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I nod without question. Whatever happened downstairs, whatever chaos erupted in my father’s carefully ordered world, I don’t care. Erik came for me when no one else would. He saw me as more than a bargaining chip or a breeding mare.

He sees me as worth saving.

“Lead the way.”

31

ERIK

Igrab Katarina's hand and pull her into the hallway. The acrid smell of smoke and explosives hangs heavy in the air. My brothers' voices echo from somewhere below—Alexi's rapid-fire Russian and Dmitri's clipped commands.

“Stay behind me.” I position myself between Katarina and the stairwell, my free hand moving to the pistol at my hip. “Don't let go of my hand.”

She nods, her fingers tightening around mine. Even in silk pajamas and barefoot, she moves with the same focused determination I remember from the compound. No hysteria, no panic—just sharp intelligence assessing our situation.

We reach the main corridor where Nikolai waits, his rifle trained on the approach from the foyer. His steel-gray eyes flick to Katarina, then back to me.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We need to?—”

The sharp crack of automatic gunfire erupts from the lower level, followed by Alexi's voice shouting something I can't make out over the noise. Nikolai's jaw tightens.

“Complications.”

More gunshots ring out, closer this time. The distinctive sound of AK-47s—Igor's men have brought serious firepower. My pulse spikes as I recognize the pattern of shots. Coordinated. Tactical. They're pinning my brothers down.

“Alexi and Dmitri are in trouble.” I'm already moving toward the stairs, Katarina's hand still locked in mine.

“Erik, wait—” Nikolai starts.

“No.” I don't slow down. “We don't leave family behind.”

Katarina keeps pace beside me as we descend, her bare feet silent on the marble steps. The gunfire intensifies below—sharp bursts followed by the heavier thud of return fire. My brothers are holding positions, but they're outnumbered.

“What is the best way out of the estate?” I ask Katarina without breaking stride.

“Through the garage.” Her voice is steady. “But Erik, if we're trapped inside?—”

Another burst of gunfire cuts her off. Glass shatters somewhere in the foyer. Alexi's voice carries up the stairwell, sharp with pain.

My blood turns to ice. One of my brothers is hit.

“We need transport.” I'm thinking out loud now, tactical mind sorting through options. “Something fast.”

“The garage.” Katarina's grip on my hand shifts, and suddenly, she's pulling me in a different direction. “I know the fastest way out of here.”

I let her lead, trusting her knowledge of the estate's layout. She guides us down a service corridor I hadn't noticed during our initial sweep—narrower than the main hallways, designed for staff movement.

“My father keeps his collection there. Sports cars, motorcycles.” Her voice carries a note of grim satisfaction.

We reach the end of the service corridor just as Alexi and Dmitri appear from the opposite direction. Alexi's left shoulderis dark with blood, but he's still moving. Dmitri supports him while covering their retreat with bursts from his rifle.

“Took you long enough,” Alexi pants, his usual smirk strained around the edges.

“You're hit.” I move toward him, but he waves me off.