Page 34 of Bratva Bidder

Every second ticks like a hammer against my skull.

I glance back once, my gun raised, but no one follows yet. Doesn’t mean they won’t.

I catch up to her halfway down and grab her by the arm again, steering her harder now, faster.

We hit the second floor landing, the noise from the rooftop already muffled behind the heavy fire doors.

I yank open another door, dragging her inside a small maintenance hallway lined with storage closets and emergency supplies.

It’s empty. Silent.

Safe—for now.

I shove her gently but firmly against the wall, one hand still on her arm, the other gripping my weapon.

“Stay here,” I say, my voice low and deadly calm.

Her chest rises and falls fast, her eyes wide as they lock onto mine. There’s fear there—real, sharp fear—but also something else. Anger. Defiance.

Good.

She’s still thinking. Still alive.

“Konstantin,” she whispers, and I can hear it—the shake in her voice she’s trying to hide.

I lean in closer, my forehead nearly touching hers, my hand sliding down her arm to grip her wrist.

“Listen to me,” I rasp. “You don’t move unless I come back for you. You don’t make a sound. You don’t trust anyone but me. Not Lev. Not the guards. No one.”

Her throat works as she swallows.

“Okay,” she whispers.

I linger one more second, the pull between us almost physical, almost unbearable.

But there’s no time for it.

I tear myself away, locking the door behind me with a security key ripped from a dead guard’s badge.

I move fast through the service halls, clearing each corner with my gun raised, my back brushing against cold concrete walls, my ears tuned to every shift of air, every scuff of shoe against tile.

Only empty corridors and the fading echo of chaos upstairs.

I round a corner just as Lev bursts into the hallway from the stairwell, a pistol gripped in his hand, his tie half-ripped, blood splattered across his shirt that isn’t his own.

His chest heaves once, twice, and then he locks onto me. “Boss,” he grunts, jogging the few steps between us.

“Report,” I snap.

“Guests evacuated,” he says, breathing hard. “No bodies found yet. Sniper’s nest empty. Looks like whoever it was packed up the second they fired.”

I curse under my breath, my hand flexing around the grip of my weapon.

“No one saw them leave?” I ask.

Lev shakes his head grimly. “Not a single damn thing. We’re checking hotel security feeds, but someone jammed half the cameras ten minutes before the first shot.”

Of course they did. Whoever pulled this off wasn’t an amateur looking to make a name.