Kat
My heart pounds so fiercely in my ears that I can barely hear anything else.
All around me, harsh voices echo off the walls as armed men stomp across the floors of Pavel’s home—our home. I fight to steady my breaths, forcing myself not to hyperventilate. I can’t crumble. I need to protect Ana, Camille, and the baby I’m carrying. But I don’t dare let my mind fixate on them too long. Doing so would unravel my nerves completely, rendering me helpless.
I am not helpless.
Instead, I focus on staying calm, on watching every movement these intruders make, searching for a weakness where I can fight back or flee. Pavel said that help is on the way. I believe him. I have to. Perhaps he managed to send a text before the intruders blew the door open, or maybe his men have realized something is off by now. Either way, I cling to the hope that we’re not alone.
My gaze drifts to the hallway, my heart twisting in fear.
Ana.
My daughter is with Camille, and I pray they haven’t been found. If these men locate them, I don’t know what will happen. I swallow down a wave of terror as I glimpse a flicker of movement by the door. A man steps inside.
Piotr.
A chill blasts through me, so cold that the hair on my arms stands up. I’ve seen my brother do terrible things before, but never an open assault on his own family. This is raw, blatant, and intentional violence.
All rational thought flees, replaced by anger, incandescent and unstoppable. It roars inside me. The next thing I know, I’m lunging to my feet, ignoring every shred of caution, in an attempt to launch myself at my traitorous brother. A furious scream rips from my throat before I can stop it.
“Piotr!”
I might as well be a leaf trying to knock down a wall. Two men intercept me easily. They tighten their grip on my arms. A sharp pain radiates through my shoulders, halting my momentum. I thrash, refusing to give in, but they’re too strong. My feet barely skid across the polished floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pavel move. It’s a blink of motion, a flash of raw fury. In an instant, he’s upon them, but there are too many. Another one of the masked men leaps forward, ramming a fist into Pavel’s ribs. Someone else grabs him around the neck. It takes three men, bigger than him and straining with the effort, to subdue him. Yet Pavel still manages to crack one in the jaw before they slam him to the floor.
“Don’t you touch her!” he roars, voice thick with rage. Blood drips from his split lip. My chest tightens, and I don’t know whether to be furious or terrified or both.
Piotr laughs, a cold, hollow sound that turns my blood to ice. He steps closer, his demeanor calm as if this is just a usual encounter, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of revulsion. The men around us stiffen at his presence, making space for him.
“Leave us alone!” I spit at him.
“Little sister,” Piotr says, his voice full of mocking amusement. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
He reaches out, patting my cheek. Not gently either, it’s more like a slap, and it stings. Pavel fights to sit upright, but all he gets are more fists and more shouts. My heart aches.
Piotr draws back, meeting Pavel’s furious glare with a smirk. “Soon enough, everything will be under my control, but for now,” he waves a hand like he’s bored, looking around the room, “I want a word with my dear brother-in-law.” He smirks at me. “And with you, Kat.”
I wrestle against the men’s grips, but they hold me fast. They’re well-trained, or at least well-motivated, because none of them give an inch.
My mind whirls with fear and anger, my only thought is of my daughter; she has to be safe. I pray Camille heard the commotion and found a place to hide. If these men get their hands on my daughter…
My brother crosses the room to Pavel’s desk and makes himself comfortable in the big leather chair. He leans back like he owns the place. His casual posture enrages me.
He gestures to the two chairs on the other side of the desk. “Sit.”
The men holding me shove me forward, releasing my arms. My shoulders scream in pain, and for a moment, I can’t move them properly. They raise Pavel to a standing position. I can see the purple smudge forming around his right eye, the blood on his lip. Yet he stands tall, adjusting his shirt like it’s a normal day.
His composure is unnerving—maybe that’s the point. He meets Piotr’s smug grin with cold detachment, and a spike of pride flickers in my chest. My brave husband, calm in the face of chaos, refusing to give Piotr the satisfaction of seeing any fear.
We take the seats, me on the left, Pavel on the right. Piotr sighs dramatically. “You have no idea how tired I am of waiting for you both to learn your place.”
“Spare me the monolog,” Pavel bites back, voice as icy as his glare. “Tell me what you want, or is this just a petty display of power you orchestrated to impress your new friends?”
Piotr chuckles. “You’ll see soon enough. My ‘new friends’ are already reaping benefits.” He leans forward on the desk, hands folded. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to talk.”
I glance at Pavel, who’s glaring at Piotr with lethal intent. Piotr wants a conversation, presumably to gloat or threaten. What’s his endgame? And even if we manage to endure his show, what of the men who came with him? Are they all part of the Novikov Bratva or just hired guns?
There’s a scuffle of footsteps and the sound of grunting comes from the hallway. My head snaps toward the office door. Someone is being hauled in forcibly. Pavel tenses, half-standing. “Who—”
The men by the office door step aside and my stomach lurches at the sight: Vlad. Two men practically drag him over the threshold. He’s hunched over, his face a mess of bruises, one eye swollen shut, lip split. When they reach the middle of the room, they let him go, and he collapses on the floor in a heap.
I lurch to my feet with a cry, ignoring the guns that jerk in my direction. “Vlad!”
He tries to push himself up on trembling arms, but his strength fails. I rush forward, tears burning my vision. The men aim rifles at me, but I don’t care. I cradle Vlad’s face, seeing the extent of the damage up close. “Oh my God,” I whisper, voice trembling. “Vlad…”
He manages a broken, breathless chuckle. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Blood coats his teeth, making the words almost unintelligible. My vision blurs with rage.
I spin around, glaring at Piotr as I yell, “Piotr, what have you done?”
