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“Kostya!” My grandmother’s shriek draws my attention for a brief second. “Help me!”
She’s cowering behind a table. Two of her guards are already dead, and the rest are exchanging gunfire. A bullet cracks overhead and I duck, pushing Emily lower and shielding her with my body.
Suddenly, I realize that fate is compelling me to choose.
Emily, or the bratva.
I know exactly which one I will choose.
“Stay low, we need to move!” I tell Emily as I cover her body under mine, and start dragging her towards the nearest exit.
Multiple men are hurrying toward me with their guns drawn. Emily starts to scream, but I hug her to reassure her.
“They’re myboeviki. We’ll be alright.”
The first reaches me, his face grim as he waits on my every word.
“Cover us!” I order.
“Yes, pakhan!” they roar unanimously as they take aim at the attackers and let out a stream of bullets from their chattering rifles.
The gunfire is constant now, and I half-drag, half-carry Emily towards safety.
“Don’t leave me,” she whimpers into my chest.
“I won’t.” Cradling the back of her head, I glance back over my shoulder.
Sima stands atop of a table with a bottle held in his hand, a flaming napkin stuffed into its neck. He hurls the makeshift Molotov cocktail at the nearest group of Ferrata soldiers. They try to scatter, but not before the bottle explodes in a plume of fire and smoke.
“I told you, Kostya! That vodka is the good stuff!” Sima laughs maniacally, orange glow tracing over his outline as he pulls out his gun. “Now come, you Ferrata dogs! Come and die!”
As much as I want to join him, I need to get Emily out to safety. Holding her closely in my arms, I weave through the chaoticscene. People bump into me as they run away. I trip over bloody bodies dressed in expensive suits and dresses that will never be worn again.
How the fuck did the Ferrata Mafia get here already?
I expected them to react, but not this quickly.
Beneath my buzzing adrenaline comes a flicker of satisfaction. The only reason they would dare break protocol like this to attack a wedding is because I fucked up their plans.
Bullets rip apart the fabric of the tent, and moonlight streams in. A support beam snaps with an ear-splittingclank.
“Are we going to die?” Emily whispers.
“Not while I’m around, Kitty Cat.” Sprinting out the back of the tent, I look from side to side.There!Midas is tied to a post, his eyes rolling with fear from the noise. “Up you go,” I place Emily in the saddle, and climb up behind her.
Driven by a fresh desire to protect this woman who doesn’t belong in the middle of my bloody war, I take the reins as hard as I can. Midas snorts before he thunders over the grass, snorting with the staccato bursts of gunfire behind us.
By the time the gunfire fades, I spare a look back.
Alla won’t forgive me for choosing Emily over her.
But I don’t care.
The beautiful venue is ablaze. Whether it’s Sima’s doing or not doesn’t matter. Everything is will turn to blackened charcoal. By sunrise, there will only be a smoldering wreck. No evidence of my wedding night will remain in this place.
But I’m alive.
Emily is alive.
