Page 63 of Bratva Hostage

I steel myself, refusing to reveal my hand just to placate my pride. Dimitri is coming. I know that much. Even if my father pretends otherwise, Dimitri would never abandon me.

“You continue to test me,” he practically growls. “It’s time I make an example of you. I gave you life, and I can take it away.”

My heart slams against my ribcage, but I hold my ground. This is the moment I’ve dreaded for years—my father turning his unchecked aggression on me. A part of me trembles inside, remembering the times I saw him lash out at underlings or threaten Seraphina, but I refuse to let that fear control me. I’m pregnant, carrying Dimitri’s child, and I won’t let my father’s tyranny define our future.

He notices the shift in my posture, the way I plant my feet. “What’s this?” he drawls, mocking. “You think you can stand up to me now? Just because you have Dimitri’s name?”

“I think you’ve manipulated me for the last time. I’m finished being your puppet or your asset. I’m finished living in your shadow.”

“You ungrateful brat. After everything I did—”

“Everything you did was foryou.” My voice cuts through his tirade. “You never cared about me. You never cared about Seraphina. We were just convenient pawns in your war. Well, no more.”

“You want to talk about cruelty? You sided with the Barkovs. That’s not just betrayal, it’s stupidity. Did you think that would end well?”

“Better with them than spending another day under your rule. You’re the real threat here. You destroyed any hope Seraphina had for a normal life. You would do the same to me if I let you.”

His face flushes, and he leans in, dropping his voice. “You dare speak to me like that? I’m your father.”

“You’re not. You forfeited that title the second you started using me as leverage. I’m done with you.”

For a moment, he looks stunned. Then a snarl contorts his mouth. “You’re finished, all right. Dimitri can’t save you now. You’re inside my compound. My men surround this place, and I decide who lives or dies.”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

I realize too late that I’ve provoked him more than ever before. His hand shoots up, moving with a speed fueled by anger. I see it coming, but I have no time to block. Just as his arm arcs toward me, ready to strike, the doors to the room burst open. A rush of bodies floods inside, weapons drawn. Gunshots ring out, deafening, as men in black sweep through. My father spins, half-stunned. I stumble back and duck behind a chair.

In the confusion, I catch sight of Dimitri’s brothers—Grigor, Maksim, Aleksei, Akim, and Nikolai—fanning out. They take aim at my father’s men, who scramble for cover. There’s a savage efficiency in the way the Barkov brothers handle their firearms. Each shot is razor-focused. Within moments, half of my father’s guards are down as bullets find their marks before they can even raise their weapons.

My father calls for reinforcements, but the men he reaches out to are pinned down by the onslaught. Grigor ducks behind a column, firing back at two men who try to flank him. They collapse under his rapid shots. Nikolai slips around a table and plunges a knife into the nearest guard’s side. Aleksei covers Akim, who launches a brutal takedown on a pair of guards who foolishly tried to rush him. Maksim prowls near the walls, picking off stragglers with chilling accuracy.

Amid the chaos, Dimitri steps through the open doorway. His gaze lands on me, and I swear I see relief flash in his eyes. But he doesn’t pause. He raises his rifle and shoots a guard who’s aiming at me from behind a chair. The guard topples with a groan. Dimitri doesn’t stop. Another man on my father’s side rushes him, but Dimitri pivots, slamming the butt of his rifle into the man’s face. A sickening thud, and the man slumps.

My father, cornered now, grabs a fallen gun from the floor. He tries to take aim at Dimitri, but Dimitri fires first. The bullet catches my father in the shoulder, spinning him around in agony.

“Cecily, get down!” Dimitri calls, racing forward.

I crouch lower as fear collides with a strange sense of consolation. My father’s men are either dead or disarmed, moaning on the ground. Smoke from gun barrels drifts into the air, and the reek of gunpowder burns my nostrils. Another guard is crawling toward a sidearm, but before he can reach it, Maksim’s shot puts him down. That’s the last threat.

But before anyone can move, a second wave of my father’s men storms into the room. The doorframe splinters under gunfire as reinforcements rush in.

Dimitri shoves me behind him and fires, dropping the first man through the doorway. His brothers react instantly. Aleksei flips a heavy oak table onto its side, using it as cover while Grigor and Akim dive behind an overturned chair. Maksim rolls across the floor, narrowly avoiding a burst of bullets, and returns fire, hitting one of the incoming guards in the throat. The man gurgles and collapses against the wall.

The gunfight turns brutal. Two of my father’s men manage to take cover behind the bookcase, laying down suppressive fire to keep us pinned. My ears ring as bulletsrip into the furniture around us, splintering wood and sending debris flying.

Dimitri ducks, reloads, and pulls a knife from his belt. He glances at his brothers and signals—a sharp jerk of his chin. Aleksei nods, then turns to Nikolai. They move in tandem.

Nikolai fires a barrage of shots, forcing the enemy to keep their heads down. At the same time, Aleksei dashes to the far end of the room, flanking them. In a swift motion, he vaults over a chair, lands beside one of the guards, and drives his knife deep into the man’s side. The guard lets out a strangled cry before crumpling.

Another man lunges for Aleksei, but before he can fire, Grigor moves in. He catches the man’s wrist, twisting the gun from his grip before slamming his elbow into the guard’s temple. The man stumbles. Akim takes the opening and shoves the muzzle of his pistol beneath his chin, pulling the trigger. Blood sprays across the floor.

A guard rushes toward me from the side with his gun trained on my chest. I freeze, and my body locks up for one fatal second.

Dimitri doesn’t.

He grabs a chair and hurls it across the room. It smashes into the guard’s legs, knocking him off balance. Before the man can recover, Dimitri is on him. He wrenches the gun from his grip and slams his knee into the man’s stomach, sending him crashing to the floor. With brutal efficiency, Dimitri brings his boot down on the man’s throat, crushing it beneath his weight.

A loud grunt draws my attention. Akim is locked in a vicious fight with a burly guard, and their weapons have been knocked aside. The man swings, but Akim ducks and drives his fist into the guard’s gut. The man stumbles back, only tofind Maksim waiting. Maksim grabs the back of his head and smashes it into the desk’s edge. The sickening crack of bone echoes through the room as the guard slumps lifelessly to the floor.

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