Page 69 of Scarred Bratva King

A sound pulls me from my thoughts. Faint, distant—a scuffle, coming from the back of the store. Adrenaline floods my system, and I’m moving again, gun raised as I weave through the chaos.

Every overturned shelf, every shadow feels like a threat. My grip on the weapon tightens as I approach the back door, the noise growing louder.

I pause at the door, pressing my back against the wall. My heart pounds in my chest, but my breathing is steady.

My mind sharpens, every sense on high alert. I listen closely—footsteps, voices, the scrape of something heavy against concrete. My hand hovers over the door handle.

I pull it open. The other guard slumped dead. The sharp tang of gunpowder lingers in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of blood and sweat. I should have sent more men.

Nearby is another body, blood pooled underneath it. Not her. One of Marco’s men. Stabbed to death, a box cutter on the ground nearby. She didn’t go down without a fight.

Then I see my wife. Two men near her. One at the end of the alley, coming her way, the other holding her in place.

She wrenches herself out of his grip, using the technique I taught her. She whips her foot back and catches the guy in the balls, sending him down to the ground. He reaches out for her but she’s already running my way.

She blinks when she sees me, shock making her pause. “Help,” she says.

Marco is turning to run away, realizing I set this up. I pull out my gun and fire, hitting him in the leg. He goes down at once, trying to crawl away from me.

The man who held her is reaching for his own weapon. I put a bullet in his skull.

The crack of the shot echoes through the narrow alley, and his body crumples like a discarded rag doll.

Veronica stares at me, wide-eyed, her chest heaving. Relief flickers in her gaze for just a moment before it’s replaced by something harder—determination.

“Let’s end this,” I tell her, taking her hand, leading her over to where Marco is still trying to crawl away.

The asshole stops dead in his tracks when we reach him, his arms lifting slowly as if surrendering will somehow save him.

“Your guards are dead,” I say as he glances past me. “Any last words?”

The smugness vanishes from his face, replaced by a mask of pale, wide-eyed terror. “Maxim,” he stammers, his voice quivering. “Please, we can talk about this. You want money? I have money. My uncle will pay-”

“This isn’t about money,” I reply, my voice lethal. “Any last words?”

He reaches for me. “Please,” he says, desperation dripping from every word. “Don’t do this.”

“If it were up to me,” I say, my voice as cold and sharp as a winter’s night, “I’d burn you alive right now.”

I flip the gun in my hand, holding it out to Veronica, butt first. “But it’s not up to me,” I say. “It’s up to my wife to decide your fate.”

For a moment, silence blankets the alley, thick and oppressive. Marco turns to her, his expression a pathetic mix of fear and pleading.

“Honey,” he chokes out, taking a hesitant step toward her. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t. We had something, didn’t we? You felt it too. Something real.”

Her hand trembles as she takes the gun from me, her knuckles white around the grip. I don’t move, my eyes never leaving hers.

This is her moment. Her choice. Whatever happens now, it will be on her terms.

Marco continues his pathetic attempt at persuasion, his voice rising with desperation. “We can fix this! You belong with me, honey, please.”

I stand back, watching her. My chest tightens as I take in the fire in her eyes, the set of her jaw. She’s different. She’s always been strong, but now she’s my queen.

“Marco?” she says.

“Yeah?” There’s a note of hope in his voice.

“I told you before not to call me honey.” She pulls the trigger.

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