Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Look at him,” Mikhail murmurs, voice pitched for me alone. “He came to die.”
I keep my face calm. “He came to take me.”
Mikhail’s fingers tighten at my back. “You’re going to watch his last moments.”
A man on Viktor’s left goes down. I see it happen in the corner of my eye, a jerk of movement, then a collapse as he’s hit and dragged back by someone else. Viktor doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even turn his head. He keeps moving forward, and the men around him adjust to cover the gap. Someone fires from a table near the left aisle seats and gets two shots off before Viktor’s group puts him down. The shooter drops behind his overturned chair like someone cut his strings.
The crowd screams again when they realize their guards are dying too. The Bratva elite is used to watching other people suffer. They aren’t used to being the ones in the line of fire. They duck and cower and crawl and cover their heads, and it’s ugly.
Mikhail shifts his stance slightly, putting me behind him by a fraction. A guard on his right moves closer, weapon trained toward Viktor’s line. Another guard on his left raises his gun too. They are forming a kill corridor, and the realization hits me hard enough to make my stomach tighten again. Mikhail doesn’t care if the whole wedding burns. He just wants Viktor to die.
He’ll make me watch, too. My only way out of this is to put myself in the line of fire.
My hand twitches at my side. It’s instinct, not emotion. It’s my body remembering what my mind already knows.
Viktor gets closer. The distance compresses. The aisle becomes a straight line of blood and smoke and shattered glass. His men keep firing with restraint.
Mikhail’s security tightens, and the air around me changes. The men flanking me shift their feet, preparing. Someone speaks into an earpiece and nods. Another man moves behind the arch of flowers with a weapon raised, trying to set up a shot on Viktor’s approach. A guard on the far side points toward an exit behind the stage area, and I realize with cold clarity that they have a plan for me too.
They aren’t going to let Viktor reach me. If Viktor gets close, they will move me. If Viktor breaks through, they will use me as a shield. If Viktor refuses to stop, they will shoot me and blame him for it.
I swallow hard to keep my face composed. I refuse to give Mikhail the satisfaction of seeing fear in my expression. He has worked for months to manufacture fear. He doesn’t get to watch it bloom now like a victory.
Viktor’s gaze stays locked on me. He fires, moves, fires again. A Grinkov guard drops. Another stumbles back clutching his shoulder. Viktor’s men surge forward another step, and the crowd reacts with a fresh wave of screaming, as if the guests have realized the fight is coming toward them no matter what they do.
“I have one final gift for you, my bride,” Mikhail tells me in a sadistic voice.
I glare at him with all the hatred and anger I can muster.
“You get to prove your loyalty to me,” he says, pulling out his gun and shoving it into my hands. “Shoot your lover. End this.”
Even now, he’s not giving up his control. He’ll frame this like a desperate, final act of a beautiful bride. Look how well she protected her husband. Look how well she listened when he gave her an instruction.
He speaks softly, close enough for me to hear him over the distant gunfire and screaming. “Take it.”
I don’t move at first. I don’t want to take the gun. There’s no way in hell I can shoot Viktor. I’d rather shoot myself. That’s the decision, really. Kill Viktor or actually kill myself.
Mikhail smiles wider. “You want control, don’t you, Anya? You want agency? Here it is.”
“The room has gone strangely quiet near the front. The fight has shifted farther back for a moment, contained in pockets. Viktor is still advancing, but his line is slower now because security is tightening around him. People are still screaming and running in the back, but the front has become a stage. Everyone senses it. Everyone is watching.
Mikhail keeps the gun extended.
“Shoot him quickly,” he says calmly. “Prove your loyalty to me or watch him suffer horrifically.”
My eyes flick toward Viktor. He is close enough now that I can see the blood on his sleeve, the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are set like he’s bracing for impact. He is still moving forward, still refusing to slow down, even though any one of these men could get lucky and put a bullet through his throat.
His gaze is on me, sharp and steady. He trusts me to make the right decision.