Page 74 of Brutal Unionn

“Go get my daughter,” she snarls.

“Gwen, where’s Nik?” I ask carefully, not moving toward her, not daring to meet her eyes for too long.

“Why?” she spits back, stumbling to her feet. “So you can get him killed too?”

Her anger is a weapon, honed by fear, and it’s aimed directly at my throat.

“Gwen, I didn’t know they’d come here?—”

“You’re the leader now,” she snaps, her voice cracked and breathless as she lurches forward, jabbing a finger toward my chest. “You fought Nik for the Bratva. You beat him. You wanted it—you wanted all of it—and ever since you becameVor, we’ve been living like prey.”

She’s shaking, every word a direct hit. “And now—now my daughter is gone.”

I open my mouth, but the sound of the front door swinging open silences the entire house.

Footsteps—uneven, heavy, dragging—echo up the staircase. A moment later, Nik stumbles into view. His shirt is soaked in blood from the bicep down, the fabric clinging wet and dark to his arm. His face is ashen, lips tight, jaw flexed, but he’s upright. Still breathing. Still here.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t flinch when Gwen surges toward him. She starts hitting him, soft at first, then harder. Fists pounding against his chest like she wants to drive them through him. He catches her gently, almost reverently, pulling her into his one good arm, holding her as her fury caves into sobs.

Nik looks over her shoulder at Gio, nods once.

“Take her,” he says quietly.

Gio steps in, wrapping an arm around Gwen and guiding her back into the room. Her cries echo as she crumbles against him again, her fingers curling into his shirt like she’s trying to hold onto something—anything—that won’t vanish in the next breath.

Nik turns to me.

“We need to talk,” he says, voice low and clipped.

I follow him out into the hallway without a word. The smell of blood trails behind him like smoke. He leans against the wall for balance, breathing through his teeth as he cradles his bleeding arm, his face pale beneath the grime and tension.

“It was the Yakuza,” he says.

I don’t question it. I already know. But still—I ask. “How do you know?”

Nik shifts, reaches into the pocket of his ruined jacket with trembling fingers, and pulls out a small, blood-slicked object. He doesn’t speak. Just drops it into my palm.

It’s a bullet. Heavy. Warm from his body. And engraved with a mark I’d know anywhere.

A serpent coiled around a blade—clean, exact, unmistakable. The Yakuza crest, partially hidden by dried blood. I’ve only seen this symbol twice before: once on the front gates of the Yakuza headquarters, and once tattooed across Sho’s ribs.

“I dug it out myself,” Nik says. His voice is low, strained. “Wanted you to see it.”

I stare at the bullet in my palm, still warm, for a long moment before closing my fingers around it. The sharp grooves cut into my skin, and I don’t let go.

I turn away and walk down the stairs without another word.

“Nadia!” he calls after me.

I stop at the landing but don’t look back. “Take your family somewhere safe. Don’t tell me where. Don’t call. Don’t leave a trail.”

“I’m coming with you. She’s my?—”

“If I see you on American soil before I call for you, I will shoot you on sight.”

Nikolia inhales sharply, the wood yawning under the weight of a step. “Nadia?—”

Tears sting, but I don’t let them fall. I tighten my grip on the bullet, pressing the Yakuza crescent into the center of my palm.