Everyone stands for me. I can’t hear anything over the roar of my racing pulse, but I can see my demise barreling toward me—a runaway train heading straight for a cliff.
I allow Leo to lead me down the center aisle. At the end of the walkway, he shoves me toward Maksim. His version of giving me away. My fiancé takes my palm with a firm grip and pulls me up onto the altar.
I can’t tear my eyes from the sadistic excitement on his face.
And then the world stops making sense.
Pop.
Out of nowhere, a little black hole appears on Maksim’s forehead.
A tiny trickle of blood slides down toward his nose.
Shock widens his eyes for a split second before he collapses.
Maksim hits the ground hard, the crash rocking the altar.
A spray of dark red blood and clumps of brain matter paint the white rose display he stood in front of only seconds ago.
Shock swallows me whole.
Someone just shot my husband-to-be.
Chapter 35
Rory
I wince, retracting my shooting arm as all hell breaks loose in the sanctuary.
The De Luca-Petrov wedding dissolves into complete and utter havoc when Maksim hits the ground. Guests scream, duck, and scatter, scrambling down the aisle and diving beneath the pews to get out of the way.
I hit that fucker in the tux between the eyes.
Knew bringing my silencer would come in handy.
Cian and I lurk behind one of the pillars on the left side of the altar. It wasn’t easy to sneak into this place, and we’ll probably lose some of our own people, but an alliance between the Petrovs and the De Lucas would have resulted in an infinitely worse body count for us.
My gunshot wound burns like someone shoved a hot poker inside me, but I grit my teeth and ignore the pain. Finn and my other friends attempted to persuade me to stay behind, but screw that. I refuse to sit back while Kiara’s life hangs in the balance. I’d ratherdiethan let De Luca sacrifice Kiara to that Maksim motherfucker. I’ll kill every last Russian before that happens.
And that’s exactly what we propose to do.
Kiara stands still as a statue even after Maksim collapses at her feet, his blood staining the hem of that gaudy poof of a dress. Everything in me screams to run to her and yank her off that altar before therealchaos begins, but a moment later, I realize I’m too late.
In the back-right corner of the sanctuary, wooden pews creak as Petrov mafia members flip them to create a barricade.
“How many?” Darren’s voice rises from the earpiece I’m wearing.
Cian curses under his breath, craning around our marble pillar to count the men starting to shoot from behind their small wall of pews. “By my count, about fifteen.”
“Russians or De Lucas?” Finn’s gravelly voice comes through the earpiece next.
My eyes are still glued to Kiara, but I say, “Russians.”
“Heard.” Finn whistles a signal.
As planned, he, Darren, and their squadron flood into the sanctuary from the emergency exit, guns ablaze, bullets cutting through the air as they exchange fire with the Russians.
The static, air-shatteringpopsof rapid gunfire, the thud of dropping bodies, the iron stench of blood—it’s a good old-fashioned shoot-out.
