Page 40 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

T he gunshot splits the air like lightning.

Annika screams—sharp, raw, and terrified—as she crumples to the ground, clutching her foot. Blood blooms beneath her fingers, bright and spreading fast.

I move without thinking—bolt toward her—but Kellan grabs me by the collar and yanks me back behind a stack of crates.

“Don’t you feckin’ dare!” he barks, shoving me hard against the wall. “You’ll get us all killed!”

My heart is a sledgehammer. I can’t see straight. I can’t breathe.

She’s hurt.

He shot her.

“STAND DOWN!” Anatoly roars, voice cracking through the chaos like a whip.

The bullets stop. Just for a second. Like the whole room is holding its breath.

And then, more Russians flood in.

I hear the heavy footfalls, the clatter of boots on concrete. See the red armbands, the raised rifles.

My stomach drops.

We’re outnumbered.

Badly.

Rory steps up beside me, his jaw tight, gun raised but not firing. “We need to get out,” he mutters. “Now.”

Dariy stalks forward, weapon still hot in his hand, face twisted with rage. “She’s lying!” he shouts at Anatoly, ignoring us. “She’s been feeding information to the Irish—sabotaging everything. And now you’re protecting her?”

“You SHOT my daughter,” Anatoly snarls, livid. “You don’t get to lecture me about loyalty.”

“I shot a traitor.” Dariy points at Ana like she’s filth on the floor. “She ran to them. She fucked one of them.”

I step out from cover, pulse thrumming. “Say it again,” I dare him, low and lethal. “Say her name again like that, and I swear to God, I will kill you where you stand.”

Dariy lifts his chin. “You think you’re gonna walk out of here, Brannagan? You and your brothers? You’re surrounded.”

I glance around. He’s not wrong.

The factory’s filling up fast. Russian soldiers shoulder-to-shoulder. The Irish look small now—cornered. The standoff is slipping.

And Ana’s still on the ground. Bleeding.

I can’t let it end here. Not like this.

Anatoly lifts his hand. For a second, I think he’s about to give the order—to finish us off.

Instead, he lowers his weapon.

“Enough.” His voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel. “This ends now.”

His men hesitate. Dariy doesn’t move.

“I said stand down,” Anatoly snaps, turning his full fury on Dariy. “Or I’ll put a bullet in your skull and leave you to rot with the rats.”

Dariy steps forward, shoulders squared, voice rising.

“You’re letting her get inside your head.

You think she came back because she loves you?

Because she’s loyal?” He gestures wildly toward Ana, still groaning on the floor.

“She ran to them! She sold us out! She’s been feeding them everything—she’s playing you like a fucking?—”

“Enough.”

Anatoly’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to cut through steel. His gaze pins Dariy in place.

“You will not stand here and slander my child.” His words drip with venom. “Not in front of me. Not after you put a bullet in her.”

“But she’s manipulating you!” Dariy snarls. “You don’t see it! You can’t see it, not when she looks at you like… like she still gives a damn about this family. You think she hasn’t picked a side? Look where she’s lying, Anatoly!”

My fists clench. If he says one more word?—

“I said shut your mouth,” Anatoly growls, stepping toward him.

For a moment, I think he might actually hit him.

Dariy falters, chest heaving, but he doesn’t back down. Not entirely. He looks like a dog who just realized his leash is shorter than he thought.

“You taught me to protect this family,” he says, quieter now, but still dangerous. “I won’t apologize for doing that.”

Anatoly stares him down like he’s already dead.

“Protecting this family doesn’t mean turning on your blood the second you don’t understand them.

” His eyes flick toward Annika. “She’s still my daughter.

And if you ever raise a hand to her again—if you ever speak her name with that filth in your mouth—I’ll put you in the ground myself. Do you understand me, Dariy?”

It’s dead quiet.

No one moves. No one breathes.

Finally, Dariy nods—just once. But it’s not surrender. It’s something colder. Quieter. Like a promise waiting to be collected.

I step forward, slowly, keeping my gun low but ready.

“She didn’t betray you,” I say, voice rough. “She was set up. Someone’s been playing all of us—feeding us half-truths, pushing us closer to the edge until we were too blinded by blood to see the real threat.”

Anatoly doesn’t respond, but his eyes snap to mine. Calculating. Listening.

“She didn’t come to me because she wanted to start a war,” I go on. “She came to me because someone was trying to kill her. Someone who wanted her dead before she could talk. And now you’re watching your own men turn on each other.”

I gesture toward Dariy, who’s still seething.

“You think that’s a coincidence?”

Dariy lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, spare us the cloak-and-dagger bullshit, Brannagan. Who’s the phantom villain in your little story? Who’s got the power to manipulate both families without being seen?”

I look at him, then at Anatoly, then back again.

And then I go still.

My mind is racing.

“Someone with money,” I murmur. “Someone with connections in both city hall and the streets. Someone who stood to gain from our fighting each other. Someone who’s always three steps ahead.”

I stare at Dariy, voice low, deliberate.

“Who said it had to be one of us?”

My mind reels—racing, grasping, reaching for something I can’t quite see. There’s a pattern here, I know there is. A thread weaving through all of this, pulling every move like it’s all been choreographed from the start.

Anatoly is still staring at me. Not hostile. Not convinced, either. Just… watching.

I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff with the answer on the tip of my tongue, just out of reach.

And then, something shifts.

A thought. A question. A crack in the fog.

“Who stood the most to gain from everything?” I ask, drawing the words out slowly.

The election. The district. The security contracts. The chaos.

At first, the answer feels obvious.

“Burns,” I breathe out. “That smug bastard. He’s the one who reaped the rewards. His campaign surged. The Harborview district flipped. He came out on top like a snake in a tailored suit.”

But…

I blink.

“But wait. Ana. You mentioned Harborview offhand to Miranda. She was the one who seemed to want to know about it in the first place. She passed that info along.”

And suddenly, it wasn’t just a real estate grab.

It was the turning point in the whole damn election.

My stomach drops.

“Do you think it could be Miranda?”

It makes sense. Miranda Voss. The woman who always smiled like she already knew the ending. The woman who inserted herself into Ana’s life at just the right time.

The woman who gave her a new name, a new dream, a stage—and a leash.

I look down at Ana, still bleeding on the floor.

Her eyes are glassy, unfocused—but when I say Miranda’s name, they snap to mine.

She shakes her head, slow at first, then more firmly. “No. Not her.”

I crouch beside her. “Ana, think. She’s the one who asked about Harborview. You said it yourself.”

“She’s not like that,” she whispers. “Miranda’s… She’s good. She helped me when no one else would. She gave me a chance.”

“She gave you more than a chance,” I mutter. “She gave you a label. A manager. A platform. Everything, all at once—like she was waiting for you.”

“She listened to me,” Ana snaps, her voice breaking. “She’s the only person who didn’t treat me like I was broken or stupid or a liability. She believed in me, Liam. You don’t get to take that away.”

A new voice cuts in—harsh and cold.

“Who the hell is Miranda Voss?”

Anatoly’s eyes are locked on his daughter now. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is razor-sharp.

Ana flinches.

“She’s my friend,” she says quietly. “She helped connect me to my manager. She’s the one who gave me support when no one else would. She’s been helping me?—”

“Helping you how, exactly?” Anatoly asks, voice deadly calm. “Helping you run? Helping you hide from me?”

“No! She’s not like that. She doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Ana turns her face away, breathing hard. “She just wanted me to succeed.”

“You said she asked about Harborview,” I remind her gently. “That’s not nothing, Ana. That’s not coincidence.”

“I don’t care,” she whispers. “It wasn’t her. It can’t be.”

And for a second, I see it—that desperate hope in her eyes. She’s clinging to the belief that someone out there is still safe. Still good.

But even as she says it…

She doesn’t sound convinced.

Anatoly goes still.

His brow furrows, lips moving soundlessly at first—then, barely audible, he starts to murmur her name.

“Miranda… Miranda Voss…”

He says it again.

And again.

Like he’s trying to summon something from the depths of his memory. Something buried. Something bad.

I watch him, unsettled.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Not furious. Not barking orders. Not calculating.

Just… pale.

Haunted.

“Do you know her?” I ask carefully.

He doesn’t answer, just keeps repeating her name under his breath, like the syllables taste wrong in his mouth.

I feel Kellan shift beside me. Even he looks unnerved.

Before anyone can push further, Dariy lets out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, come on!” he snaps. “Are we really doing this?”

We all turn.

He points a finger at Ana, still slumped on the floor with blood streaking her leg. “You’re all letting her spin the narrative now? The same girl who’s been living with the enemy? Sleeping in his bed? Raising his child?”

He sneers in my direction. “She’s been playing house with an Irishman for months, and you think she hasn’t been turned? You think she’s not already poisoned against us?”

I rise slowly to my feet.

Very slowly.

Lethally slow.

“I’m going to give you one chance to walk that back,” I say. My voice is calm. Ice-cold. “Because if you say one more thing about her like that, I will put you on the ground.”

Dariy steps forward, defiant. “You think I’m lying?”

“No,” I say, tilting my head. “I think you’re desperate.”

That lands. Hard.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Even Anatoly finally looks up from his trance of muttered names. His gaze flicks from me to Dariy—and I don’t miss the shift in his expression.

He’s done listening to Dariy.

The silence stretches.

Dariy’s still fuming. I’m still daring him to make a move. Ana’s breathing in short, pained gasps on the floor.

But I’m not looking at them anymore.

I’m looking at him.

Anatoly.

He hasn’t said a word since I mentioned Miranda’s name. He just stood there, staring at the floor, muttering like a man trying to exorcise a ghost.

But now—now his shoulders are stiff. His mouth tight. His eyes… distant.

He knows something.

I can feel it.

The way his expression shifted, the way his whole body went still—it’s not shock. It’s recognition.

He knows her.

My stomach turns.

Could it really be her? Could Miranda Voss—the poised, polished woman who pulled Ana out of the shadows and handed her a microphone, who helped Darcy with her book, who pushed Clary to go to fashion school, who introduced Rory to Senator Burns—have been integrating herself into our family this whole time?

I only suspected.

But Anatoly’s face tells me I’m right.

And then, Anatoly speaks.

Quiet. Clear.

“Miranda Voss isn’t her real name.”

Everyone freezes.

His gaze is fixed somewhere far off—like he’s seeing another time, another life.

“I knew her once. But not as Miranda.” He swallows hard, the name catching like ash in his throat. “She went by something else back then. A name I haven’t heard in over forty years.”

He looks at Ana.

Then at me.

Then past all of us.

“I knew her as Mira Cross.”

A beat of stunned silence follows.

My blood runs cold.

“I knew I recognized her,” he murmurs. “Same eyes. Same mouth when she smiles like she’s got a secret.”

He exhales, low and bitter.

“Mira is my stepsister.”

A fresh wave of stillness ripples across the room—shocked and jagged, like everyone just realized the floor beneath us is rotten.

“And it seems…” Anatoly says slowly, voice like rusted steel, “she’s been playing us all.”