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“Don’t you fucking move,” Sasha orders in his thick accent. “Either of you.”

I press myself against the wall, trying to make myself invisible. My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch Gianni’s body language shift. Something in his posture changes—a subtle tensing that sends alarm bells ringing through my head.

“Sasha—” I start to warn him, but it’s too late.

It all happens in a blur. Gianni’s good hand darts to his sleeve, and suddenly there’s a small pistol in his grip. He rolls and fires in one fluid motion.

The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. Sasha jerks sideways, his reflexes saving him from taking the bullet straight to the chest. Instead, it tears through his upper arm, spraying blood across the wall.

“Pizda!” Sasha roars, stumbling back but keeping his weapon raised.

Sofia screams and dives for cover as Gianni fires again. The bullet misses, embedding itself in the wall inches from my head. I drop to the floor, covering my stomach protectively.

Sasha steadies himself, blood soaking through his sleeve. His face remains impassive despite the wound, his gun never wavering as he adjusts his aim toward Gianni.

“Drop the fucking thing!” he commands, his voice deadly calm despite the blood dripping from his fingertips. “Now!”

Gianni’s eyes are wild, darting between Sasha and the door where Aleksei disappeared. He’s calculating his chances, and I can see the desperation written across his battered face. It’s desperation that leads to bad decisions because he swings the gun up again.

Shots explode in the small room, the sound so deafening I can barely think. Bullets ping against metal and thud into the walls. I press myself flat against the floor, arms wrapped protectively around my belly.

“Fuck you!” Gianni screams, firing wildly despite his injured hand.

Sasha returns fire with deadly precision despite his wound, his face a mask of cold concentration. The acrid smell of gunpowder burns my nostrils.

I need to move. Need to find cover. My eyes dart frantically around the room, searching for an escape route.

“Aleksei!” I scream instinctively, but my voice is swallowed by the gunfire. I’m dimly aware of a shadow looming, before something hard and heavy slams into the back of my head.

For a moment, everything turns white, like I’m in a void.

Pain explodes through my skull like a bomb going off.

My vision blurs instantly, then I’m falling, my body suddenly too heavy to hold upright. The concrete floor rushes up to meet me, but I barely feel the impact.

Through tunneling vision, I see a body crumple to the ground—can’t tell whose. Blood pools beneath them, spreading across the concrete like spilled wine.

Darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision, consuming everything. Voices fade to muffled, underwater sounds. My last coherent thought is of my baby, my hands still cradling my stomach as consciousness slips away.

And then, darkness sets in.

Chapter Two

Aleksei

The antiseptic smell hits me first.

It’s that clinical, sterile scent that promises both healing and death. It clings to everything in this private medical facility.

I stand motionless before the glass partition, watching my son’s small body nearly disappear among the tubes and wires. The harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows across his pale face, making him look like a ghost. My hand presses against the glass—the closest I can get to touching my boy.

Moy syn.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to come out better. Stronger. Ready to run out and take on the world on his own two feet. Not be in here, facing death.

I should have done something. I shouldn’t have allowed Malhotra to talk me into this fucking operation.