it,” I spat. With Anton in my arms, I tried to go to her, tried to press my hands on the wound.
Tatiana shoved me away.
Before anything else could be said, my name roared through the halls.
“ELENA!”
My Konstantin.
I screamed his name back.
A second later, he came around the hall, gun in palm and expression deadly. His light brown eyes had darkened in possession and his features were warped with fury. Not the charming politician anymore…now the bloodthirsty beast who rose to power on the backs of corpses.
He pointed his gun on Tatiana immediately. “Enough now, Titus,” he hissed. “Your little ploy has come to an end.”
She laughed, the sound tightened by pain. “My ploy has just begun, Kostya.”
Konstantin looked to me. I felt him assess me for injuries, before he took in the screaming toddler in my arms.
His eyes darted to Tatiana’s bleeding abdomen.
Slowly, Konstantin lowered his gun, a brief spark of humanity visible in his expression. But not enough for him to stop pointing the weapon at Tatiana completely.
There was a flash and Dmitri rounded the corner. His eyes took in the scene.
“Tati,” he stepped forward, eyes searching her expression fiercely.
He didn’t look like a mobster or a krysha of the Tarkhanov Bratva. He looked like a man who had just had his heart torn to shreds.
“Dmitri,” Tatiana said coldly.
“Tell me it isn’t true.” Even Dmitri sounded like he wouldn’t believe her if she tried to defend herself.
I wondered how much he had seen over the course of their marriage and written off as a coincidence or non-important. No one else in the world had been closer to Tatiana than Dmitri.
Tatiana lifted her chin. “And what will you do if it is, husband?”
He met her eyes. “Kill you.”
A slow saccharine smile grew over her fac, pushing past the pain. “Oh,” she laughed. “I don’t think it’s going to come to that.”
The window shattered. Glass flew in every direction.
I bowed over Anton, shielding him from the shards. His little head buried into my chest, his tears soaking through my shirt.
But no glass hit.
I looked up.
Konstantin stood tall over us. I couldn’t see his face, but he was looking at Tatiana and her new friends, so I doubted it he was grinning and laughing.
Two men had joined Tatiana. Their guns were pointing at Anton and me.
“Don’t move, Kostya. Or else Elena wears bullets,” Tatiana said. She wrapped a rope around her arm, then stepped up onto the window ledge. Blood continued to soak her shirt, even if her adrenaline numbed the pain.
Dmitri made to step forward, but Konstantin grabbed his arm. “Do not,” he growled.
Tatiana’s eyes met mine. “Prendi una decisione, Elena. O loro o tu?” Make your decision, Elena. Them or you?
And then she was gone.
Konstantin went for the men with the guns, but they moved too fast. Gunshots went off, but instead of pointing them at Anton and me, they had shoved the barrels into their ears.
Both fell like bags of sand, brains leaking from the holes in their head.
31
Elena Falcone
I said goodbye to Roman and Danika first. Both had fallen asleep in the hallway outside the library, Danika resting her head on Roman’s shoulder. Curled up, they made a striking pair.
I kissed them both on the forehead and left them to their dreams.
“Elena?” Roman woke, eyes bleary and voice groggy. “You okay, sister?”
“I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” I left without another word.
Next was Roksana and Artyom. Artyom was poring over papers, his hand absentmindedly rubbing Roksana’s thigh. Roksana laid gracefully beside him, elegant even in her sleep.
His coal-black eyes tracked me as I pressed a kiss to Roksana’s head.
“I expected this,” he said, rational tone never wavering. “Couldn’t you have proven me wrong?”
I didn’t say respond. “Take care, Artyom.”
“You too, Elena.”
I left him to his work.
Tucked upstairs, in the midst of mourning his wife, daughter and son’s innocence, I found Dmitri. He sat beside a sleeping Anton. Both of their expressions were warped with grief.
I presented his books. “Thank you. Koschei the Deathless was my favorite.”
Dmitri said nothing as I crouched down next to Anton, stroked his hair once, twice, before murmuring soft words that resembled a prayer.
As I went to leave, Dmitri said, “You learned Russian for a reason. Do not forget why.”
I stopped by the door. My fingers dug into the wood. “Take care of your son, Dmitri.”
My final stop would be the hardest. The most stubborn obstacle to overcome.
Konstantin stood by his desk, First Aid kit opened beside him. He was carefully cleaning out his