Page 77 of Bratva Bride
Kirov rises from behind the car, firing at me point-blank. I hurl myself down, roll beneath the gunfire, and come up behind a pillar. Glass rains down, showering my shoulders. Kirov advances, cocky now, gun aimed steady.
“You’re outnumbered, Konstantin,” he calls. “We can end this quick if you hand over the girl.”
“Come and get her,” I snarl, stepping out and flinging a chunk of broken curb at his face. It clips his shoulder, making him stagger, and I charge him, low and fast, knocking the gun from his hand. We crash into each other, old enemies, rage fueling every blow.
Kirov is huge and still strong, but he’s slower than last time—injuries have left him stiff and awkward. I jab hard at his side, then ram my elbow into his wounded arm. He howls, lashing out with his good hand, smashing me across the jaw. Stars burst in my vision, but I don’t let up. I drive my knee into his gut, using every dirty trick I know to keep him off-balance.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Nadya shout. I glance back in time to see her running up a low wall, launching herself off it with impossible grace—parkour, wild and perfect. She grabs the edge of a lamppost, swings around it, and lands feet-first on another attacker, sending him sprawling. She lands in a crouch, scoops up a fallen pistol, and fires at another figure darting toward Mila’s hiding place.
The bullet strikes true. The man spins and collapses. Nadya sprints across the hood of a car, the red silk of her dress streaked with grime, hair wild, eyes bright with adrenaline. I watch her scale the frame of a delivery truck, flipping herself up and over to drop down behind two more men. She uses the element of surprise, smashing the butt of her pistol into one’s temple, then vaulting over a fence as bullets shatter the air where she stood a second before.
Kirov tries to use my distraction, grabbing me by the throat and lifting me off my feet. I kick at his knees, twisting until I break his grip, then slam my head into his broken jaw. He drops me with a scream, and I kick his gun away, then drive my fist into his gut over and over until he folds, choking for air.
I stagger back, chest heaving, vision swimming, blood dripping from a cut above my eyebrow. All around us, the fight rages—my men, drawn by the gunfire, are pouring from the second car, engaging the last of the attackers. I scan for Mila. She’s still under the car, pressed flat, her hands over her ears, tears streaking her cheeks but alive. Relief surges through me.
Nadya appears at my side, breathless but unbowed, eyes darting everywhere. She’s moving like liquid fire—scaling the side of a dumpster, kicking off it to land a hard blow on the last man trying to crawl away. She grabs a steel rod from the ground and flips over the hood, using the momentum to take down two more, her body moving with a dancer’s precision. I’ve never seen anything like it.
For a moment, everything slows—the chaos fading around the three of us. Nadya is by Mila in an instant, pulling her out from beneath the car, whispering reassurances, stroking her hair. I kneel beside them, my hands shaking as I check them both for wounds, pressing a kiss to Mila’s forehead.
Kirov tries one last time, lurching up behind me with a blade. I spin, tackle him to the ground, wrestling for the knife. He’s strong, rage and pain lending him power, but I force his arm back, pinning him to the cold pavement. He spits blood in my face, snarling. “You think you win tonight? There are more coming. You’re dead, Konstantin. All of you.”
I ram his head into the concrete, hard enough to daze him. “Not tonight,” I growl, pressing his arm until the blade drops, then tossing it aside.
Footsteps crunch behind me. Nadya appears, her hair wild, her dress torn, blood smudged across her knuckles and cheek. She’s a force of nature, eyes blazing.
Kirov tries to turn his head toward her, coughing up a laugh that sounds like broken glass. “Your wife messed me up good, Konstantin,” he rasps, lips split, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “She’s quicker than you, that’s for sure.”
I bare my teeth, fury surging. “Where’s Alexei?” My gun presses into the base of his skull, my finger cold and ready.
Kirov spits, grinning with what teeth he has left. “Long gone. You’ll never catch him.”
I press harder, not believing a word. “You’re lying. Where is he? Tell me now or I end you right here.”
He just shakes with laughter, a sick, broken sound that crawls under my skin. “You always think you’re the smartest in the room, Konstantin. Alexei is already a ghost. He’s already out of your reach?—”
Before I can pull the trigger, a single gunshot cracks through the night. The bullet zings off the asphalt inches from my hand,sending up sparks and the acrid smell of burnt powder. I jerk my head up, scanning the rooftops.
A shadow flickers above us, silhouetted against a blinking neon sign—just a glimpse, long coat and hat, gone before I can fix on the details.
Nadya grabs my shoulder, eyes darting upward. “Did you see?—?”
“He’s here, isn’t he?” I snarl, voice echoing off the alley walls. Rage and dread mix in my gut. I know it. I feel it in my bones. Alexei is here, watching, orchestrating.
Kirov twists beneath me, choking on his own laughter. “He never left, Konstantin. He’s everywhere. He’s in your house, in your head. You’ll never find him until he wants to be found.”
I slam my fist into the concrete beside Kirov’s ear, inches from smashing his head outright. The bastard doesn’t flinch, just keeps laughing, spitting blood across the ground.
“Call off your men,” I growl, pressing the muzzle to his temple.
He grins, eyes glittering with madness. “Doesn’t matter. You kill me, five more take my place. That’s how it works now. This city isn’t yours anymore, Konstantin. You let it slip through your fingers.”
Another gunshot rings out, this one ricocheting off the car behind us. I shove Nadya down, covering her with my body. Kirov cackles, rolling onto his side as he tries to crawl away. Nadya is already moving, grabbing a chunk of broken asphalt and hurling it at him, connecting with a satisfying thud.
I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me, every window a possible barrel, every shadow a trap.
Kirov sags, finally spent, and I let him fall. “You see what’s coming,” he rasps, voice hollow. “You can’t save her. You can’t save anyone.”
I stand, yanking Nadya to her feet, my hand never leaving my gun. “Get Mila. We’re moving.”
