Page 165 of Vendetta Vows

And pray that I can survive this.

I duck as bullets send plaster dust raining down on my shoulders. The metallic tang of blood and gunpowder fills my nostrils as I step over one of my men. His eyes stare lifelessly at the ceiling, throat torn open by a well-placed shot.

"Fall back!" I shout to the remaining men. "Upstairs! Now!"

Three of my guards provide covering fire as we retreat toward the grand staircase. The intruders move with coordinated precision as they scatter to take cover and start returning fire.

We manage to drop two more attackers before I reach the stairs. I take point, firing methodically as my remaining men scramble past me. My bullet catches one hitman between the eyes, dropping him instantly.

A small victory in what's rapidly becoming a massacre.

"Getting real low on ammo, my pakhan," Sergei pants beside me, his rifle clicking empty. He switches to his sidearm—six shots at most.

"Make them count," I growl, handing him my spare magazine.

I count our remaining force as we reach the landing. Seven men. We started with thirty, most of them dead when they were ambushed outside.

The odds aren't just bad—they're fucking catastrophic.

I might actually fail this time.

The thought slides into my mind like a cold knife. Not just fail at protecting my nieces, but fail completely. Die here, in this hallway, leaving Aurora to face Kristofer alone. My chest tightens with something more painful than fear.

Aurora. Myzarechka.

Our last moment replays in my mind. Me ordering Artyom to keep her out, and that cold pakhan mask I wore while interrogating Mikayla.

No tender words, no moment of vulnerability or connection. Just the hard face of a bratva boss who couldn't bend enough to show the woman he?—

A bullet whizzes past my ear, embedding itself in the wood paneling.

"Pakhan!" Sergei shoves me into cover behind the marble balustrade

No time for regrets. No time for wishes. Just the brutal fight to stay alive.

We set up a defensive position, using the height advantage. For a moment, we hold them back, dropping three more intruders who try to rush the stairs.

Then Sergei crumples, blood spraying from his neck.

Beside me, Yuri's gun clicks empty. "That's it," he says grimly. "I'm out."

Yuri's eyes meet mine, a strange peace settling over his features. Blood streams from a wound in his side that he's been hiding from me.

"I'm proud to have seen it, you know." His voice is steady despite the pallor spreading across his face. "You becoming what your father always wanted. The pakhan this bratva needed."

I grip his shoulder. "Yuri!"

He shakes his head. "Make these next few shots count, Ruslan Vitalyevich."

Before I can stop him, Yuri launches himself upright, exposing his body to the hallway below.

"Fuck you, you Triad fucks!" he roars, drawing immediate fire from the remaining intruders.

Time slows. Bullets tear through Yuri's body, jerking him like a grotesque marionette. But he's given me what I need: a clear view of our attackers. They revealed positions in their rush to kill him.

I rise to one knee, aim dropping into that cold, mechanical space where emotion vanishes.

First target. A man with a dragon tattoo creeping up the left side. I squeeze the trigger. His head snaps back, body collapsing.

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