Page 36 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

To the left, Viktor was a blur, a phantom cloaked in smoke and shadow.

He moved with terrifying precision, rifle whispering death with each pull.

A bullet carved through a guard’s temple, the exit wound blasting pink mist onto the crates behind him.

Another stumbled as a round shattered his knee, before Viktor ended it with a cold shot through the eye.

Fedya slipped through the chaos like a ghost. His knife flashed once, twice, three times.

A throat opened beneath the blade, blood pulsing rhythmically before the man collapsed.

Another tried to scream as Fedya drove the knife up under his chin, the tip bursting through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. Only a wet, gurgling rattle escaped.

But it was Kostya who owned the room.

He was destruction given form, moving with a grace that was all the more horrifying for its calm.

He advanced through the smoke and gunfire like a storm, eyes locked onto targets before they even realized he was there.

One man raised his weapon too slow, Kostya blew his arm clean off at the shoulder.

The scream that followed was cut short as a boot crushed his windpipe.

Another tried to run.

Kostya caught him.

He slammed the man against a steel beam so hard his spine crunched audibly.

Then he dragged his combat knife across the man’s belly, slow and deliberate, watching with cold detachment as intestines spilled free in a steaming, glistening heap.

The man slid down the wall, sobbing, choking on his own blood.

“Cowards,” Kostya growled, turning from the dying man like he was already dust.

The stench of copper and cordite filled the warehouse. Blood pooled across the concrete floor, slick and dark, reflecting the flickering muzzle flashes like an oil-slick mirror.

The firefight didn’t last long. Danny’s men were outgunned, outmatched, and utterly unprepared for the fury that descended on them. Limbs were shredded, faces blown open, bodies left twitching in puddles of gore.

And through it all, Kostya never stopped. Each shot was a sentence. Each kill a message. His wrath was cold, clinical, the vengeance of a man who didn’t just want them dead; he wanted them erased.

By the time the last body fell, the warehouse was a charnel house.

And Kostya stood in the center of it all, unflinching, blood on his hands, his boots, his soul, and not a single trace of remorse in his eyes.

Within minutes, the shooting stopped. The warehouse fell silent except for the echo of gunfire and the distant wail of sirens. Bodies lay scattered across the concrete floor, Danny’s men reduced to still forms in spreading pools of blood.

Only Danny remained, his gun still pressed against Azriel’s head, his breathing rapid and shallow.

“That’s far enough.” His voice cracked slightly, but his hand remained steady. “Drop your weapons. All of you.”

Kostya stepped into the light, his dark eyes locked on Azriel’s face. Blood streaked his cheek from a shallow cut, and his expensive suit was torn and stained, but he looked magnificent. Deadly. Hers.

“Let her go, Danny.” Kostya’s voice was quiet, controlled. “This is between us.”

“No.” Danny’s grip tightened on the gun. “This is exactly where she belongs. Right here, paying for your sins.”

“I’m the one who hunted you. I’m the one who shot you.” Kostya took a step closer, his weapon still raised. “Your problem is with me.”

“My problem is with both of you.” Danny’s voice rose, hysteria creeping in around the edges. “You think you can just take what you want? Think you can hunt me down like some kind of animal? I’m her father. I gave her to you, and you repay me by trying to kill me?”

“You gave her to me because you’re a coward.” Kostya’s words cut through the air like a blade. “Because you’re too weak to face the consequences of your own actions.”

“Drop the gun, Kostya.” Danny moved behind her, pressing the barrel hard against her temple, making her wince. His other arm wrapped around her throat. “Drop it now, or I’ll paint the walls with her brains.”

For a moment, nobody moved. The warehouse held its breath, waiting for someone to break the stalemate. Azriel could feel her father’s hand trembling against her head, could hear his rapid breathing in her ear.

He was going to kill her. And then he was going to kill Kostya. She could see it in his eyes, the same cold calculation that had marked her childhood. He had nothing left to lose, which made him infinitely dangerous.

Kostya’s weapon began to lower, his face tight with conflict. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Too late for that.” Danny’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Should have thought of that before you decided to play god.”

In that moment, Azriel saw everything with perfect clarity. Her father’s face, twisted with rage and desperation. Kostya’s dark eyes, filled with love and terror. The future stretching out before them, cut short by one man’s selfishness.

She thought of Kostya’s hands, gentle on her skin. His voice, soft in the darkness, telling her she was safe. His family, welcoming her with warmth she’d never known. The life they could build together, if only they survived this moment.

She thought of her father’s hands, raised in anger. His voice, sharp with criticism and disappointment. The life he’d tried to force her into, small and afraid and worthless.

The choice was simple.

Azriel snapped her head back with every ounce of strength she possessed, the back of her skull connecting with Danny’s nose in a sickening crunch. He screamed, his arm loosening around her throat as blood poured down his face, his grip on the gun wavering for just a moment.

It was enough.

Kostya’s shot took Danny center mass, the impact spinning him away from Azriel’s chair. He crashed into a stack of crates, blood spreading across his chest in a dark stain. The gun clattered across the concrete, sliding into the shadows.

Danny Hartford tried to speak, his mouth working soundlessly. His eyes found Azriel’s one last time, and she saw something there that might have been regret. Or maybe just surprise that she’d finally fought back.

Then he was gone, his body going still as the last breath left his lungs.

Kostya was beside her in an instant, his hands gentle as he cut through the zip ties. The circulation returned to her hands in a rush of pins and needles, but she barely noticed. She was alive. They were both alive.

“I love you too,” she whispered against his neck as he pulled her into his arms. “I love you too.”