Vladimir was only a few feet from me now, and although I knew he would follow through with this, I could also see a flicker of regret on his face. But it was masked as fast as it had come.
There was no hope for me, no praying that he would come to see that it didn’t matter if I wasn’t biologically his, that he raised me, called me daughter, loved me.
“I am sorry,” he said before he swallowed roughly. I closed my eyes tightly, expecting a bullet to slam into me, but I heard a deep grunt followed by the clatter of something heavy hitting the ground.
I opened my eyes to see Kostya on the ground with my father, both of them grappling before Kostya easily got the upper hand. He straddled my father, who lay on his back, raining down blows against his head.
I’d never seen such violence firsthand, but the pure look of evil that came from Kostya had my blood running cold. They were on their feet seconds later, and I quickly reached for the gun that fell from my father’s hand.
Vladimir pulled a knife on him, so quickly all I saw was the flash of the blade catching the firelight a second before Vladimir plunged it into Kostya’s side.
He grunted and stumbled back, his hand going to his ribs, blood pooling between his fingers.
He cursed vile things in Russian to Vladimir, things that pertained to gutting and pulling out his entrails, gouging out his eyes, and cutting off his dick.
The next sequence of events happened only within a millisecond of each other as Vladimir bared his teeth and pushed himself up. Kostya slammed his body into my father, causing both of them to careen backward and crash into the wall.
I watched as Vladimir lifted the knife, and before he could plunge into Kostya, I did something I never thought I’d ever do.
I pointed the gun just as they broke apart and pulled the trigger on the man I had called Papa for the past twenty-three years.
With the force of the gun going off and me not being wholly prepared had my shoulders jerking back, I gasped in shock and pain and stumbled back.
And then I was staring into the lifeless eyes of the man I’d called Father. But I felt nothing. I was numb. And it was welcome.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, probably only seconds, but it felt like an eternity. I heard my name being shouted, felt heavy hands on my shoulders.
I blinked over and over again, tilting my head back to look into Kostya’s face. His expression couldn’t be called anything but tormented. I was vaguely aware of him taking the gun from me and tucking it in the waistband at the small of his back.
His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear anything.
Kostya smoothed the hair away from my face, touched my cheek, and looked over at where Vladimir lay. He turned his attention to where my mother sagged lifelessly, and then finally looked at Timur.
My heart was racing so fast it was physically painful and I lifted a hand to place over it, realizing that my fingers shook, and that this cold chill started to seep deep into my bones, settling into my marrow.
Kostya glanced back at me, lifted his hand to cup my cheek, and smoothed his thumb right under my eye. I felt the warm stickiness of his blood that covered his fingers and palm coat my skin, smelled the coppery tinge of it. But I didn’t care.
He lowered his face so we were eye to eye, his mouth still moving, but I couldn’t hear anything. God, why couldn’t I hear?
“Baby.” His deep voice finally penetrated through. “You’re in shock. It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart.”
A harsh groan from the other side of the room had Kostya looking at Timur. I could see him struggling against his bonds.
Everything was still moving in slow motion as Kostya stepped away from me, pulled that gun out from the waistband of his pants, cocked it, then aimed at Timur.
And then reality crashed back into me so hard it was painful, like my body slamming into cement after jumping from a building.
“No,” I said softly at first, breathlessly. But then I was shouting it. Nononono. I gripped Kostya’s bulging bicep, digging my nails into his flesh. I felt reality continue to slam into me.
He looked at me, his brows pulled down low, the very clear need for him to deliver violence tangible around him.
“No more death. No more.”
Despite the gunshots, I knew nobody would come in here. My father’s men would assume he was delivering the vengeance that was due to him.
Oh, God. I killed a Pakhan. The realization of what I’d done hit me so powerfully the room grew too hot. “They’ll kill me.” I looked at my father, my eyes feeling so wide they hurt.