Page 28 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

The girl scans my face, holding back a scream. But then she closes her eyes and nods.

“Okay,” I say, pulling my mask back in place. “We move now.”

Giselle’s eyes snap to mine and I see it: not fear, not hesitation. Certainty. Resolve.

It hits me like a drug.

We’re aligned as something feral and focused, born of blood and bite.

In this moment, there is nothing between us but a purer, more righteous desire: to save this girl, because she deserves a life she can call her own.

I think we both know what it’s like to live a life decided by other people and their tragedies.

And she finally believes that I’m not her enemy.

God, that feels good.

I’m reaching for the earring, but she beats me to it, and presses the clasp.

Click.

The room is silent, but somewhere, above us, alarms are about to start. I can picture the chaos blooming through the mansion, staff and buyers scrambling to protect assets or destroy evidence.

“Go,” I say.

The corridor is empty, but not for long. I move fast, shielding them both, keeping Dakota tucked behind Giselle.

My arm brushes her shoulder as we walk, and I make sure she stays to my right—inside, protected.

If anyone fires from the front, it’ll be me who takes the hit.

She’s brave, but she’s still mine to guard.

I promised her: I take good care of my things.

At the junction, the auctioneer blocks our path. Still masked and smiling. Hands clasped in front of him like a goddamn ma?tre d’ at a five-star hell.

“I see you’re leaving,” he says, English crisp and cold.

I step in front of the girls, shoulder wide, stance heavier than I need it to be. I let him feel my size.

My shoulder brushes Giselle’s again. I don’t look back, but I know what she sees: the hard line of my spine, the readiness in my hands.

The promise that if this goes sideways, I will kill for her.

“There’s a bomb threat,” I say. “We’re evacuating.”

He tilts his head like a curious bird, gaze sharp even through the gold.

“This is not how it’s done, my friend,” he replies. “Guests always sample before they leave.”

Behind me, Giselle inhales sharply. I feel it down my back like a blade.

She’s terrified. But not of them—of what she wants to do to them.

I don’t give her a chance to speak.

I step closer to the auctioneer. Close enough that if he so much as twitches toward her, I can take out his trachea with two fingers.

She’s behind me. That’s the only place I’ll allow her to be right now. Behind me, and out of reach. My little viper, smart enough to keep still, burning with the kind of rage that makes gods nervous.

“Rules change,” I say.

He stares, then reaches up and peels the mask off my face. He stares, and his skin goes corpse-white.

“ Ty dolzhen byt’ mertvym ,” he says. You’re supposed to be dead .

Not today.

My hand finds his throat with surgical precision, thumb and forefinger pinching the carotid, palm muffling the shout he never gets to make. I slam him against the wall hard enough that the air leaves his lungs in a grunt.

He claws at my wrist. I don’t flinch.

I choke him until the eyes glaze, then finish it with a twist of the neck. It’s quiet, just a pop. Just enough to say: you should have kept your fucking mouth shut .

He slumps to the ground like the garbage he is, mask clattering after him.

And still I stand there, between him and her, the taste of fury in my mouth like copper.

Until the alarm begins to scream.

People in the halls, confused, then panicked. The exits start to close, but I know which one will stay open.

We hit the maintenance door at a dead sprint. I shove it open with my shoulder, and it gives way with a groan of warped metal.

The river air slices into my lungs, cold and clean.

At the dock, the boat waits, engine idling. The wheelhouse door swings open and Rosa steps out, face half-obscured by her hoodie, eyes taking in everything.

Her gaze cuts to Giselle again. Not just curious: calculating. She sure as hell doesn’t trust Giselle, and she doesn’t want me trusting her, either.

She says nothing, just thumbs the throttle. The boat lurches away from the dock, engine grinding into the current. The shore shrinks behind us.

“Sit down,” she tells Giselle and Dakota.

They fold onto the deck together, Giselle pulling Dakota close like it’s second nature. Her hand rests on the girl’s shoulder, firm but careful. Protective. Bleeding for someone she just met.

No matter what Rosa thinks, I would trust her with anyone or anything worth protecting.

I watch the mansion recede, sirens stacking up, a helicopter circling above like a vulture.

I unzip the duffel Rosa tosses my way: three handguns, clean IDs, a change of clothes. I start stripping off the jacket and shirt I wore inside, the sweat already cold against my skin.

My body’s on fire from the adrenaline. From everything I didn’t let myself do.

Dakota watches me, suspicious and stunned. Giselle, too, but her stare goes lower, flicking over the bruises on my ribs, the old scar across my shoulder.

She touches her earring as though she’s forgotten which pair she’s wearing.

“Toss them,” I say. “The earrings. Throw them in the water.”

She frowns, hesitates, then obeys. Good. Obedience can be learned.

Dakota tracks the earrings with her eyes. Watches them vanish. Then folds inward, silent. A single tear slips down her cheek.

Giselle pulls her tighter.

We don’t speak for a long time. Rosa guides the boat into the current, then downriver, under the bridges and out toward the chop. When she doesn’t need to look at the controls anymore, she watches me watching Giselle.

“What happens now?” Giselle finally asks

“Some will take the fall. The rest will circle their wagons and wait for the news to blow over. But this will scare them. Timofey will send someone he trusts to fix it. His son Pavel.”

Rosa’s head jerks up when she hears the name, her eyes burning.

Giselle notices and there’s a strange look on her face before she turns back to me, her eyes asking the question her lips won’t.

“Yes, little viper,” I answer. “I’m going to kill him.”