Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Nico's men approach the table, weapons trained. They strip the three Russian men of various knives and firearms before positioning them against the wall. Anya remains seated, regarding her father with the aura of a beaten puppy. Something in the resentment etched across her features suggests her father gave her that bruise.
"There’s someone important who has something to say before this ends," Nico announces, aiming his words directly at Viktor. "Any movement, sound, or even a breath I find suspicious – and your end will be excruciating." He shifts slightly, creating space for me.
I glare at Viktor. "You likely don't even remember me." His vacant expression confirms my suspicion. "And you certainly don’t remember my mother. But you killed her, Viktor Barinov. You ordered Adrian to attack someone in public... resulting in the death of the woman I cherished above all else, the woman who r-raised me." I suppress a sob. "There’s no excuse for what you did. To my mother, this city, and by the look of it, your own daughter."
“Are you done, girl?" Viktor inquires dismissively.
"I didn’t expect remorse given your character."
"Any last words, Viktor?" Nico demands.
"Anya... I've always loved you. I merely wanted what was best for you. You understand what must be done, sweet child."
"If you've given her instructions to carry out after your death, rest assured, they'll prove futile. This city doesn't belong to the Russians. Not entirely. Not even marginally."
"Who said anything about after my death? Anya!"
Suddenly, Anya lets out a cry and springs to her feet. She’s been hiding a gun beneath the table, aiming directly at me – not at Nico or his men, but specifically at me.
"Good," Viktor says. "Yes – he won't let anything happen to her. Don’t move, Nico." His tone darkens when Nico tries to shield me. "Or my daughter will splatter her brains across the floor."
"Anya, don’t do anything foolish," Nico warns. "This won’t end well for you."
"Ignore him," Viktor snaps. "Honorable Nico would never hurt a woman. Even if you put down his dog, he wouldn't retaliate against you."
Fear threatens to overwhelm me, but a stronger emotion prevails. Rage. First, this monster manipulated another to take my mother's life. Now he's exploiting his own daughter to extricate himself from the consequences of his actions.
"Who gave you that bruise, Anya?" I challenge. "I suspect your father. I think he's hit you before and will do it again. In fact, I think Nico isn't just doing the world a favor by getting rid of him. He’s doing you a favor."
"Remember what you said to me at the party, Anya," Nico interjects. "You recognize your father isn’t a good man. You know justice demands this outcome."
“Don’t listen to him," Viktor growls.
"I've dreamed of this," Anya whispers.
"Hear that?" Viktor gloats. "She's fantasized about putting you down, Nico."
"I've dreamed of the Italians taking over the city. I've dreamed of being more your prop, your ornament. I've dreamed of ending your abuse."
"With your father done, succession falls to you," Nico states. "I know you want to keep this city safe. You were never going to be my companion – my heart belongs exclusively to one woman. But as the Bratva queen, you could—"
Anya unleashes a scream unlike anything I've heard. It tears through the air like a canvas shredding beneath a blade – not merely deafening, but multidimensional, as if layered repeatedly, each stroke representing another year of suppressed anguish. If sound could bleed, this would leave crimson streaks.
"Enough!" she exclaims, glaring at her father. "I refuse to hear anymore. I refuse to listen to your vicious lies. You've done unspeakable atrocities, Father... against those girls in the warehouses, the ones you brought home and forced me to witness as you, as you..."
"Now, Anya, compose yourself—"
"No!"
She redirects her aim toward her father.
Instantaneously, Nico shields me behind him as additional men encircle us protectively.
"I’m not your plaything anymore."
My ears ring with the gunshot's reverberations. Viktor's body jerks as the bullet throws his head back. He slides down the wall, leaving a crimson trail behind.
Anya turns toward us, trembling violently. Deliberately, she lowers her weapon. "I’ll never be happy again," she says tragically.
I push past Nico, cross the room, and extend my arms toward her. She looks at me with astonishment, seemingly bewildered by a stranger's compassion. Yet this experience has taught me that "stranger" doesn’t always mean a lot.
After a momentary hesitation, she collapses into my arms like a lost little girl, erupting into uncontrollable sobs.
"It's over now," I whisper consolingly. "Whatever he did to you, it’s over now. You're safe."
Two additional gunshots reverberate, followed by two thuds as the remaining men crumple to the floor, and then silence descends.
The city is safe.
My mother's killers have faced ultimate justice.
“Clean this mess up," Nico commands. "I'm taking my woman home."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nico
Three Weeks Later
"If you’d told me when I was in college, that one day I’d sit around a table with the woman of my dreams, my mother, and a former romantic prospect to strategize this city's security, I would have outright laughed you off."