Pavel
“Come,” I say softly, giving Kat’s hand a squeeze. “Let’s go find our daughter.”
I gently guide her out of the office, not wanting her to linger over her brother’s body. She glances back once, her lip trembling, then lets me lead her into the hallway.
The house is a wreck—overturned tables, pockmarked walls, shattered picture frames. Bullet casings glint under the recessed lighting as my men patrol the battered corridors, stepping over the twisted corpses of Piotr’s men.
Kat’s free hand fists against her mouth, her grief and anger taking over. Her eyes flick back and forth across the destruction, but she says nothing.
“Ana. What if Piotr’s men…” She can’t even finish the thought.
“Don’t go there. We’ll find her.”
We push forward. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder. A few of my men are going through the house, calling out to one another, checking corners and closets. Farther down the hall, I hear someone shout, “Clear!” Another voice calls, “No sign of them here!”
We keep searching.
Kat’s steps slow as we approach Ana’s bedroom. The door is riddled with bullet holes. She reaches for the knob, knuckles white. We brace ourselves and step inside. It’s empty—no sign of a struggle, but no sign of our daughter either. My heart clenches as Kat’s lips part in a silent question. Where is she?
“Camille probably hid her somewhere,” I tell her. “Maybe they found the panic room.”
Kat exhales shakily. “Right.”
We hurry into Camille’s room. The door stands ajar, the interior is trashed: clothes tossed, furniture broken. A dresser leans precariously against a wall. My stomach twists, imagining a fight here.
“Ana?” Kat calls. She skims the destruction with worried eyes. “Camille?”
We hear a faint shuffling noise coming from the corner. I raise my gun automatically before a soft voice says, “I…I am here.”
Kat’s eyes widen. “Camille.”
We follow the voice to the other side of the bed. Kat rushes around and I’m right behind her. Camille emerges from beneath the bed, her cheek smeared with blood, hair disheveled. She clings to the bed frame for support, a mixture of relief and shock on her face.
“Camille,” Kat gasps, kneeling to help her. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, fresh bruises marring her face. “They hit me, demanded to know where Ana was, but I didn’t tell them anything.” Her voice breaks. “I said nothing.”
“You did well.” I help Camille to her feet. “Where is Ana?”
Camille glances toward a big, heavy dresser half shoved in front of a door. “She’s locked in the bathroom. I blocked the door with that. I had no time to hide anywhere else before the gunfire started.”
I stare at the massive oak piece. “You pushed that alone?”
She gives a shaky shrug. “I can’t explain. Perhaps it was mama bear strength, yes?”
Kat takes a step toward the dresser, pressing her shoulder against it. I join her, ignoring the throbbing in my muscles from the earlier beating. Together, we manage to shift it aside. It screeches across the torn floorboards, revealing the bathroom door behind it.
Camille nods. “Ana locked herself inside. She wouldn’t open up for me again.”
Kat doesn’t wait. She rushes to the doorknob, frantically rattling it.
“Ana?” she calls. “Baby, open up. It’s Mama.”
No response. I see a flicker of fear cross Kat’s face. Without hesitation, I wedge my shoulder against the door. “Ana, honey, back away from the door,” I warn softly.
Kat steps aside, and I ram it once, twice. The hinges groan, then splinter. One more shove, and the door swings open, revealing a dark bathroom. I flip on the switch, heart in my throat.
A small figure is curled up in the tub, arms wrapped around her knees. As the light flares, she lifts her head, eyes wet with tears. My chest clenches.
Ana.
The relief I feel at the sight of my daughter, unharmed after what just happened, is indescribable.
Kat lets out a sob. “Ana!” She runs forward, and our daughter leaps from the tub, launching into her mother’s arms.
“Mama!” Ana cries. Kat holds her tight, tears pouring down her face. My vision blurs with unexpected emotion. After everything, we found her safe.
Camille sinks onto the bathtub’s edge, pressing a hand to her mouth as if stifling a sob. “I told her it was hide-and-seek,” she murmurs. “Told her not to open the door for anyone. They threatened me, but I wouldn’t speak.”
Kat, still clutching Ana, manages a broken thank you, leaning in to hug Camille with one arm.
My chest aches with gratitude.
I brush my palm across Ana’s hair. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She sniffles, burying her face against Kat’s neck. “I was so scared,” she mumbles.
Kat soothes her with gentle strokes over her back. “It’s over,” she whispers. “No more shooting.”
Camille stands, pushing her hair back. “What about Piotr?”
Kat’s face crumples. I look at Camille and mouth the words He’s gone.
Camille closes her eyes, nodding in resigned understanding as Kat carries Ana out of the bathroom.
“He tried to kill you, didn’t he?”
I nod. “Yes, and he seriously hurt Vlad. He’s on his way to the hospital now.”
Ana shifts in Kat’s arms as Camille and I enter the bedroom. She glances up at us with wide, worried eyes. She recognizes the names, picking up on the tension. “Where’s Uncle Vlad?”
“Getting help,” Kat says, giving her a brave smile that wavers at the edges. “He’ll be okay.”
We hope.
“We should leave. Go somewhere that isn’t a damn war zone.”
Kat nods, swallowing hard. She turns to Camille, noticing the bruises again. “You need medical attention, too.”
Camille shakes her head firmly. “I’m fine, truly. It’s just a bruise. Let’s get Ana out of this place.”
I exhale a long sigh of relief. Ana and Camille are safe.
As we head out into the corridor, several of my men pass us. Kat keeps a protective arm around Ana’s face, shielding her from the mayhem. We head to the stairs, carefully stepping over broken frames and debris, bullet casings, and shattered furniture. The smell of smoke and blood is overpowering.
At last, we reach the ground floor, stepping into the once-grand foyer. Doors hang off twisted hinges, splintered wood and glass lay everywhere. The fight is done, but the cleanup is far from over.
Just outside the kitchen, a make-shift triage has been set up. Vlad is there on a stretcher, an IV bag hanging next to him, the line set firmly into the thick vein on his hand. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, as I thought he would have been well on his way to the hospital by now.
Camille hovers next to him for a brief moment, then gently rubs Ana’s back. “Come with me, hmm?” she whispers to her. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”
Ana hesitates, glancing at Kat. Kat nods, gently transferring her to Camille, shielding her view of Vlad. “Stay close,” she tells them both.
As they head toward the terrace, I focus on Vlad. Kat bends over him, gripping his uninjured hand. “Are you okay?” she asks.
He winces as he offers a weak smile. “Been better,” he croaks.
Sergei, one of the medics, a burly man with a kind face, tapes fresh bandages over his shoulder wound. “He was lucky,” Sergei says. “The bullet passed through his shoulder clean. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he has several broken ribs. We’re going to take him to the hospital in a few minutes.”
Kat bows her head, pressing her forehead to Vlad’s good hand. “You’ll be alright,” she insists, voice quivering. He closes his eyes, nodding faintly.
Sergei motions to me. “We need to move him STAT. He needs proper treatment.”
“Do it; whatever he needs.”
Vlad glances toward me. “You kill that bastard?” he asks.
“Piotr’s gone,” I confirm grimly. “He won’t hurt your family again.”
He exhales, pain flickering across his face. “Good.”
Kat kisses Vlad’s forehead before the medics wheel the stretcher into the elevator. Kat moves to follow, but I catch her arm.
She stiffens. “I want to go with him.”
“You’ll see him soon,” I say softly, “but we need to gather ourselves first, Kat. Then we’ll meet him.”
Nikolai appears, wiping blood from his brow. “We’re still scanning the place. No more hostiles found. Piotr’s men are either dead or gone.” His gaze dips, noting Kat’s tear- and blood-streaked face. “Vlad’s going to be okay,” he adds, more gently. “One of my men had already called the paramedics when you ordered him taken to the hospital. They were here by the time we got him downstairs. They wanted to stabilize him before transporting him.
“Boss, we can wrap things up. You and your family should get out of here, go to a nice hotel or something.”
Kat nods, relief and sorrow colliding in her expression. “Yes, please.”
I slip an arm around her. “Piotr’s body is in the office,” I say quietly to Nikolai. “Bury it in an unmarked grave. He doesn’t deserve anything more.”
Kat tenses beside me but she doesn’t protest. She’s mourning the brother she once knew, not the monster he’d become. Nikolai bows his head, stepping away to handle it.
We grab Camille and Ana and take the elevator downstairs. A swirl of night air greets us when we step outside. The courtyard is lit by the headlights of several black SUVs, our personal medics milling around with first-aid kits, taking care of any injuries, Nikolai’s team mans the perimeter, weapons still at the ready.
No police—they know better than to interfere in Bratva business.
Camille stands to one side, holding Ana in her arms. My child gazes at us, eyes puffy, face streaked with tears and exhaustion. My heart clenches. Damn! I wish she didn’t have to witness any of this. I vow to myself that, going forward, she never will again.
Kat approaches them, wrapping them both in a hug. Camille glances at me. “What about Vlad?”
“He’s on his way to the hospital,” I say. “We’ll join him soon.”
Kat cups Ana’s cheek, smoothing away tears. “You okay, baby?”
Ana nods weakly. “Tired,” she murmurs.
Kat gently kisses her temple. “We’ll get you somewhere you can sleep, sweet girl. It’s all over now.”
I slip my hand on Kat’s shoulder. “We should get going.”
She gives a longing glance at the building before letting me guide her toward one of the waiting vehicles. I help her get Ana settled and buckled in on her lap in the back seat.
Camille climbs in next to them, wrapping her arm around them protectively. I slide into the passenger seat, nodding at the driver—one of Nikolai’s men.
“Go,” I instruct, voice rough with fatigue.
He drops it into drive. As we pull away from the battered remains of the building, I catch a glimpse of bodies being dragged out, Piotr’s among them, presumably. A wave of heaviness presses on my chest. He was family to Kat and Vlad, once a friend to me, but he shattered those bonds. I had no choice.
Kat’s humming brings me back. She kisses Ana’s hair as Camille strokes her arm. Leaning back in the seat, I release a heavy sigh. We’re alive. Vlad’s alive. The threat is gone. Now we just have to piece our lives back together.
Ana exhales her own sigh as she drifts off. I rest my head against the seat, letting my eyes close for a moment. My thoughts swirl with images of bullet-riddled halls, Vlad bleeding out, Piotr’s final glare before I fired. My eyes pop open as I cling to a single truth—we’re alive.
Whatever tomorrow holds—Vlad’s recovery, the city’s reaction, the burial of a brother who died a traitor—we’ll endure it. Kat’s hand reaches out for mine. I squeeze it gently, letting the warmth of her grip steady me. We’re together, and we’re free of Piotr’s dark ambitions.
We’re safe.
That’s enough for now.
