My body twitches. Every big-sister instinct I’ve ever felt fills me. Erik doesn’t understand. He can’t, not without any siblings.
“Camille, no,” he whispers, tightening his grip around me.
“I can’t, Erik.”
“Camille!”
I slip away just in time, sliding free of his arms, and then ducking for the door. My mind is in overdrive, a plan coming together by the time I leap the last two steps.
“You fucking jerk!” I cry, throwing myself at Rob.
I ignore Fyodor, who looks like an accountant coming to complain about the numbers being wrong. The man at his right looks way tougher, a towering brute with a flat face and bear paws for hands.
Rob reels back. “What the fuck?”
“Why did you have to kill him?” I cry, slapping him in the chest, across the face. A loud whack ought to sell this this pretty well, right? “I hate you! I’ve always hated you! You’re just a waste of fucking space! You took the father of my child from me! I’ll have to raise this baby—”
I cut off, realizing I’ve gotten carried away. If Fyodor has Erik killed when he is childless, he is the heir to the Bratva. But if I am pregnant, I am the heir. It turns out going full-on Actress of the Year might not have been the best idea.
Fyodor’s smile is a glistening razor.
“Come here, girl,” he says.
I back away, hands moving over my belly. It’s too small to kick and yet I feel it raging, battering its tiny hands against the walls of my stomach. You stupid woman, it is crying. You’re supposed to protect me. What the hell is wrong with you?
Fyodor picks something from under his fingernails, flicks it to the floor.
“If you leave this room, or put one foot on those stairs, I will kill you where you stand. Now come here.”
The large man behind him has his hand near his hip, ready to pull out his gun any second.
I have no choice but to do as he says, hating the way he tilts his head as though to imply that, yep, all women really will do what he tells them. He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him, taking out a gun in one watery motion and placing the cold barrel against my belly.
“You should have run,” he whispers. “But you fools are all the same. Stupid as cattle.”
He clicks back the hammer on the revolver, his finger moving for the trigger.
“Leave her alone!” Rob cries, running over to us.
He puts his hand on my back for support and I’m so grateful I could almost start weeping. But I won’t give this couldn’t-get-a-date-for-the-dance motherfucker the satisfaction of my tears.
“You don’t need to kill her, Fyodor, sir. She—she can be your woman. You’ll need an heir to the Batva—sorry, I mean Bratva … fuck, you’ll need one just as bad as Erik did! Please, just—”
“Would you like that?” Fyodor leans close to me. He smells of breath mints and vanilla, which somehow is more disgusting than if he reeked of pig guts. “Would you be a loyal queen to me, Camille?”
I know I should tell him yes—tell him he’s the freaking king of England if that’s what it takes to get him away from me—but by the time I’m thinking about the need for tact, I’ve already spit out the words.
“You’re a pathetic, ugly little man. You’re not even half the man Erik is. I would rather—”
“Die?” He smiles, prodding my belly. “That can easily be arranged.”
“Let me talk to her!” Rob pleads. “She’s just upset about Erik. But she’ll do it. You can gag her, put her in a fuckin’ cage, whatever you want. Just don’t kill her.”
“What do you think, Kurill?”
“I think she’ll come just as easy with or without her say-so.”
“But don’t you want her to tell you how badly she wants to come?”
Rob’s talking fast, licking his lips every few seconds, his eyes flitting all around the room. If I ever needed proof that, despite everything, my fucked-up little brother loves me, I have it. It’s too little, and way too late, but at least it’s something.
“Just imagine it, right?” Rob says. “Erik’s woman telling you how she wants to be yours. Think how much your new soldiers will respect you.”
“They already respect me,” Fyodor whispers, but Rob’s magic is working. Hunger has entered his eyes. “You can say whatever you need to right here.”
“You know what women are like,” Rob says. “They let their emotions get the better of them. And I know my sister. I can get her to see sense. Just give me a minute.”
“Very well. Kurill, take out your gun.” He smiles humorlessly at Rob. “Stay in sight.”
Rob takes me by the hand and leads me to the bottom of the stairs. Fyodor and Kurill watch like wolves, guns raised, sharing a look that is somewhere between amused and impatient. They have won, though, as far as they’re concerned. Now they’re just dealing out the war prizes.
“I hope you have a plan,” I whisper.
Rob shakes his head. “I just needed to get you away from them.”
“Hurry up!” Fyodor snaps.
Rob closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, he seems more clear-headed. He steps in front of me and spreads his hands wide.
“I’m not letting you take her!” he yells.
“Foolish man,” Fyodor mutters. “I would have let you be my lapdog. You could have licked the shit from my boot after a hard day of work. Now you will lie in the ground with that arrogant fool Ivanovich.”
Everything happens so fast.
Boom. Boom.
By the time I realize what’s going on, Rob is on the floor with a bullet wound in his gut and Erik and Fyodor are firing shots at each other.
I drop to my knees and press my hands into Rob’s belly, trying to stop the blood flow.
Bullets bite at the air all around us.
On a distant track in the back of my mind, I work out
