Page 33

33

ERIK

S he told me to stay away.

But I can’t.

I’m drawn to Anastasia like a moth to a flame and nothing but chains can keep me away.

I’ve followed her at a distance the best I can ever since that night in the club, but her security tightened and she became completely off-limits in the days leading up to the gala.

So all I can do is turn up where I think she will be and hope I can be useful.

Being denied entry to the gala was expected.

With no invitation, my name was absent from any list, and the men at the door did not recognize who I was.

It was lucky that I got away with my life.

I’m sure Viktor would have ensured otherwise had he caught wind of my presence.

I saw Anastasia once, just after she arrived.

She climbed out of the limo looking absolutely stunning in that blue dress, and my heart ached for her.

I wanted to run after her and beg her to let me in to protect her, but I knew it would never happen.

Revealing myself too soon could hinder me if I were needed later on, so I retired to the cafe across the street and settled in to watch the countless rich snobs and Mafia heirs pour into the venue.

With any luck, my presence won’t be needed at all.

Three coffees deep, the police arrive.

Countless squad cars flood the street, blinding everyone with their flashing red and blue lights but not a single siren, which tells me they’re trying not to alert someone to their presence.

As they pour out of their cars and hurry up the steps to the gala, I throw down a handful of dollars to pay for my coffee and sprint out of the cafe.

I only make it to the edge of the sidewalk before a cop holds up his hand and grabs my arm as I rush past.

“Hold on a moment, sir,” he says as I wrench my arm free.

“This area is currently unavailable.”

“What does that even mean?” I snort, adjusting my jacket.

“It’s a free city. I can walk where I want.”

“Not right now, you can’t,” he continues, stepping in front of me when I try to walk around him.

“This area is closed for?—”

His words are drowned out by a deafening explosion that sends the majority of the officers ducking and running for cover.

The ground shakes.

Countless windows in the building shatter, and thousands of shards of glass rain down on me and the surrounding cop cars as a fireball bigger than I’ve ever seen in my life tears right out the front of the building.

Clumps of brick and stone fly across the street, smashing windshields and wounding unsuspecting cops who don’t react fast enough to the boom.

The explosion is so strong that all the windows of the neighboring buildings, including the cafe across the street, crack and shatter.

In half a second, the street is covered with glass that glints like all the fallen stars in the world have landed here.

The cop beside me tries to shield me with his body as a second explosion booms deeper inside the building.

People scream and yell, the flames curl up into the sky, and my heart pounds so violently it drowns out the words of the officer in my ear.

Anastasia!

I have to get to her!

I push the officer away, and he stumbles backward with a grunt.

As soon as I’m free, I sprint up the steps toward the inferno blazing out of the front doors.

Luckily, the fire is currently contained to the upper part of the building and the ceiling.

Several other officers have the same idea as me, only their goal is different.

It’s their job to save their colleagues and civilians, but I only care about one person.

Shouldering open one of the doors not destroyed by the first explosion, I stumble into the foyer and am immediately blinded by smoke.

It fills my lungs, burning my nose with each frantic breath, but the pain is an afterthought.

Inside, underneath the crackling of flames, creaking of metal and snapping of splintered wood, is another sound.

Gunfire.

Distant pops play like music underneath the sounds of carnage, coming straight from the ballroom where the main event is being held.

At this time, Anatasia was likely on the stage giving her speech.

Officers pour in after me, yelling all sorts of instructions and orders, but I hear none of it as I run at top speed toward the main ballroom.

The foyer is a graveyard filled with the motionless bodies of the police and staff.

I try not to look at the warped, terrified faces locked mid-scream as they died or the charred limbs being licked at by flames that creep across the floor like rising floodwaters.

My focus remains on the white doors with gold handles.

Several of them hang open, and screams of terror grow louder as I reach them.

Suddenly, a few of the remaining closed doors fly open and several people swarm out.

Beautiful gowns are ripped and charred.

Expensive suits are frayed and stained with blood.

Men and women from all families across the city are scrambling for safety, yelling for their loved ones and cursing out the night.

I lock eyes with a man whose mouth opens to tell me something as he runs past.

Two bullets thud into his back.

He stumbles a step and then halts before collapsing into my arms as I skid to a stop.

I don’t recognize him, but I hold his gaze as the light of life fades from his eyes, then his deadweight brings us both to the floor.

“Shit,” I murmur, pushing his body to the side and jerking my gun out of its holster.

Back on my feet, I sprint into the ballroom and my racing heart flies into my throat.

There’s a gigantic black hole where the stage should be.

One of the crystal chandeliers is on the floor, crushing several screaming people underneath.

Tables are upended, and bodies of Mafia and police alike litter the floor.

Gunfire spits in all directions as guards fire wildly, uncertain of who the culprit is while the remaining police try to shoot back and get people to safety.

I scan every ash-covered, tear-streaked face in search of Anastasia as people push past me like I’m not even here.

I don’t see her.

Where the fuck is she?

Where the fuck?—

Someone collides with me in a panic, sending the two of us crashing to the floor.

As we scramble away from one another, a hand grabs my collar and drags me backward, ruining my attempts to get to my feet.

I twist around and glimpse Ryan.

I haven’t seen him since he became attached to Viktor’s hip.

He raises his gun toward me while fighting to maintain a grip on my collar.

I twist in the opposite direction, slipping out of my jacket and lashing out with my leg.

My foot collides with his ankle and he stumbles with a cry.

The gun goes off and the bullet flies past my head, missing by an inch.

“Fucking hell!” I gasp, making it to my knees.

I raise my handgun and fire three shots into the bastard's chest. He falls down dead as I clamber to my feet.

“Ryan… you idiot.”

So, Viktor’s men are here and they’re not friendly. Got it.

Stepping over his body, I hurry toward the stage. Hands of fallen people grab out to me, but I kick them aside, ignoring everyone who isn’t the woman I love. I don’t see her anywhere, not a single flash of her hair or her gorgeous dress.

She’s not under the stage, is she?

Running toward the splintered, cracked remains of the stage, I leap over a table and run a few feet before someone calls my name.

“Erik?”

I stumble to a stop, feet sliding on the blood-stained floor, and turn to see flames streaking across the ceiling. The door I came in is consumed by fire and fallen beams now, blocking all escape. Through the building smoke and embers, I see Faina.

“Faina!” Making a beeline for her, I reach her in time for her coughing to affect her footing and she falls into my arms, gripping me tightly. “Faina, where’s Anastasia?”

“I don’t know.” She coughs harshly, gagging on the smoke. “She was on the stage and then everything exploded, and I lost her, Erik. I lost her and I can’t find her!”

“I’ll find her,” I assure her, helping her regain her footing. “I’ll find her. You need to get out of here, Faina.”

“But—”

“No! Go!” I shove her toward where the remaining party members are fighting their way through a fire door. “Get out of here! I’ll find her!”

Doubt flashes across Faina’s face, swallowed by another violent coughing fit, and then she stumbles away toward the exit.

My goal becomes the stage. Sprinting toward it, it’s a battle to keep my thoughts quiet. Fear builds inside me like trapped gas, creating pains in my chest as I breathe in smoke and making my gut twist like a corkscrew.

What if she’s dead?

What if I’m about to find her charred, mutilated body caught between stage lights and I could have stopped it?

What if I’m too late?

I run until my heart feels like it’s about to burst right out of my chest. Reaching the stage, I overbalance near the edge of the gigantic hole ripped through the floor. An inferno blazes below, with flames clawing up the edge trying to set me alight just for looking.

“Anastasia!”

Nothing. It’s getting harder and harder to see, harder and harder to breathe. Screams are dying down as people succumb to the fire and the smoke. The ceiling creaks and a beam above snaps, sending another wave of debris down on those trying to escape.

Then something glints at the corner of my eye.

I peer through the smoke behind the stage and glimpse the sparkling blue of a gorgeous dress I could paint from memory with how often I’ve thought about it and her.

“Anastasia?”

It’s her! She’s stumbling against the back wall, visibly coughing into one hand while her other arm is held in the grip of a man I don’t recognize. He’s dragging her along, barely pausing as her coughing affects her steps.

Who the fuck is that?

Fear gives way to rage and the burning urge to protect. I break into a sprint, gritting my teeth as my feet pound the wooden floor toward Anastasia and the stranger forcing her through the back door toward the kitchens.

Away from everyone else.

“Anastasia!” I yell, barging through the door.

She’s against the wall, coughing violently while the stranger stands over her. The air is cooler in this corridor and free from smoke and flames, not that I care. The second I see that stranger straighten up, I throw myself at him and tackle him with my arms around his waist and my shoulder driving into his gut. My gun slips from my hand on impact and clatters across the floor.

“Whaa—” The man yells out and then grunts as we both hit the floor.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, huh?” I straighten up quickly and punch the stranger in the face once, twice, three times, then he clips me on the chin with his elbow. I fall back but scramble forward, trying to punch him again, but he’s fast. He rolls to one side and kicks me swiftly in the ribs as he stands up, then he jumps back a few steps.

“Hold on?—”

“You fucking bastard!” Rage explodes through me as I climb back to my feet. Whoever the fuck he is, I’m going to kill him for daring to put a hand on Anastasia, never mind trying to kidnap her amid all this carnage.

“Erik, no!” Anastasia yells as I lunge forward, wrapping a strong hand around the man’s neck. “Rocky’s a friend!”

Rocky and I hit the wall, my fist raised and poised to smash into his face.

“Listen to your girl, man,” he gasps through the blood pouring from his split lip. “I’m not the bad guy here.”

“Erik!” Amid her coughs, she grasps my shoulder. Her touch is like the first touch of a cool wind on a hot summer day. The anger in me subsides, replaced once more by fear as I release Rocky and turn to Anastasia.

Her dress is ruined, her skin stained with dirt and ash. Several cuts and scrapes cover her chest and bare arms amid light pink and bright purple bruises forming with each passing second. Blood streaks down the side of her face from her hairline where some of her platinum blond hair has turned pink from a head wound. Her makeup streaks down her face, and tears cling to her lashes as she looks up at me.

I touch her as gently as I dare. “Anastasia.”

“What… what are you doing here?” she gasps.

“You didn’t really think I’d stay away, did you?” I say softly, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, then tilting her head to the side. “Fuck. We need to get you out of here.”

“I’m fine,” she says weakly. “Just a—a bit stunned, I think.”

“You’re absolutely not fine,” I snap gently.

“I am,” pipes up Rocky as he paces away from us, rubbing his belly where my shoulder winded him. “In case you care.”

“Who the fuck even are you?” I glare over her shoulder to him.

“Rocky Barati.” He introduces himself with a cheeky smile, then a wince.

“Barati…” My eyes drift back to Anastasia. “Why are the Italians here?”

“Long story,” she says, her voice distant. “I was giving my speech and then the cops turned up and the next thing I know, I’m trapped under all this rubble and all I can think about is how expensive this dress was. Rocky got me free. He was helping me, trust me.”

“I do.” It’s an immediate answer. “But I need to get you out of here before this place comes down.”

“All those people,” Anastasia gasps. “All those poor people…” Her voice cracks sharply and she lifts scraped, bruised fingers to her lips. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay.” Instinct takes over. I wind my arms around her and pull her close against me, cuddling her tightly as if my touch could erase every lick of damage that touched her tonight.

“This hall leads to the kitchens. We can get out the back way,” Rocky explains. “Then we can—argh!”

A gunshot blasts through the air. I immediately curl around Anastasia to protect her as Rocky crumples to the floor like a freshly popped balloon.

Behind him stands a panting gunman with blood pouring from a deep laceration on his chest visible through his torn white shirt.

“Miss Remizova?” he gaps. “It’s time for you to come with me.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” I growl, scanning the ground for where my gun fell when I tackled Rocky.

The gunman steps forward, aiming his weapon at me. “It wasn’t a request.”