Chapter 169

He leans in close, the gun still aimed at my chest. “It’s over for Alexander McAllister either way. After tonight, he’s going to disappear. I have enough money left to start over. I’ll kill the two of you, kill Evaline, and then leave the country. Everyone will assume I died and I’ll start over fresh. Far, far away from the influence of the Pushkins and the Sokolovs.”

Cora is staring at him, open-mouthed. I don’t want her to say anything to draw his attention, so I ask the question I know is on her mind.

“You’d really kill your own wife?”

“Evaline was a means to an end,” he spits. “Every man needs someone to keep their household running and their dick wet. You know something about that, don’t you, Ivan? Why else would you choose Cordelia when you thought she was nothing more than a waitress?”

Fuck it. I’ll take my chances and shoot him dead right now.

Before I can even raise my gun, Cora flies out of nowhere and throws herself on Alexander’s back.

“You selfish son of a bitch!” she screams, clawing at his face and his neck. “You ruined my life, you asshole! I won’t let you kill my mother, too!”

Alexander is too busy trying to stay on his feet to remember he has a gun in his hand. He stumbles back and forward, trying to shake Cora off.

Finally, he bends forward and Cora slips. She ramps up to jump on him again, but Alexander raises his arm and cracks the back of his hand across her face.

Cora’s head jerks to one side. She falls to her knees and slides across the tile floor.

“You fucking bi—” Alexander starts to hiss.

But the first half of the word is barely off his lips when I press my gun to his head and pull the trigger.

No last words. No hesitation. Blood sprays and Alexander crumples to the floor in a useless heap.

“No one puts hands on my woman and survives,” I snarl over his lifeless body.

One last victim of my fucking rampage.

65

CORA

My face burns, my ears are ringing, and my head feels like it’s packed with wet sand. As I look from Ivan to Alexander’s body and back again, my brains slosh from side to side.

His eyes are dark and menacing. He is pure wrath.

Then he shifts towards me and everything about him softens. Ivan drops to his knees next to me and cups my face in his massive, gentle hands. “Tell me you’re okay.”

As long as you’re with me, I’m perfect.

“I’m okay,” I rasp. My throat is clogged with emotion. “Is it over? How many more are there?”

Ivan looks over his shoulder, scanning the doors. “I think it’s over. Fuck, I hope so. I killed Mikhail and then ran here to stop Francia. Then Alexander shows up. They are coming out of the woodwork tonight.”

“Wait—you killed Mikhail?”

He winces. “You don’t need to worry about that now.”

“Are you hurt?” I smooth my hands down his broad shoulders and over the firm plane of his chest. He feels like the most solid thing in the world right now.

He grabs one of my hands and presses it to his lips. A bit of blood rubs off my hands and smears across his chin. I look back at his shoulders and realize I was spreading Francia’s blood all over his shirt. “Cora, don’t worry about me right now. If you’re okay, I’m okay.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m okay, I think. I’m sore and I might have a concussion, but I—I just don’t understand how this all happened. I was having a really good day. Dinner with my dad went well and I—”

The words lodge in my throat at the same time my heart drops to my stomach.

I forgot. How could I forget?

“What is it?” Ivan stiffens, looking around for danger.

There isn’t any more danger. Just the wreckage of what already happened. The carnage littered all around the entryway.

Including the body of my father.

“Dad!” I push away from Ivan and crawl across the floor.

When Francia shot him, he fell backward into the hallway. Everything that happened after that was a whirlwind of fear and survival. I didn’t have time to check on him or look to see if he was moving. I couldn’t worry about him and make it out alive.

Now, I’m alive…

But my dad might be gone.

Ivan makes it to my dad’s side before I do.

“Is he alive?” I don’t want to hear the answer. For just a second, I want everyone I love to be safe and okay. I want my world to be right.

I crawl past Ivan and look down into my father’s face. He’s pale. There’s too much blood soaking through his cotton polo. I can’t even remember what color it was when he got here tonight. Green? Maybe blue? It’s a muddy brown now.

Ivan has his fingers pressed to my father’s neck.

“Ivan?” I whisper quietly enough that even I can barely hear myself.

“There’s a pulse,” he says finally. “It’s faint. If he’s going to survive, we need to move fast.”

Ivan bolts up and grabs his phone, but I can’t leave. I can’t walk away. Not again.

I grab my dad’s hand and try to ignore how cold his fingers are. The tips are turning blue. “You’re going to be okay, Daddy.”

I’m not sure if I’m saying it for him or myself. Probably both. God knows we both need some comforting lies right about now.

“You have to be okay. I just got you back.” My voice breaks and I press my cheek to his shoulder. Tears stream down my face and drip onto his already-ruined shirt. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. This is all my fault.”

In the background, I hear Ivan on the phone. He’s telling Yasha what happened and arranging an off-the-record ambulance ride to the hospital. I don’t know when I’ll stop being amazed at how much control and power he has in this city, but it isn’t today.

“You’re going to be okay,” I say again. He still isn’t moving, but I believe my own lie a little more.

Ivan is here now.

If he’s here, I know everything will be alright.