Page 108 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

The first shot goes wide, pinging off the car door just inches from where I’m standing. I cry out, stumbling back against the vehicle.

“Stay down,” Roman orders, his voice sharp.

Except Anton isn’t done. He fires again, this time aiming for Roman. The bullet slams into Roman’s side just below his ribs, tearing through his shirt and drawing a sharp hiss of pain from between his teeth.

Roman draws the gun and pulls the trigger. Instead of a gunshot, a dry click cuts through the air. My stomach drops. The gun is empty.

Roman doesn’t flinch. He keeps moving, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed. He’s like a predator, all lethal grace and focused intent, while Anton is clumsy and wild.

The next shot goes wide again, shattering a window somewhere in the mansion behind us. Then Anton’s gun clicks, empty.

He stares at it for a moment, disbelief warring with fury on his face. Then he throws it aside and lunges for Roman, his hands reaching for his throat.

Roman sidesteps easily, letting Anton’s momentum carry him past. Then he’s behind him, his arm wrapping around Anton’s neck in a chokehold that looks effortless.

Anton struggles, clawing at Roman’s arm, but it’s no use. Roman’s grip is like iron, his face cold and impassive as he cuts off Anton’s air.

“You should have stayed down,” Roman says, his voice low and deadly. “You should have accepted defeat.”

Anton’s face is turning purple, his eyes bulging as he fights for breath. His struggles become weaker, his movements more frantic.

I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place, my hand pressed to my mouth as I watch the life drain out of him.

Finally, his body goes limp. Roman holds him for a moment longer, then drops him to the ground like trash.

He stands over Anton’s body for a long moment, his chest heaving. Blood is splattered across his face. Then he turns to me, and his eyes soften slightly when they meet mine.

“It’s over,” he says. “Get in the car.”

He reaches for my hand, but before our fingers can touch, he hisses in pain. The stain across his shirt has spread, far darker and wider than it was a minute ago.

I stare at it, my mind refusing to process how much of it there is.

Roman stumbles, his hand going to his side. His face is pale, his breathing ragged.

“Roman?”

32

ROMAN

The night air bites at my skin, but the cold barely registers. My lungs are burning, adrenaline still pounding through my veins.

Anton lies motionless on the concrete, his face a ruin of blood and bone. The fight is over. I’ve won.

“Get in the car,” I repeat to Vera, my voice rougher than I intend. I gesture toward the waiting vehicle.

“You’re hurt. Shouldn’t we get you to a hospital?”

“I’m fine,” I snap, and Vera goes quiet.

She doesn’t argue, only moves quickly toward the car with the ledger clutched to her chest like a shield.

Lev is already directing his men, his voice low as he coordinates the cleanup. The mansion is secure now, Anton’s threat neutralized. Well, until the next attack anyway. I’ve come to almost expect them now.

I turn to follow Vera, but as I take my first step, I wince again. A strange pulling sensation in my side, followed by a searing heat that spreads through my torso like fire.

I stumble, my hand going to my ribs. When I pull it away, it’s slick with something dark and wet.