Page 104 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

It happens fast. Lights flood the warehouse, blindingly bright. I flinch, throwing my arm up to shield my eyes.

“Drop your weapons!”

Shadows move from behind the crates. Men with assault rifles, their faces covered by balaclavas. We are surrounded. Ten, twelve, fifteen of them. Too many.

Checkmate.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. I press closer to Nikita, my hand gripping his jacket. I can feel the tension radiating off him, coiled and ready to snap.

A man steps forward from the center of the circle. He’s tall, wearing a suit that strains at the shoulders, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

“Mr. Gromov,” the man says. “You’re a hard man to kill.”

“I already killed your boss. Give it up.”

“He might be dead, but there’s still plenty of us to take his place.”

The man raises his hand, a signal to his men. The circle tightens. The barrels of the rifles inch closer.

My breath catches in my throat.

I look at Nikita. He’s not looking at the men. He’s looking at me. His expression is calm, almost peaceful. He reaches into his pocket, but he doesn’t pull out a gun. He pulls out a small, black remote.

“What are you doing?” the lead man asks, his eyes narrowing.

“Ending the game.”

Nikita presses the button. A loud crack echoes through the warehouse. The far wall explodes inward, debris flying in every direction. Smoke pours in, thick and choking.

Through the dust, I see Nikita’s men. A tactical team in full body armor, moving with precision and lethal intent

“Fire!”

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

Nikita grabs me, spinning me around and shoving me behind a stack of crates. “Stay down!”

“Wha—”

“Stay down!”

He vaults over the crate, drawing his weapon. I hear the pop of his silencer. I hear screams.

I peek around the edge of the crate. It’s a massacre. Nikita’s men are decimating Lorenzo’s. They have the high ground, the element of surprise, and superior training.

Nikita moves like a predator. He’s fast, efficient. He takes cover, fires, moves. Two men drop before they even know he’s there.

I scan the chaos, looking for the leader. I spot him near the side door, barking orders into a radio.

And then I see Antonio.

He’s standing near the leader, his face calm, his hands resting on his waist. He looks out of place, untouched by the violence swirling around him.

“Antonio!” I scream, before I can stop myself.

His head snaps toward me.

Nikita hears me. He turns, following my gaze. He sees Antonio.