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“Lydia!”
“Here!”
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Mom?” Lev shouts.
“Here!”
“Polina?” No answer. “Polina!”
Shit.
I crawl around us, looking for anything that will give me a clue when I see through the fog and smoke a pair of guy’s legs and a woman clad in workout leggings.
“Let her go, or I’ll shoot!” I scream. I barrel-roll through the fog and slide right into his legs. He falls on top of me and elbows my neck. I scream when he grabs my wrist but quickly out-maneuver him so he cannot hold me down.
There’s a sudden scream and thud, and my husband appears as if transported magically, the look on his face through the cloud of smoke terrifying.
“That’s my wife,” he says before he cocks his gun, points it at our assailant’s head, and pulls the trigger.
“Um, and sister,” Polina mutters as we stare down at the dead body of her would-be kidnapper.
“Sorry,” I tell her, my hand on her shoulder.
“Meh, you can keep him,” she says with a wink, but Lev doesn’t hear us. He’s already on to the next one.
We work as a team. I shoot down a man in a tactical vest while Lev slices his knife through a man who goes after his mother. I watch with pride as Aria perfectly orchestrates sliding out of a chokehold before she draws her gun and pulls the trigger. Ekaterina holds her own, sliding her wrist out of a grab before she slips a knife out of a boot holster and slices him.
Lev screams for backup into his phone, and the Romanov men pour into the backyard. For long moments, there’s nothing but the deafening sound of gunshots, terrified screams, the clash of weapons, and the moans and pleas of our assailants. I’m panting over the body of a man who’s vaguely familiar—my brother’s friend, I’d guess—when the dust begins to settle.
Mikhail glares into the crowd. “Is everyone accounted for?” I see the shadow of someone behind him. He doesn’t see, and there’s no time to warn him. I roll onto my right shoulder, take my position, and pull the trigger, but when my bullet hits its mark, another shot rings out, followed by another and another.
Jesus. Harper’s fucking amazing with a gun. She’s at the other end of the patio and still hit him straight between the eyes.
“Jesus,” Mikhail mutters.
We gather everyone up. “You’re injured,” I say to Lev. He has a gash across his cheek, and there’s blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.
“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Are you?”
No, I’m not fine. I’m nauseous and feel weird, and we were just attacked, and were you with another woman?
I shake my head. We’re wounded and reeling after this attack. The Romanov men are yelling at each other in Russian. Lev curses.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “What do you know about Javier’s tactics?”
“He’s a sneaky motherfucker,” I snap. “Renata told me this morning that his men were here. An outright attack like this is consistent with his usual, but…” My voice trails off.
“But what?” Lev is growing impatient.
“He’ll be sneakier.” I turn to Mikhail. “Is everyone accounted for?”
“Yes.” He blows out a breath. “But Javier’s not finished, is he?”
I shake my head. “Not a chance. That was a warning. He wants to keep us guessing.”
“Son of a bitch,” Lev growls.
