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“I can’t…”

“You can, and you will. Unfortunately, this isn’t the time to let your weaknesses take over, Selina. If you want to survive, you have to trust him—but more importantly, you have to trust yourself.” He gripped my hand gently.

I said nothing, just pressed my lips together as he stepped back. His brother approached slowly, hands behind his back, his shoulders slightly hunched, and I realized he was deliberately making himself appear less imposing.

He stopped a few steps away from me, leaning in slightly to meet me at eye level.

“Can I come closer?” he asked gently, and after a few seconds—feeling the weight of Nikolai’s gaze—I nodded.

Roman closed the remaining distance and extended his hand carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal. I took a deep breath and hesitantly placed my trembling hand in his. He squeezed it lightly before fastening a thin gray bracelet around my wrist.

“It’s a tracker,” he explained, lifting his dark eyes to mine—so different from Nikolai’s but filled with just as much emotion. “We’ll find you in less than a minute if anything happens. But nothing will happen to you, not while I’m watching over you.”

A small, fleeting smile tugged at my lips, despite everything. He turned slightly, positioning my hand near the strap at the back of his vest.

“Grab this and don’t let go—not until I tell you to. If I tell you to get down, you do it. If I tell you to hide, you do it. If I tell you to run, you run. Understood?”

I nodded, my apprehension growing by the second.

“You’ll be okay,” he reassured me, releasing my hand and stepping back. “Think of your family. Tell yourself you have to fight and survive to get back to them.”

Rafael’s face suddenly appeared in my mind—my baby, the reason I had fought so hard to survive. Then, the image of my little sister, who had to fight and survive alone, without me, when she was just a teenager.

“I will fight,” I said, determined to reunite with my family.

Roman nodded and turned away, grabbing two more guns and slinging a larger one over his shoulder.

“I’ll go first with the grenades,” Grigori said, pulling several from a bag Nikolai had brought from the back of the plane.

“I’ll follow right behind. We’ll carve out a path for Roman,” Nikolai added, stuffing extra magazines into his pockets.

“Let’s push toward the front—they’ll least expect it,” Grigori said, moving toward the door, where the terrified flight attendant stood watching. He told her to stay inside where she’d be safe, then paused at the exit. He glanced at his brothers one last time before gripping the handle—and stopped when gunfire suddenly erupted outside, and I found myself on the floor.

Nikolaï

I shielded Selina with my body as multiple rounds echoed around the aircraft.

“What’s happening ?” Selina asked, frozen beneath me like a statue. I exchanged glances with my brothers, who looked just as confused as I felt.

After several long moments, everything stopped. A heavy silence settled in, broken only by Selina’s ragged breathing and the soft sobs of the flight attendant.

Selina jumped when my phone suddenly started ringing. I answered it, pressing my free hand gently against the back of her neck.It was going to be okay.

“Are you coming down, or do you need a red carpet, Ivanov?” a monotone voice said.

“Abbiati?” I frowned, sitting up and peering through the window. The men who had been ready to kill us now lay on the ground—dead. In their place, several figures dressed in black tactical gear, faces hidden by balaclavas, now stood at attention. One of them stepped forward and removed his mask, revealing the same expressionless face as his voice—Lorenzo Abbiati.

“It’s Abbiati,” I said, rising to my feet and hanging up. Then, I helped Selina up as my brothers cautiously opened the door.

Roman stepped out first, gun raised and ready to fire, followed by Grigori.

“Don’t look at the ground. Keep your eyes on me,” I told Selina, brushing her hair back from her slightly flushed face. She nodded and clutched my hand as we stepped out of the plane.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and Roman moved behind Selina, guarding her back as Lorenzo approached, a cigarette between his lips, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black cargo pants.

“Any injuries?” he asked in his cold, flat voice, scanning each of us before his gaze lingered on Selina, which made my muscles tense instinctively. Without thinking, I stepped in front of her.

“No. What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, eyeing the dozen armed men surrounding us.