57. Kat

Chapter 57

Kat

Hidden behind one of the crumbling marble columns, I glance around the old bank, my stomach twisting with disgust.

The air is thick, stale, and reeks of mildew. There’s no breeze down here, not even a faint draft to stir the dust that’s been collecting for God knows how long. Broken leather chairs and bullet casings litter the gold-veined black marble floor, now dull and filthy.

It’s been over ten years since this place was abandoned, and it shows. The paint is peeling in long strips, and the walls look like they’re rotting from the inside out. The whole building feels like a relic from another time, its former grandeur nothing more than a fading shadow.

I drove like a maniac to get here, but it still took an excruciating hour. Every mile felt endless, the dread in my chest growing heavier with every passing minute. By the time I pulled up, I was sure I’d be too late—that Dmitri and his father would already have executed Nik.

Movement catches my eye a dozen yards away under the dim, flickering light of an ancient overhead fixture. A small group of men has gathered, standing stiff and silent. Members of the Seven Families, no question.

I press myself against the column and stay completely still, watching, careful not to make a sound. If this plan has even the slightest chance of working, A.J. and I need the element of surprise. Of course, that all goes out the window if Nik’s already dead. But I can’t let myself go there. Not yet. I have to stay focused.

Barely daring to breathe, I take in the scene. The small crowd of men stands in a semicircle under the light. The expensive cuts of their suits can't hide the unmistakable bulge of weapons tucked away—holstered at their sides, strapped to their ankles, or jammed beneath their waistbands.

Is that what they’re planning for Nik? To gun him down like that?

I glance at their faces, searching for any cracks in their composure. Most of them seem uneasy—stealing wary glances at one another, shifting their weight like they’re standing on unstable ground. It’s obvious they don’t want to be here, trapped in this dark, decaying room with their enemies.

A chill runs down my spine as I catch the coldness in their stares, the sharp gleam of cruelty lurking in their eyes. I don’t even want to imagine what they’d do to me or A.J. if we were caught. The idea alone threatens to root me to the spot, paralyzing me with fear. But I can’t let that happen.

I shove the thought away, forcing myself to focus. My eyes dart around the room, scanning for any sign of Nik, Dmitri, or the stronzo himself.

Then, finally, I spot them.

Dmitri steps into the light, dragging Nik behind him, and my heart nearly gives out. Relief crashes over me, so overwhelming that my knees almost buckle. I grab the column to steady myself, barely holding it together.

Nik is still alive.

My vision blurs as tears threaten to spill, but I blink them away. There’s no time for that.

The stronzo follows them into the light, his greasy smirk turning my relief into fury in the span of a heartbeat.

Even in the dim light, I can see the fight draining out of Nik. His posture is perfect—his head held high, his shoulders straight. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world, but I know him better than that. I can see it in his eyes—he’s given up.

I glance across the room until I spot A.J. in the shadows. She catches my eye and nods.

Dmitri drags Nik forward, pushing him into the center of the semicircle. The men exchange uneasy whispers, their words too low for me to hear, while Salvatore pulls out a shiny revolver, practically beaming as he does it.

Nik knew this was coming. He knew surrendering meant death, but he did it anyway to save me. One look at his resigned expression, and my heart breaks all over again.

I glance at A.J., and she nods again. It’s time.

The stronzo smirks at Nik, revolver in hand. “Nikolai Stefanovich,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery, “kneel before me.”

Yeah, no. Over my dead body.

A.J. kills the overhead lights, plunging the room into pitch-black darkness. A split second later, the fire alarm blares, sprinklers burst to life, and the wail of police sirens echoes in the distance.

I raise my pistol and fire two shots into the air. It’s Nik’s gun—the one he gave me all those nights ago. I’d found it in his glove box on the way here, and using it now feels like poetic justice. The deafening crack cuts through the chaos, silencing everyone for the briefest heartbeat before all hell breaks loose.

Gunfire erupts, the flashes of muzzle fire cutting through the dark like lightning. My stomach twists as I crawl low, praying none of the bullets hit A.J., Nik, or me. This plan was a long shot from the beginning, a desperate gamble. All I can do is hope we’re lucky enough to survive it.

My heart thunders as I dart through the shadows, staying close to the ground. The sprinklers soak me to the bone, water dripping into my eyes and down my neck, but I force myself to keep moving.

I lock my gaze on Nik. He’s cuffed, his clothes bloodied and torn, standing still in the middle of the pandemonium. The cacophony of gunfire, alarms, and frantic shouts swirls around him like a storm, but he doesn’t move. His head swivels side to side, his eyes scanning the chaos, as if he’s trying to make sense of the mayhem around him.

When I finally reach him, I grab his shoulder. He jerks violently, spinning toward me like he’s been electrocuted.

“It’s me,” I whisper, breathless. “Your knight in shining armor. Let’s get out of here before your buddies realize this daring rescue is courtesy of me and my army of one.”

He stiffens, freezing in place. His head snaps toward me, and for a moment, his face softens with relief. Pure joy flickers across his expression when his eyes land on me. But it doesn’t last. That familiar, smoldering rage quickly takes its place.

“You won’t be able to sit for a week after I’m done with you,” he growls.

I grin, heart still racing. “Oh, baby. Don’t threaten me with a good time. Now, let’s move. And here—take this. You know I hate guns.”

He takes the pistol from me without a word, his jaw tight and his eyes flashing with irritation.

“There are no cops outside, are there?” he asks.

“Nope,” I admit. “But A.J.’s here. Vladmir’s on his way too. Figured some backup couldn’t hurt. Before you say anything—he was too far behind us for me to wait for him, so I devised a plan.”

Nik mumbles something in Russian, his tone dripping with frustration. “A plan? You use that word too liberally, kiska .”

Hearing the Russian term of endearment, my chest tightens—I even have to restrain myself from throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him until we’re both out of breath.

“I had resigned myself to never laying eyes on you again,” Nik says, his voice low and raw with hurt. “I hoped you would turn your back on me and never look back. To hear your voice again, to see your face once more—” He breaks off, muttering something harsh in Russian. I don’t need to understand the language to know it’s a curse. “Of all the reckless, foolish things, Kat… You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I’m here now,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “So let’s focus on getting out of here alive, and then you can lecture me for the rest of our lives. Sound good?”

His dark brown eyes burn into mine, full of conflicting emotions. It’s painfully obvious he’s torn between kissing me senseless and strangling me to death.

“Damn it, Kat,” he growls, his voice breaking. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Before I can respond, the stronzo steps out of the shadows, his polished revolver catching the dim light as he strides toward us.

“Well, well,” he sneers, his voice oozing mockery. “Ms. Devereaux. Why am I not surprised to see you here? And you, Nikolai—what is it about you Russians that you can’t resist meddling with what belongs to your betters?”

“You are not his better,” I snap through gritted teeth. “And I will never belong to you.”

The stronzo's smirk widens, his pale blue eyes glinting with malicious glee. “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” He takes a slow step closer, radiating smugness. “I’m assuming our friend A.J. is skulking around here somewhere, too. What a lovely little reunion this is turning into.” He sighs theatrically. “Why don’t we go find her?”

“Leave her alone,” I say sharply, taking a step forward, but Nik’s arm sweeps out, pushing me firmly behind him.

“Don’t worry, Kat,” Nik says, his voice calm and deadly. He wraps an arm protectively around me, keeping me shielded behind him. “He won’t be bothering you anymore.” Nik straightens, towering over the stronzo . “Isn’t that right, Salvatore? Not Kat, not A.J., not Dmitri.”

The Italian’s smirk wavers for a fraction of a second before it returns, his voice taunting. “And why would I do that? Because you say so?”

Nik’s smile turns cold, his dark eyes gleaming with lethal intent. “Exactly. Because I say so.”

And then he moves.

Faster than I can process, Nik grabs Salvatore’s arm and twists it with a sharp, violent motion. The sickening crunch of bone echoes through the room as the revolver clatters to the floor, and Salvatore’s strangled yell cuts through the wail of police sirens and the shrill fire alarm.

Nik doesn’t stop. He slams the stronzo into the nearest column with enough force to send cracks spidering through the crumbling marble. Salvatore tries to recover, but Nik is relentless. His fist connects with the stronzo’s jaw in a brutal, bone-shattering punch. Then another. And another.

Blood sprays across the floor, each hit landing with the wet, sickening sound of flesh meeting bone. The stronzo’s smirk disappears, replaced by a look of sheer terror.

“You think you’re getting away with this?” Nik snarls, his voice trembling with unbridled rage. “You think you can hurt what’s mine and walk away?” He slams the Salvatore’s head against the column, the impact leaving a vivid crimson smear on the once-pristine marble. “Nobody fucks with my people.”

Salvatore gurgles something incoherent, his words lost in the blood pooling in his mouth, but Nik doesn’t care.

He grabs the stronzo by the throat, his fingers digging in mercilessly as Salvatore’s face turns a mottled purple. The man claws at Nik’s arm, his nails scratching uselessly, his kicks growing weaker with every second. Nik slams the stronzo ’s head into the column again and again, the impact so loud it echoes through the room. Blood smears across the floor, and Salvatore’s knees buckle.

But Nik isn’t finished. He hauls the Italian up like a rag doll.

“You hurt her,” Nik growls, his voice guttural and unrecognizable. “You threatened her. And for that, you die screaming.”

Nik pulls back slightly, just enough to yank my gun from his waistband. The polished metal gleams in the dim light as he aims it squarely at Salvatore’s face. He stares down at the stronzo , his face cold and unrecognizable.

“Look at me,” Nik demands, his voice eerily calm. His bloodied hands are rock steady as he presses the barrel of the gun against Salvatore’s temple. “Come on, open your eyes. When you get to hell, I want you to remember who sent you there.”

He lets go, and the stronzo collapses to the ground, his face unrecognizable. Nik kneels over him, his hands dripping with blood. Salvatore wheezes, blood bubbling at the corners of his lips, his pale blue eyes wide with terror. He tries to say something—maybe beg—but Nik doesn’t wait.

The deafening crack of the shot echoes through the empty hall like a thunderclap. Giuseppe Salvatore collapses in a lifeless heap, blood pooling around him as his head lolls to the side.

Nik doesn’t move, his chest heaving, his knuckles dripping with blood. His face is blank, devoid of anything but cold finality as he stares down at the corpse.

For a moment, all I can hear is the alarm blaring and my own shallow breaths.

"Oh," I say, the word slipping out as a sudden realization strikes me. "I get it now."

Nik glances at me, one brow arching in silent question, his gaze still slightly dazed, but now edged with curiosity.

"Why you laughed when I was bawling my eyes out, terrified you might die fighting McGuire," I explain, the pieces clicking into place as I speak. "And why Dmitri was so shocked when he realized you’re... well, kind of my teddy bear. No offense." I lift my hands, palms up, offering him a quick, sheepish smile.

My tone is flat and matter-of-fact, completely free of drama or exaggeration. Even so, his lips twitch, and a slow, amused smirk spreads across his face.

With a sigh, he turns to me and extends a hand, his palm open and waiting. “Come here,” he says hoarsely, his voice rough like gravel.

I don’t argue. I can’t.

He takes my hand, his grip firm and possessive, his fingers warm despite being streaked with blood. His jaw is tight, his body still trembling with adrenaline as he pulls me closer.

“I told you,” he says firmly, his voice shaking with fury. “No one touches what’s mine.”