She stops short, her face coloring with shock. “Y-you… Wait, what?”

  “What is it, Taylor?” I ask, annoyed with how sweet and forbidden her name tastes on my lips. “Does that not fit in with your assessment of my character?”

  “Y-you can’t be in this child’s life,” she says as the color on her cheeks spreads to her chest. “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of Celine!” she spits at me.

  I shrug. “Celine might be upset at first, but she’ll understand. I didn’t know her when you and I met. What she won’t understand is why you’re trying to convince me to end things with her.”

  I’m dangerously close to hitting a nerve. If she keeps fighting, I’m done pulling my punches.

  Taylor takes a deep breath. I watch as her chest rises and falls, her breasts straining at the thin fabric. It wouldn’t take much at all to rip that off of her. I could do it with one hand. Then she’d be bare and flushed beneath me, wet and willing and ready, and I could do what I’ve been dreaming of doing again for ten endless fucking weeks.

  “You don’t know me very well, Ilarion,” she hisses. “Because if you did, you’d know that I love my sister more than anyone else in the world. Celine is the best person out there. But she doesn’t know that the rest of the world isn’t as pure as she is. She chooses to believe the best in people, she trusts without reason, and she gives strangers the benefit of the doubt even when they don’t deserve it. I want her to be happy. And she’s not going to be happy with a man who doesn’t love her.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions, Taylor.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think I am. What I’m doing is trying to protect Celine.”

  “Mm. And how did you justify what happened with Alec Miller?”

  She flushes again. White-hot hurt blooms across her collarbone

  It’s obvious to anyone watching that I hit a nerve, and a painful one at that. But I’ve got the entire Zakharov Bratva resting on the razor’s edge of this moment. I’m not about to back down now simply to save this little bleeding heart.

  “That…that was not the same thing…”

  I hedge closer, pressing her back against the wall. “Do you think Celine will see it that way?”

  Tears bead up in the corners of her eyes. They aren’t because of me, though. They’re because of Celine. Because the only way I’d know about Alec Miller is if Celine told me about him. If the hurt that Taylor caused her sister was still fresh and vibrant in Celine’s heart.

  It is. She put it there. She has only herself to blame.

  “Trust me, Taylor—”

  “‘Trust you’?” she scoffs, shaking out of her shock. “Trusting you is the last fucking thing I’d ever do. I’d rather—”

  BAM.

  Her words are drowned out by what is indisputably a gunshot. Taylor freezes, the words dying on her tongue. “What the—”

  More gunshots break through the civilized chatter coming from the garden.

  That’s when we hear the screams.

  “TAKE COVER!”

  “What the hell is going on?” Taylor gasps.

  “Get behind me,” I order her as I pull out my gun. “The Bellasios are here.”

  18

  ILARION

  She doesn’t budge. Her eyes are fixed on my gun, and she’s backing away from me as though I’m the bad guy.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snarl at her without looking. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “How am I supposed to know that?”

  “For one, you’re carrying my baby.”

  I snare her arm and reel her in toward me. She’s not expecting that. She stumbles forward and her face hits my chest. She tries to push me off immediately. “If you don’t let me go right now, I’m gonna scream.”

  “I’ve got news for you, tigrionok: no one will notice.”

  Another gunshot. This one’s close. Too close. A twitching body falls across the hallway, blocking our path. Taylor screams and suddenly, she doesn’t seem so keen to leave my side after all.

  “Oh, God—my mom is out there. And Dad. And Celine!”

  Celine. I almost forgot about her. I should be at her side right now. There’s no doubt in my mind why the Bellasios have chosen this day to attack.

  And here I am—protecting the wrong sister.

  Of course, this is the sister who is carrying my baby, so I suppose it’s justified. I tell myself that’s the only reason I’m hanging back, making sure Taylor is safe first before I join the fray.

  I’m doing this for the baby.

  Not for the little tigress who’s lived in my dreams since the moment I almost smeared her across my bumper.

  “Ilarion—my family!”

  “I’ll make sure they’re okay,” I assure her. “Just stay behind me and do as I say.”

  “Why the hell are there guns here?” she asks, unraveling with her terror. “Who are they? No, scratch that—who the hell are you?”

  All good questions. All legitimate questions. But I’m not in the right frame of mind to answer them. I grab my phone when I feel it vibrating in my pants pocket.

  “Dima, where are you? Yeah, got it… No, I’m in the east corridor… I’ve got cargo. Come grab her so I can deal with this shit.”

  The moment I hang up, Taylor fixes me with an offended glare. “‘Cargo?’”

  “You have other things to be concerned with than my word choice, princess. Keep your head down.”

  I peek my head around the corner. Through the open door, I spy at least three Bellasio mudaks within range. One of them spots me, but before he can aim, I shoot twice.

  The first misses. The second buries itself in his forehead.

  I hear a strangled cry behind me, but I don’t have time to coddle Taylor through her first sight of bloodshed. I snipe the two other Italians in quick succession, then I grab her hand and drag her out of the corridor.

  “Y-you…killed them,” she gasps, straining against my hold.

  “They deserved to die.”

  My peripheral vision catches another asshole coming our way. I whirl around, shoving Taylor behind me before I unleash another two rounds. The Bellasio thug drops to the floor like a dead fly. I kick his body out of the way and assess our options.

  West leads back out to the gardens, where the people are. Where Celine is.

  South is through the kitchens, the quickest route to safety.

  South it is, then.

  “What are you doing?” Taylor cries out when I start pulling her toward the kitchen.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I growl. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving!” she protests. “My family’s here.”

  I’m as amazed at her stupidity as I am impressed by her loyalty. Regardless, I’m not about to let her waltz through open fire just so she can prove she’s not a coward.

  Before I can tell her to stop being an idiot, she screams. “Watch out!”

  I turn, but it’s too late. I’m knocked off-center by the idiot who’s decided to tackle me to the ground. The gun flies out of my hand and goes skittering down the hallway.

  I roll away and jump upright on my feet. “That was a stupid move,” I snarl at the Bellasio thug. He blinks back at me dumbly. This has not gone how he envisioned.

  I slug him in the stomach first, and while he’s reeling from the hit, I throw a hard right hand to his face. His orbital socket shatters under my knuckles and he lets out an ungodly scream that quickly snuffs itself out. He’ll wake up in one or two hours with a broken nose and a fuck-ton of regret.

  Or, more likely, one of my men will kill him before he gets that chance.

  When I glance up, I see that Taylor is back to looking horrified. Three more gunshots sound in quick succession. She winces at each one of them.

  Then her eyes flit over my shoulder. I turn to see what she’s seeing, just in time for Mila to appear from the garden. Her cream dress has ripped up the side, exposing a length of thigh nearly as inappropriate as Taylor’s.

  “Dima said you have cargo?” she asks me.

  I gesture to Taylor. “Get her out of here.”

  I can see the question in Mila’s eyes. Why am I so concerned with this sister?

  Before I can answer, Taylor rips herself free from my side and runs past us.

  “Taylor!” I yell. But she doesn’t slow or stop. She makes a beeline for the garden, bumping a surprised Mila off-balance on her way.

  Snarling, I take off in pursuit.

  I swallow up the distance between us in five long strides. Then I pluck her off her feet and throw her over my shoulder. She writhes like she’s being electrocuted and pounds useless fists into my back.

  “Foolish fucking girl,” I mutter under my breath as I charge back in search of cover.

  She’s not even pretending to listen to me, though. “Mom!” Taylor screams in panic at the mass of bodies in the distance. “Mom!”

  It’s chaos beyond the upended garden tables. Bodies are strewn across the grass, some in black masks and tactical gear, others in bloodstained gowns.

  Fiona Theron sticks out in the midst of the chaos, her bandana like a scrap of starlight. She stands, silent and stationary, her eyes wide with disbelief as she looks down at a limp body in the grass.

  There’s a smear of blood across her face. She’s not even ducking for cover.

  “Mom!” Taylor screams yet again. “Move!”

  Fiona looks up toward the both of us. Even from here, I can see trauma in her eyes. The woman has stared death in the face, but there’s a difference between the death that steals you from your hospital room in the middle of the night and the kind that comes at you screaming from the barrel of a gun.

  “Let me go!” Taylor screams. “I have to get to her. I have to save—”

  Somehow, the ensuing gunshot feels louder than the rest.

  We watch helplessly as it finds its home in Taylor’s mother’s chest.

  Fiona’s eyes roll. Her legs buckle. Just as she crumbles to her knees on the grass, we see red blood blossom, soaking the front of her sky-blue dress into a gruesome navy.

  “NO!” Taylor in a gut-wrenching scream that vibrates through my body. “Mom! Mom…”

  She tries to wrest herself free from my grip again, but when I tighten my hold on her, she goes slack, like she can’t summon up enough strength to fight me anymore.

  “Give her to me,” Mila says, appearing at my side with two of my men. “I’ll get her out of here.”

  I catch sight of Dima in the distance, but I can’t see Celine or her father. Where are they? How many have died? How could I have let this happen?

  “Ilarion!” Mila shouts, forcing me to look over. “Let go of her.”

  I only realize then that I’m still gripping Taylor tightly. It takes more effort than it should to release her. One of my men comes forward and I pass her off reluctantly.

  “Be careful with her,” I growl. “She is not to be harmed.”

  The soldier nods grimly, then hoists a sobbing Taylor over his shoulder and follows Mila out the back entrance of the gardens.

  I cross the lawn to where Dima is standing in the midst of the madness. He’s sweating and bloody but unharmed.

  “Where’s Celine?” I rasp.

  He drags his eyes up to mine. It looks like it costs him years of his life to do so. “I’m sorry, brother,” Dima croaks, the sweat and blood mingling into a red paste on his forehead. “They have her. The old man, too. They’re gone.”

  19

  TAYLOR

  I can’t breathe. There’s an ache in my chest that feels like it’s going to bore a hole through me if I don’t stop.

  If they don’t stop.

  I have no idea where we are, but it looks and feels like a tunnel. The walls are dark, the ceiling is low, and there are no windows anywhere in sight.

  Which means I can’t hear anything but my own screaming. If there’s still gunfire outside, we’re completely cut off from it. It’s just the echoes of my own terror and my own frantic, stampeding heart.

  “Let me down!” I wail, slamming my fists against the grim-faced man’s concrete back. “Let me down!”

  I have no idea how, but I manage to hit him between the legs. I’m flailing around like a madwoman, and I guess my foot must have made contact with his balls, because the next thing I know, he’s dropped me unceremoniously to the ground.

  I don’t give him time to recover; I just twist in the opposite direction and attempt to run back to the garden. I get about two steps before I’m met with the mouth of a gun.

  That halts me in my tracks.

  I freeze, staring past the gun to its owner. It’s the gorgeous, dark-haired woman who reminds me of Ilarion. Probably because they’re both toting around guns like it’s part of their outfit.

  “You’re gonna have to start listening, honey,” she says, her tone anything but sweet. “Or my finger just might slip.”

  Something inside me feels like it’s snapped in two. I thought I lived in one kind of world, the kind of world where I went to college and took Mom to chemo and got in spats with my dad that could be resolved at the kitchen table.

  Now, though, I’ve realized there’s an alternate world. One where engagement parties end in gunfire, and my sister is engaged to a man who carries around guns and says things like, The Bellasios are here. A world in which my mother is dying or dead and I’m being dragged away in the opposite direction.

  The woman has a gun to my face, so my instinct should be to do whatever she asks of me without questioning it. But I don’t cower and I don’t back down. I just stand my ground and look her in the eye.

  “My mother just got shot.”

  “I know.” This time, I detect a hint of sympathy under that icy tone. “But going back is only going to get you shot right along with her. And my brother isn’t the sort to tolerate insubordination.”

  “You’re his sister?”

  “Mila Zakharov. Pleasure to meet you. Now, on you go.”

  “I’m not moving.”

  She cocks her gun. “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to start shooting.”

  “Go right ahead.” I grit my teeth. “I won’t just abandon my mother. I won’t just let my family die.”

  Maybe Ilarion is right about me: my sense of self-preservation is sadly lacking. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and right now, I’m doing cartwheels back and forth across it.

  Mila regards me with reluctant interest. Then, reaching some conclusion she doesn’t seem inclined to share with me, she drops her hand. I can’t help but sigh with relief. As tough as I sounded just now, I felt anything but that.

  But then she looks over my shoulder and nods at the man behind me. For a split second, I think she’s telling him to let me go.

  Then his hands clamp around my arms, and I realize I’ve lost.

  “No!” I cry out. “No, you can’t do this.”

  Mila shakes her head and holsters her gun. “When you’re confronted by a stronger enemy, the smartest thing to do is just be quiet and accept your fate. I learned that the hard way. I advise you not to follow in my footsteps.”

  “Then you gave up too fast,” I snap. But my words don’t have quite the impact considering I’m being hauled off like—what did Ilarion call me? oh, yeah—cargo.

  Mila smiles darkly. “There may be some truth to that.”

  There’s a cryptic, haunted quality to her words. But I suggest she take that shit to a psychiatrist, because I’m not the one who’s going to help her unpack her emotional baggage. My mom is out there somewhere, bleeding and alone. I picture blood soaking the edge of her yellow bandana and I want to die.

  “Where are you taking me?” I rasp.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t feel safe with you people.”

  Mila doesn’t respond to that. She nods once again, and a second later, light hits my peripheral vision. When we emerge on the other side, I realize we’ve wound our way outside the Zakharov House property. A secret passageway—that’s the only way to describe it.

  What kind of people have secret passageways in their home?

  What kind of people would need one?

  “Who are you people?” I ask as I’m set back down on my feet.

  “People you don’t want to mess with,” Mila answers without bothering to look at me.

  “Someone clearly does.”

  She shrugs, as though I’ve just mentioned an inconsequential detail, as opposed to, y’know, a giant fucking gunfight at a freaking engagement party. “Some people need to learn the hard way,” she sighs. “Now—get in the car.”

  I turn when I hear a mechanical growl. Off to the side is an anonymous black sedan, engine humming, another burly brute standing at the passenger door waiting to usher me in.

  I cross my arms and stand my ground. “I’m not going anywhere until I know that my family is safe.”

  She rolls her eyes in exasperation. “What makes you think I’m going to give you a choice?”

  “For God’s sake!” I scream, ready to tear my hair out by the roots. “Have some humanity!”

  “Humanity,” Mila repeats neutrally, as though the word is alien to her. “What humanity? Humanity left this world a long time ago, little girl. If you stick around long enough, you’ll come to realize that, too. Now, get the fuck in the car before I make you.”

  She doesn’t reach for her gun, but she doesn’t have to. I can see the determination in her eyes, the certainty that she will do exactly what she’s threatening.

  I don’t want to be the person who crosses her.

  So I do what she advised me to do back in the tunnel: I accept my fate.

  I get into the car and she joins me in the rear. As we roll away from the property, I stare out the windows. They’re tinted so dark that all the color in the world is reduced to shades of gray, but that feels somehow fitting. There’s not a trace of yellow to be seen anywhere. I wring my hands together, praying to God that Mom is okay.