I run past so many empty halls I lose count of how many closed doors I’ve seen. They could be anywhere.
A group of women rush past me giggling under their breath. They have no idea what’s happening tonight. They’re enjoying their night without having anxiety gnaw at their insides.
I’m the one who caused all this. I should have told him the truth from the beginning. I should have asked if he knew Pavel meant to put me into his life.
He would have been able to understand everything better if he’d read the fucking letter his father wrote for him.
I understand—I do. If my dad passed away, I’d want to cling to his last words forever. Having an unopened letter means he can always hear something more from him . . . but it’s ruining everything.
Lifting my dress, I turn to look behind me and see the group of girls rushing past me again. When they move in front of me, I ram into a muscular chest.
“Fuck, Sloane. You need to stick with me next time,” Max says as he holds me steady by my elbows.
“Oh, so this is my fault?”
He grabs onto my hand and rushes us down the end of the hallway. The walls are covered in a dark orange wallpaper, and the lights are sporadically placed through the walkway. At the end of the hall is a steel door.
“You stay here,” he says, and I pull him back just before he can open the door.
“No,” I seethe. “Mikhail needs me right now. You can’t tell him what he needs to know. You’re not even taking this seriously right now, Max!”
His head falls back. “Both of them mean everything to me, and they hate each other. If you think for a fucking second I’m going to let you walk into the middle of their argument, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”
“You won’t be able to solve their problems.”
“And you will?” he challenges me.
I’ve never felt anger toward Max, but I do right now. It’s running its full course through my veins. “Move,” I say.
He makes a sound of irritation and opens the door softly. He grabs onto my hand and keeps my body next to his.
Stepping outside, I notice the door leads to a courtyard. Red bricks cover the entire ground and walls surrounding them. The sky is dark, but the two lights clinging to the metal poles light the area enough for me to see a man kneeling on the floor with a gun pressed to his head.
“You had it wrong.” Mikhail’s voice echoes through the courtyard. “I think you have quite the obsession. First my brother, Adrian, and now Sloane?”
Giovanni’s hand clings to his rib cage, and I clench my teeth as panic courses through my mind.
“This is—” Giovanni starts to speak, but Mikhail interrupts him.
“Fitting?” Mikhail asks as he kneels to the floor so he’s eye to eye with Giovanni. “Just two years ago I was in your exact same position. Tell me, Giovanni, how does it feel to be taken down by the grit and scum of the chain?”
Another groan slips past Giovanni, and he holds his ribs when he laughs. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he says.
Mikhail’s dark chuckle floods the air. “You have no fucking idea how much your shit voice pisses me off.”
“I did what I had to do. You came after my wife.”
“I never even touched her,” Mikhail says. “I’m done letting you take everything I care about. Sloane was my last straw.”
Max’s grip around me loosens when he watches this play out. But he’s making a mistake. He doesn’t know Mikhail like I do.
He’s angry at everything right now; there’s no rational thought going through his mind.
“I said a few colorful words that pissed you off,” Mikhail says, “and you take everyone I care about? How is that fair?” he asks as he points the gun at Giovanni again.
Giovanni holds his hand up as if it’ll shield him from the bullet in the chamber of Mikhail’s gun. He gives it no second thought and shows no sign of remorse as he shoots Giovanni in the thigh.
Giovanni’s hands go straight to the bullet wound, and he swears under his breath.
At this point, I can’t even say I’m shocked. I didn’t flinch at the sound of the gun blaring though the air—I just watched it play out.
“I’m going to—” Giovanni starts to say to Mikhail, but he gets interrupted.
“You’re not going to do shit. You’ve shot me three times—”
Mikhail kicks him in the head, and he falls onto his back, a pained groan slipping from his lips. “Mikhail,” he says.
“You can’t even mask your pain. Is that what special treatment will get you?” Mikhail grits out. “Let me be the first to say that I love watching you choke on your own mistakes.”
“Max,” I whisper, wanting to get in the middle of them. He ducks down and lifts me onto his knee, wrapping his arms around my stomach. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Making sure you don’t do something stupid. You have to let Mikhail work this out on his own.”
My mouth falls when I see something silver rise in Giovanni’s hand.
A gun.
