Mila glances over to her men. “You realize that you’re severely outnumbered, right? Hell, even if you weren’t, I could disarm you in seconds.”

  I don’t hesitate. I cock the gun, point at a spot close to Mila’s feet, and fire. The gunshot is louder than I expect, and the recoil stings my hand. I barely manage to hold onto the weapon.

  Still, it has the desired effect. The men step back, and Mila moves back as well, shock and disbelief clouding her face. “Y-you…just shot at me.”

  “That was a warning shot,” I inform her. The tremble in my arm is gone; both of us realize I can and absolutely will follow through on my threat. And as inexperienced as I am, it’s hard to miss from point-blank range. “I told you—I’m not messing around. Your men may be able to disarm me, but I’ll do some damage before that happens.”

  She stares at me as though she’s seeing me clearly for the first time. Then she raises one arm. “Stand down.” When no one listens, she scowls. “Do it.”

  The men lower their guns but no one takes their eyes off me. Mila looks at me and smirks. “My brother will kill me for letting you tag along.”

  “You’re not ‘letting me’ do anything. I’m forcing you to.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think he will agree.” She laughs. “I will say this, though—you only missed by a few inches, so you’re already a better shot than Dima.” She toes the hole in the floor, then looks up at me with a bemused twinkle in her eyes. “You sure this is what you want?”

  I nod and swallow, though my mouth is dry as sandpaper. “Positive.”

  “Okay then.” Mila turns to face her men. “We’ve got one more person on board, gentlemen, and she’s precious cargo. You don’t need to know why. All you need to know is that no one gets near her. Is that understood? If someone touches so much as a hair on her head, you kill the motherfucker. If someone blinks too aggressively at her, you kill the motherfucker. Or else, it’s all our lives at stake. The pakhan will make sure of it.”

  Satisfied that her message has been received, she turns back to me.

  “Well?” she asks. “Are you coming or not?”

  42

  ILARION

  “Well?” Dima asks, passing the binoculars to me.

  “It’s not a trap,” I say confidently. “The letter’s legit.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Look at the security around the place.” I point out each of the squadrons we can see. “Thirty men in the front and only twenty out in the back. If they’d been anticipating an attack, there would be three times as many on duty.”

  Thanks to the thick forest just outside the Bellasio estate’s boundaries, we’re able to hide out in here and scope out the place without fear of being seen. Of course, we sent a scout in half an hour ahead of us to make sure the forest was clear first. Now that we’ve established a base, it’s easy to anticipate how the attack will pan out.

  “Boss,” Petro says, approaching us from behind one of our armored trucks, “a vehicle just left the property.”

  I look back at the high rust-red walls of the property, searching for any signs about what might be happening. “Who was in it?”

  “Gregor Bellasio.”

  Ah. Not Celine, but Benedict’s younger sibling. “Didn’t know that little shit was in the country.”

  “Neither did I,” Dima admits. “But I’ve heard he’s working closely with Benedict now.”

  “Figures the only one Benedict can trust is his brother,” I grumble, turning my binoculars toward the windows on the third story of the ugly building. “Put two of our guys on Gregor.”

  “Is two enough?” Dima asks. “He’s probably traveling with more men than that.”

  “The fact that he left the property at all suggests that they’re not expecting any trouble,” I reason. “I just want to keep a tab on him. We’re not about to engage him openly.”

  Dima nods, then glances at his phone again. He frowns when his notifications are empty. “Where is Mila? It’s not like her to be late. She can’t have left more than a few minutes after we did.”

  “I told her to take a position at the other side of the property. She’ll let us know if there are any developments. So far, she’s only confirmed what we already know: they’re not expecting this. We—”

  Before I can finish, my phone vibrates in my side pocket. “Speak of the devil. There she is.” I glance at the screen and read her text. “She’s noticing movement on the third floor. About five guards patrolling the level. She thinks Celine is being held in a room in the south quadrant.”

  Dima lights up. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  I jump out of the armored Hummer and turn toward my men. “On my signal, we drive through those gates and take the whole place by storm. Dima, you’re with me. Petro and Goga, I’ll need you to flank us when we’re inside. We have to get up to the third floor. And as for prisoners…we don’t need any. If a Bellasio fucker comes at you, kill him where he stands.”

  Adrenaline and bloodlust churn in the men’s eyes. There’s nothing like the furor of battle to rally the soldiers together. I can feel the excitement build as I get into the vehicle and raise my fist in the air out of the window.

  When I drop it, a dozen engines roar to life.

  The Bellasio alarm blares just before we plow through the gates and open fire on every man who comes running at us. The fleet of vehicles takes hits, dents, and scratches as a hail of bullets tries to cut us down, but it’s pitifully easy to crash through their barriers and bulldoze the poor bastards who chose the wrong brotherhood. In the blink of an eye, two dozen Bellasio goons are dead.

  The house’s façade is made out of large glass windows flanking an ugly iron door. Dima takes one look at me and smirks. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  I nod. “Smash it.”

  Dima whistles and then steps on the gas. We shoot forward like a bat out of hell, and when we come up on the windows, we don’t stop.

  The crash of shattering glass is deafening, an auditory “fuck you” to the bastards who believed they could attack me in my own home and get away with it. It sounds like the sky breaking wide open.

  The Hummer comes to a stop with tires smoking in the welcome hall. Shattered glass is strewn everywhere when Dima and I jump down out of the vehicle. It crunches under our boots as we make our way over to the gold elevator in the far corner.

  Dima, Petro, Goga, and I climb in and ride up three floors. “Get ready,” I tell my men as we near our destination.

  Predictably, Bellasio men are waiting for us the moment the doors whoosh open. We stick to the sides of the elevator and take out several of the men before forcing the firefight out of the enclosed space.

  I can smell shock and fear on the Bellasio minions as I force my way through the corridor toward the unmarked doors lining the adjoining hall.

  My fiancée is bound to be behind one of them. While my men cover me, I kick down each door, searching for her. I hear another round of gunshots go off.

  “Fuck!” someone cries out. Definitely one of mine. Either Petro or Goga.

  “Go, Ilarion!” Dima yells. “We’ll fend them off. Mila’s team just joined the fold.”

  I shoot off two more bullets, saving Dima from a blind attack over his shoulder, and then I race down the hall. I find her behind the third door that I kick down.

  “Celine!”

  She’s cowering beneath a four-poster bed with her hands over her ears. The moment she sees me, her eyes fill with tears of relief. “Ilarion,” she sobs, stumbling out from her position behind the bed. “Oh, thank God! Thank God!”

  She runs right at me, and before I know it, she’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and she’s clinging on for dear life. “I knew you’d come,” she gasps. “I knew you’d come for me.”

  “Take a breath,” I say, gently peeling her hands off and placing them back by her sides. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m not hurt.”

  I take a step back. She’s wearing a soft cotton dress that’s too big for her—not her style, but it’s clearly new. No visible damage on her skin. No blood. Judging by her overall appearance, she’s been treated well.

  I take a quick scan around the room. The windows have been sealed, but they offer a pleasant view through the drawn curtains. There’s a bronze tray by the bedside with an empty salad plate.

  So she hasn’t been starved, either.

  “What’s going on out there?” Celine asks as another round of gunshots blasts through the air.

  I keep her near me as I stride over to the window. My men are busy fending off a fresh wave of Bellasio grunts pouring in from somewhere unseen. I can’t spy either Dima or Mila, but I’m willing to bet both are securing the grounds to make sure we can get Celine out.

  “Stay here,” I order. I start to make for the door.

  “No!” Celine cries out. She pulls into my side, tucking herself under my arm. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Her strawberry blonde hair smells of lemon and lilac. It feels wrong…like my nose is searching for hazelnuts and vanilla. Her eyes are curious when they skim over my face. She’s probably wondering why I don’t look happier to see her.

  It’s a fair question.

  “Celine, listen to me,” I say urgently. “My priority is getting you out safely. We don’t have time to lose.”

  I pull myself out of her arms and go to the other side of the room. The distance helps. I push aside the nagging doubt that threatens to undo everything I’ve worked toward in the last few months. I focus only on the next few minutes, as I pull the door open and take a look down the hall.

  There’s nothing on the right, but when I turn to the left, I catch the eyes of two Bellasio guards who’ve managed to sneak their way up here.

  They rush toward me. I duck back into the room and pull out both my guns. “Celine, take cover. Now!”

  She pales visibly and drops down to the floor. But she’s still out in the open. There’s nothing between her and them but me.

  “Fucking hell,” I growl. “The bed! Get behind it.”

  She’s trying to crawl over to the bed when the door bursts open. I hit the first mudak right between the eyes, but the second avoids a similar fate by using his dead companion as a shield.

  He twists to the side and sends three bullets my way in quick succession. I avoid all three shots and lunge towards the panicked soldier, grabbing him around the waist and forcing him to the floor. I can feel the ground shudder as I straddle the asshole and punch him in the face before he can unleash another round.

  I get in three more hits before his eyes roll back and he loses consciousness. Then I grab his gun and use it to shoot him under the chin. Blood sprays and he stops moving.

  “Celine,” I call as I get back to my feet, “you okay?”

  All I get in answer is a frightened little squeak. I look over to the bed and find her peering at me around one of the legs. “I… I can’t leave th-this room… Th-they’ll c-c-come for me…”

  I walk over to her and peer down at the terrified woman who I’ve chosen to be a part of my world. “Celine,” I say, trying to be as gentle as I can, “you have nothing to worry about. I’m with you now.”

  A tear escapes down her cheek. “Did you get Benedict?” she asks.

  “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s far away.”

  She frowns. “W-what?”

  “Our intel says he’s not in the country.”

  Her frown turns into open horror. “Yes, he is. He came to see me a few minutes before the shooting started.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I’m about to grab my gun when I feel the shadow descend.

  “Make another move and I’ll blow your brains out, Zakharov.”

  I freeze, seeing only his outline in my peripheral vision.

  “Good. Now—turn around slowly.”

  I keep my hands where he can see them as I pivot toward the door.

  Benedict Bellasio is standing there, dressed in dark tailored pants and a long-sleeved shirt. His light blue eyes are trained on me with the mocking hunger of a predator.

  “Benedict,” I say darkly.

  He gives me a wry smirk. “Pleasure to see you, Ilarion.”

  43

  ILARION

  The first time I met Benedict Bellasio, I was seventeen.

  It was my father’s turn to host the dons’ council meeting that year. It was also the first time that the Bellasios would be in attendance. Andrea Bellasio brought along his only son and I watched hidden from the staircase as the two of them bickered.

  “Why can’t I come in with you?” Benedict whined. “I’m twenty years old!”

  “This meeting is for the men, not the boys. Keep arguing and I will have to make an example of you. One day, you will lead my soldiers, and they’re not going to have respect for you as their don if they’ve seen him get disciplined by his father.”

  Benedict scowled and glanced around for bystanders. Even then, he had this furtiveness about him that anyone with half a brain immediately mistrusted. I wouldn’t have trusted him to watch water boil for me.

  “They need to see me as an equal,” he protested. “They need to respect me now, if I’m going to be their don later.”

  Andrea grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward. “You are not an equal,” he spat in his son’s face. “You want their respect? Earn it. And that starts with submitting to me. Don’t make me correct you again. Those who see it will never forget.”

  He shoved Benedict away and strode into the meeting room. That’s when Benedict turned to the side and spotted me. I still remember how his face twisted into a horrified grimace.

  I was the witness to his humiliation.

  Thirteen years later, it’s clear from the look on his face that he still hasn’t forgiven me for what I overheard.

  “I could shoot you right now, you know,” he remarks, inching into the room and closing the door behind him.

  “No!” Celine screams. “Please, Benedict—don’t!”

  I glance at her in surprise, noting the way she uses his first name. There’s a familiarity there that I wasn’t expecting. “Celine, dear,” Benedict says, shaking his head, “I have enjoyed our time together. But not enough to convince me to spare this stronzo.”

  “Spare me?” I ask. “That implies you have the upper hand, my friend.”

  He scowls at me. “I’m the one holding the gun.”

  “Better men’s bullets haven’t stopped me before. What makes you think yours will?”

  He narrows his eyes. “You’ve always thought you were better than me.”

  That’s what it comes down to for Benedict at the end of the day: respect and humiliation. Betters and lessers. His world is a game of chutes and ladders, a squirming pile of rats vying for top position so they can shit downhill on everyone beneath them.

  Which is why he can’t just put a bullet in my head and be done with it.

  He needs me to know that he’s won.

  “Does the better man lose his own fiancée the day of his engagement?” he continues, sauntering closer with the gun held loosely in his pale, unscarred hands. “What kind of man allows his woman to be kidnapped?”

  A gasp escapes Celine’s lips, but I don’t chance a glance in her direction. I keep my eyes on Benedict. He’s smiling now, smirking from ear to ear. His canines are sharp and gleaming in the light.

  “Does it matter?” I ask. “I’m here, I’ve got her back, and at the end of all of this, there will be a wedding.”

  Benedict laughs. “You’re a fool if you believe that.”

  “The fool is whoever makes the same mistake over and over again. You underestimated me once before, didn’t you? And here you are, doing it again.”

  The smile withers on his face. His eyes are beady and bulging in their sockets. “Death is too kind for you,” he hisses.

  “Do it, then,” I growl. “Pull the fucking trigger.”

  “No!” Celine cries, scrambling up to her feet. She places herself right in front of me. “Please, Benedict—don’t kill him.”

  Oh, for God’s sake. What is it with these Theron women? She’s as much of a fool as her sister is. I go to move her out of my way, but as soon as my hand finds her hip, Benedict’s voice lashes out in a shrill shriek.

  “NO! Don’t move! I will slaughter you both.”

  The two of us freeze at the same time. Through my hand on her waist, I can feel the terror coursing in Celine’s body. But she stands her ground, right in front of me.

  She’s like her sister in that regard, too.

  Stubborn to a fault.

  “How touching,” Benedict drawls, with an expression that says it’s anything but. “She really is a prize, Ilarion. Where did you find her?”

  The cloying sweetness in his tone puts me on edge for a moment. If he decides to call my bluff, this entire dance is done. I’m saved from answering when Benedict launches into a speech, spurred by his love for his own voice.

  “Pretty, smart, interesting…hopelessly loyal,” he drones.

  “Is there a point you’re trying to make?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  “Tell me, which quality would you consider the most important in a woman?” Benedict asks. “Because if you were to ask me, I would suggest that loyalty stands above the rest. And yet…she certainly enjoyed my company.”

  Celine stiffens. “What are you—”

  “She was more than happy to talk to me, listen to me. To do whatever I asked of her.”

  “Ilarion, don’t listen to him. None of it is true.”

  “None of it?” He arches a brow. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, fiore mio.”

  She hesitates, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. “I mean, we did talk. We had conversations. All I did was listen.”

  “Is that all you did, Celine?” She tries to turn to face me, but Benedict roars, “Don’t move! I won’t warn you again!” Then he switches his gaze to me, the hate burning deep in those listless eyes. “I fucked her countless times, on that very bed. Your own wife-to-be, moaning like a whore not two feet from where you’re standing right now.”