Chapter 39 Marlena
Everything exploded at once.
The first gunshot cracked through the air like thunder and people screamed in high-pitched terror, the kind that came from people who'd never experienced real violence.
The string quartet stopped playing mid-note as guests scattered like insects, running for every exit they could find.
Women in expensive gowns stumbled in their heels while men shoved past each other, abandoning all pretense of civility. Champagne glasses shattered on marble floors.
I saw Nikolai move with precision, fast and lethal from years of training compressed into split seconds.
He raised the Glock and fired. The guard closest to us dropped with blood blooming across his white shirt, his weapon clattering to the floor.
The other guards returned fire immediately and bullets ripped through the air, too close, too loud.
I dropped into a crouch on instinct, my hands moving to my clutch. The knife. I needed the knife. My fingers found the handle and pulled it free.
The small tourist blade felt pathetic compared to the guns around us, but it was all I had.
A guard rushed toward me from the left with his weapon raised.
I didn't think, just moved, lunging forward and driving the knife into his thigh with everything I had. The blade sank deep into muscle and he screamed, a raw animal sound of pain.
His gun dropped as he grabbed his leg with blood pouring between his fingers.
I pulled the knife free, my hands shaking and slick with his blood. The guard fell to his knees, still screaming, and then Viktor's hand locked around my arm with an iron grip that bruised.
"You stupid girl," he hissed, pulling me toward him.
"Let go!" I twisted hard, trying to break free, but his other hand grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. Pain shot through my scalp.
"You're coming with me," he said. "Now."
"Fuck you!" I kicked backward and my heel connected with his shin. He grunted but didn't let go. I twisted again, bringing the knife up toward his face, but he caught my wrist and slammed it against the wall.
The knife fell from my numb fingers, clattering away.
No. No, no, no.
I kicked again, harder this time, aiming for his knee.
He moved and took the blow on his thigh instead.
Around us, chaos continued with more gunshots, more screaming, and the smell of gunpowder thick in the air.
I saw Nikolai fighting three guards at once and he moved like water, like violence given form.
One guard swung at him with his weapon but Nikolai ducked and drove his elbow into the man's throat. The guard dropped, choking.
Another rushed from behind and Nikolai spun, firing twice. Both shots hit center mass. The third guard tackled him, driving them both to the ground, and they rolled, struggling for the gun.
Viktor was pulling me toward a side door, dragging me despite my struggles.
"Stop fighting," he growled. "You're only making this harder."
"Good!" I dug my nails into his wrist, drawing blood, but he backhanded me hard. The blow snapped my head to the side and stars exploded across my vision. Blood filled my mouth with copper and salt.
"I said stop," Viktor said coldly.
My ears rang and everything felt distant, muffled. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, and then I heard it. Another gunshot, different from the others, sharper and more precise. One of Viktor's guards dropped with a perfect hole in his forehead. Another shot and a second guard fell.
Viktor's grip on my arm loosened slightly as he turned toward the new threat.
A woman stood in the villa's main entrance with short black hair, sharp cheekbones, and black tactical gear.
She held a pistol in both hands with perfect stance, her eyes cold and focused. She looked like a soldier, a killer, and she looked exactly like the woman from Nikolai's photos, the ones hidden in his study, the ones from fifteen years ago.
Katya Volkov. His sister. The one who was supposed to be dead.
She fired again, dropping a third guard, her movements efficient and practiced with no wasted motion. The remaining guards turned toward her with weapons raised but she was already moving, rolling behind a marble column as bullets chipped stone where she'd been standing.
"Katya?" Nikolai's voice cut through the chaos. He'd frozen completely still, staring at the woman like he was seeing a ghost. The guard he'd been fighting took advantage and slammed a fist into his jaw. Nikolai's head snapped back but he didn't fall, just stood there with his eyes locked on his sister.
"Brother," Katya said, her voice strong and clear, carrying across the room despite the chaos. Her Russian accent was thicker than Nikolai's. She stepped out from behind the column and fired t
wice more. Two more guards dropped.
The room began to spin around me.