Page 79 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride

“What the fuck?” he snarls in disbelief at her audacity.

“It’s a genuine question. I was just wondering. Do you know you’re going to hell?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, you fucking bitch. You don’t get to judge me!”

His eyes become unfocused as agitation steers him.

This is it.

Move, now, go, Diomid!

I run like a bolt of lightning from the alley, slamming the full weight of my body into his side. He’s thrown off balance, smashing into the ground, a loud huff of air is pushed from his lungs as we collide into the hard cement together, his body taking more of the impact as I land on top of him.

The struggle starts instantly. Both of us have the same urgent thought.

I reach for the gun, knowing it’s the only chance I have of saving Angelika and myself. If I don’t get it away from him, he’ll shoot us both and leave. It’ll be over just like that.

“Diomid!” she shouts, panicked.

I can’t look at her. I can’t risk taking my eyes off him. He wrestles me, both of us with our hands tangled around the Glock. A bullet escapes the chamber, smacking into the pavement next to his head. He growls, anger flaring in his eyes.“Fucking asshole,” he shouts. “You almost killed me.” But his anger steals his focus again, and when I realize this, I decide to use it against him.

“Hey, bitch, are you sad about your ruined party? Did you cry afterward?” I mock, breathless, muscles aching as the fight grows more intense.

He blinks in disbelief, sneering, and in that moment, I lift my knee and slam it into his balls.

The sound that erupts from his mouth is almost inhumane—a guttural cry of pain in high-pitched, agonizing volumes that hurt my ears.

Using all my strength, I tug the gun from his hand and roll off him.

There is a crowd forming on the other side of the street when I push up and stand over him. I can barely breathe; my chest is heaving. My heart feels like it might burst through my ribs.

I keep the gun close to my side, not obvious, but ready if I need it, my finger on the trigger.

Not taking my eyes off him, I call out to Angelika.

“Are you ok?” I ask.

“Yes, you?” she replies.

“I’m good.”

Bardil rolls onto his knees, clutching his hand between his legs, breathing heavily. “Fucking scum,” he snarls. “Go ahead, shoot me,” he demands.

I glance across the street at the crowd of worried faces. Then quickly back at Angelika.

“Get up, asshole,” I demand.

“I said kill me,” he snaps.

“I’m not like you, Bardil.”

“Yes, you are. We’reallmonsters.” He hangs his head, bitter, defeated.

“Get up,” I say, more harshly.

I think the fact that I’m not going to kill him is pissing him off even more.

But I won’t. I won’t create more of an issue for my family than I’ve already done. Last night, there was a purpose. Those girls’ lives were at stake. No one can argue that we made the right choices. But gunning Bardil down in the streets, in front of innocent people—that’s something I can’t justify even after what he said to Angel.