Chapter 161 161

Chapter 161 161

“Oh, yes, it was.” She sighs. “But as much as I might want to, I won’t kill you. Not because my sister loved you, though the devil knows you don’t deserve a drop of her goodness. I’m only letting you live because of those children. You won’t ever see them, if I have my way. You’ll never lay a fucking finger on them. But they will know that somewhere out in the world, you exist. That’s for them. Not for you.”

Jasmine’s eyes—her eyes, Ariel’s eyes, Makris eyes—glint in the lightning. “Now, answer me this: Is he with Dragan?”

“You should⁠—”

She jabs the gun into my chest. “Where is Kosti going?” The gun doesn’t waver. “Tell me the truth. You think he’s with Dragan, don’t you?”

I hesitate. Behind me, thunder crashes.

The safety clicks off.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jasmine snarls. “Not again. Never again. Where. Is. He. Going?”

I close my eyes briefly. “Yes. The coordinates on that phone—my best guess is that they lead to Dragan.”

“Good.” She starts backing away, the gun still trained on my heart. “That’s where I’m going, then.”

“Ti mou,” Belle cries, “please⁠—”

“Don’t follow me.” Jasmine’s voice lashes out. “Any of you. I mean it. I’m done being pushed around. Done being someone’s piece. From now on, I move myself.”

“You’ll die,” I tell her roughly.

Her smile is terrible to behold. “Maybe. But at least it will be my choice. My move. For once in my life, I get to decide what happens to Jasmine Makris.”

She retreats. A step at a time. The rain pounds harder. Through sheets of it, I watch her fade into shadow.

Then she’s gone.

I stand frozen, staring into the darkness where she disappeared. The coordinates on that phone will lead her straight to Dragan. To certain death.

But when I turn back to Ariel, I know I cannot follow. She’s curled on her side in the mud, face contorted in agony as another contraction rips through her.

My wife needs me.

My children need me.

Even as my sister-in-law runs headlong into death’s arms, I know there’s only one choice I can make.

I drop to my knees beside Ariel and gather her into my arms. “I’ve got you, ptichka,” I whisper. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She sobs and clutches my shirt. Whether from pain or grief or if she simply wants to drag me into the pain with her, I’ll never know.

But I do know this: sometimes, the most brutal choice is staying still while the world burns around you.

So here I stay.

As thunder shakes the sky, here I stay.

As Jasmine races toward death, here I stay.

As Kosti spins his webs, as Dragan laughs, as my empire is reduced to rubble and ash…

Here I stay. Here I stay. Here I stay.

52

SASHA

“We need to get her inside,” Feliks bellows over the storm. “It’s fucking Armageddon out here, man!”

I shake my head and roar back, “It’s too late to move her!”

Together, we rip the tablecloth free, sending dishes and food clattering to the ground. The wind fights us, but we manage to create a crude shelter, anchoring it to chairs and tables with anything we can find: our belts, a string of the fairy lights, Pavel’s shoelaces. It’s not much, but it keeps the worst of the rain off Ariel’s face.

But I don’t even know if she notices. She’s beyond us now. Elsewhere. Delirious from pain as the contractions cluster closer and closer together.

Zoya thrusts a phone flashlight into my free hand. The beam judders across Ariel’s face—sweat-slick, pallid, pupils blown wide. Her lips move soundlessly around words that might be my name or a curse or both.

Her dress and hair are plastered to her. Black tears run down her cheeks. Her mouth is a bottomless O, ringed with red.

Worse, though, is the red slicking her thighs. Zoya is crouched low as Belle cradles Ariel’s head in her lap. Gina and Lora sit on either side, stunned into ashen silence.

Lightning comes. Thunder follows. The villa’s lit windows flicker once, twice, then die completely. Darkness swallows us whole as the power gives up and the fairy lights are extinguished.

“Blyat’,” Feliks curses, fumbling with his phone’s flashlight. The beam catches Ariel’s face at an awful angle, highlighting the agony etched into every line.

Ariel’s fingers dig into my forearm. “Sasha…” she moans, eyelids fluttering, eyes unseeing.

“I’m here.” I brush wet hair from her face. “I’ve got you.”

“J-J-Jasmine,” she whispers. “Where’s Jasmine?”

“Breathe, Ariel. Save your strength.”

But she thrashes against me. “Have to… have to find her…”

“Hush now.” I tighten my grip as another contraction hits. Her back arches, a sound like breaking glass tearing from her throat.

Zoya snarls at Lora, who runs inside and returns with an armful of towels and the villa’s first aid supplies. It’s not much, but it’s all we have. Belle follows with a pot of water that’s nowhere near as hot as we need, but it’ll have to do.

The storm rages. Thunder cracks overhead like artillery fire. And through it all, Ariel burns in my arms, caught between consciousness and delirium, calling for a sister I let slip away into the night.

I’ve never felt more powerless in my life. Not even when my father had barbed wire around my throat. At least then, I knew how to fight back.

But this? This is a different kind of helplessness entirely. All I can do is hold on and pray to a God I stopped believing in long ago that He’ll keep her safe through this night.

In the strobe of Feliks’s phone and the intermittent lightning, I count the seconds between Ariel’s pulses. They’re rabbit-quick under my palm. Too fast. The medical kit lies gutted at our feet: gauze, scissors, a half-roll of surgical tape. Useless tools for this wet, screaming dark.

Zoya’s hands disappear between Ariel’s legs. “Head’s crowning.”

Ariel’s breath hitches. “No—no, it’s too soon⁠—”

“Breathe,” I order, thumbs digging into the base of Ariel’s spine. She’d mocked these positions weeks ago—Who needs a birthing ball when you’ve got a Bratva boss?—but now, her body arches instinctively into the pressure.

“Fuck your—ah!—breathing techniques.” Her fingers dig into the wet earth. “God, it hurts.”

“I know, ptichka.” I keep my hands steady on her back, kneading the muscles there. “But you’re doing so well.”

She barks out another laugh, this one edged with hysteria. “Remember our first Lamaze class? When Gina was pretending to be the teacher?” Her words break off in a gasp as the contraction peaks. “Bet you… wish you’d paid more attention now.”

“Inhale for four counts,” I say calmly, demonstrating. “Hold for seven. Exhale for eight.”

Her eyes narrow even through the pain. “Y-you… actually remember?”

“Of course I do.” I stroke her back as she tries to match my breathing. “I remember everything about that day. The ridiculous exercises. The way you kept almost breaking character to laugh. How beautiful you looked, even when you were trying your hardest to push me away.” I lean close to her ear. “Now breathe with me, Ariel. Just like we practiced. In… hold… out…”