Page 90 of Deceptive Vows
Marco’s smile thinned. “Not quite. Some loose ends remain.” His gaze swept over the women clustered behind us. “Drop the gun, or they fire. You might take me, but your little flock won’t survive.”
A standoff—Nazar’s pistol against three loaded weapons. The women pressed closer together, Alexa’s frightened breathing audible in the tense silence. Shooting was a gamble with too many innocents and too little cover.
“Don’t listen to him,” Elena whispered fiercely from behind me. “He’ll kill us anyway.”
She was right. Marco was cornered and desperate. Surrender meant certain death—fighting at least gave us a chance.
The enforcer raised his rifle. Nazar shoved me behind him as the blast erupted, catching him in the shoulder. He staggered back from the impact, a grunt of pain tearing fromhis throat. Blood slicked his hand as he fought to keep hold of his weapon, but his knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, body sagging under the weight of the injury.
“Nazar!” I dropped to one knee beside him, heart hammering.
“I’m fine,” he gritted out as the color drained from his face.
The guard shifted his aim to me, but Marco raised his free hand. “Not her,” he ordered sharply. “She’s worth more alive.”
Then—a wail tore through the facility, inhuman and guttural. Marco’s head snapped toward the sound, alarm cracking his composed mask.
“What—” a guard began.
In that moment of distraction, Nazar fired twice in rapid succession. The enforcer dropped where he stood. The women scattered to the walls as Elena pulled Alexa to safety. Before the remaining guard could react, Nazar fired again. The man crumpled with a bullet in his chest, his weapon clattering to the floor.
Marco retreated, his pistol still trained on us despite the momentary distraction. Nazar tried to aim, but his injured arm shook. The shot wentwide. Marco sneered, advancing with his pistol now pointed directly at Nazar’s head.
I launched myself at Marco, aiming for his center of gravity. We crashed to the floor, bodies tangled as he twisted beneath me, his strength surprising. His gun swung toward Nazar, but I clamped my hand around his wrist, digging my thumb into the pressure point until his fingers spasmed and the pistol slipped from his grasp.
He snarled, his free hand closing around my throat. “I should have killed you with your sister.”
My vision tunneled, my lungs fighting for air. But I didn’t need breath—I needed leverage. I slammed my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunched beneath my skull as his shriek split the air. Blood splattered hot against my cheek.
We scrambled to our feet, circling each other. My hand darted to my waistband, drawing the jagged metal shard I’d pried from my cage. Not my usual blade, but it’d work.
Marco lunged with blood streaming down his face. I twisted aside, driving the shard into his side. He let out a ragged sound as blood soaked through his expensive shirt, darkening the fabric.
“For Gianna,” I hissed, stepping backas he staggered.
I struck again, slashing his arm. Tendons parted beneath the metal, his hand dropping useless at his side. His scream echoed down the corridor.
“You don’t get mercy.”
He swung wildly with his good arm. I ducked under his attack and drove the shard deep into his thigh. He collapsed to one knee, the fight draining from him with each pulse of blood.
I gripped his hair, yanking his head back to force his gaze to mine. The metal shard hovered at his throat, its jagged edge kissing his skin.
“Beg,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Beg like I know she did.”
His lips twisted in defiance, blood bubbling at the corners. No plea came, only hatred glaring back at me.
I smiled. “I told you my face would be the last thing you saw before you died.”
The shard bit deep, slicing across his throat with deliberate slowness. His eyes widened as the life drained from him in a red flood. I held his stare until the light faded completely, Gianna’s name a silent prayer on my lips.
I released him, letting his body thud to the floor. For a moment, I stood frozen, chest heaving,the bloody shard dripping in my hand. I wiped the shard on Marco’s jacket before tucking it back into my waistband.
Turning back to Nazar, I closed the distance and knelt next to him.
“Finished?” Pain laced the word.
“Yeah.” I examined his shoulder. The bullet had passed through cleanly, but he was losing blood. I tore a strip from my shirt, packing the wound. “Can you walk?”
