Much easier. It's why I allowed it."
The words hit like a punch.
"You're saying—"
"I'm saying your wife is brilliant. Her strategy was sound.
She just didn't account for me using it to my advantage.
" He leans back. "Igor's coronation was the perfect venue.
Everyone present. Everyone expecting celebration.
No one prepared for violence. She gift-wrapped it for me.
" He makes a chef's kiss gesture, appreciative.
"That wasn't her intention."
"Of course not. But that's the beauty of it. She played her game. I played mine. Mine was just better. It doesn't make hers bad, simply means she has more to learn." He pulls out his phone. "Which brings us to this."
The footage.
My blood runs cold. Artem is clearly a formidable opponent, and I'm not going to put anything past him.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Nothing." He opens the file. Deletes it.
I stare. "What?"
"I got what I wanted. Igor is dead. The Bratva is mine. I displayed my power and made examples of those I needed to. No one will challenge me now. I do not need your ports. Why would I need leverage over you?"
"To control the ports. The unions. To expand—"
"I don't need to expand," he shrugs. "Not yet. Your territories are yours. Our current arrangements stand." He pockets the phone. "We're even, Mr. Marini. Clean slate."
"Why?" I don't trust Artem. Not one fucking bit. He wants something. He's not the type to simply give up a video like the one he has.
"Your wife played well. She lost. But she played well. That deserves respect." He stands. Walks to the window. "I could use that footage. Start a war. Take your territories while you're weak. But I do not find enjoyment in such a thing."
"So, this is about honor?"
He rolls his eyes. "You and I both know there is no real honor with men like us.
No," he shakes his head, "this is about consolidation.
The men are tired. They have dealt with Alexei, then, his death.
Igor ascended, and now, he is dead. If I am to keep control, I need to let them rest. Show benevolence.
" He finishes his vodka. "Same as you. We are both new to our roles, and I think you'll agree with me that killing is much easier than leading. "
I don't say anything, even though I do agree.
"So that's it?" I ask. I gesture to the phone. "Clean slate. We all go about our merry way."
"For now," he says. "We can be enemies when we've both calmed."
I stand. "If I find out you are fucking with me, that you are planning to harm my wife…" I trail off, a small laugh. "Well, you'll learn what makes me dangerous."
Artem stares at me, his eyes hard.
I turn and walk towards the office door, appearing more confident than I feel.
"Saint?"
I stop, turn slightly.
"Your wife is dangerous. Don't forget that."
I laugh. Really laugh. "You're not wrong," I say, opening the door. "She may be more dangerous than any of us."
I walk out, leaving Artem to his empire while I go back to mine.
Tonight, Gemma's plan failed. But it was a good plan. A smart plan.
It just wasn't enough against someone like Artem.
But it could be. Next time. If I let her learn. Let her grow. Let her become what she's capable of being.
Not just a wife. A partner. An equal. Someone as dangerous as I am.
The compound is quiet when I arrive.
It's late. Past two in the morning. The staff is asleep, and I don't see anyone but the guards as I go to my bedroom—our bedroom.
Gemma is sitting on the bed, fully dressed and waiting.
She jumps to her feet when she sees me, rushing towards me. "You're okay. You're—" She's in my arms. Shaking. "I thought he might—"
"I'm fine. We're fine." I hold her tight. "It's over."
"What did he say? What did he want?"
I pull back. Look at her. Really look at her.
"He wants peace. For now."
"Peace?"
I nod. "He wanted me to thank you. You got everyone in the room, and he was able to eliminate his enemies without touching our territory."
Gemma looks horrified, just as I knew she would.
"He says he deleted the video."
"He says he did?"
"I watched him, but I don't trust that he'd give up that leverage. But I also don't have a choice." I pull her closer. "We prepare like he still has it. We move carefully. We don't relax."
"Why would he even delete it if he was just going to use it?"
I smile at her. Her eyes are wide like silver orbs, and I take a step back, so I can see her face. These past few weeks, she's eaten more, and her skin looks healthier. She's still thin, but I can no longer see her bones through her skin.
"Because he respects you." I kiss her forehead. "He thinks you are dangerous. That's high praise from someone like him."
"Really?"
I bring her towards me, kissing her soundly. Her lips are soft, and I can smell her perfume. "He's right. I've been wasting you. Keeping you safe. Protecting you. Treating you like something fragile. But you're not fragile. You're dangerous. And I need to start treating you like it."
A tear slides down her cheek, and I kiss it away. The taste is salty on my tongue. "I got Igor killed."
"You made a play. It didn't work. That's not your fault." I pull her back against me. "Artem said your plan helped him. That you got everyone in one room and made his takeover easier. You didn't fail, Gemma. You just played against someone better. This time."
She kisses me. It's desperate and needy.
I kiss her back, hard and claiming.
We stand there. Holding each other. Alive. Together.
We're alive. We're together. We lost tonight.
But we'll win next time.
Because now I understand what I have.
Not just a wife. A partner. An equal. Someone as dangerous as I am.
And I'm finally ready to let her be that.