Chapter 7 - Blood and Snow
The front doors of the Ivankov mansion blew open with a deafening crash just after noon.
Shouts echoed up the marble stairwells. Gunfire—sharp, suppressed, and professional—racked through the lower levels.
Dmitri’s voice screamed over the intercom system: "Boss! We're breached! Marchetti’s hit squad is in the lobby!"
Alexi didn't panic. He walked calmly to the armory cabinet behind his desk, pulled out two suppressed Sig Sauers, and tossed one across the room to me. I caught it instinctively, the familiar weight settling into my palms.
"Looks like your father didn't send a battalion after all," Alexi said coldly, checking the magazine of his weapon. "He sent an execution team."
"They're here for both of us," I said, my eyes locking onto his. "If they find out I turned, they'll kill me just as fast."
"Then let's go remind them who owns Moscow."
We moved out of the penthouse together, shoulder-to-shoulder, descending the grand staircase into the smoking ruins of the ballroom where this entire madness had begun. Glass from the shattered champagne flutes still littered the floor.
Men in tactical black gear poured through the mahogany doors, weapons raised.
"Take cover!" Alexi shouted, shoving me behind a marble pillar as a hail of bullets chewed into the stone.
I returned fire with ruthless efficiency, dropping two gunmen before they could adjust their sights. Beside me, Alexi moved like a shadow, a lethal combination of raw strength and tactical precision. We cleared the lobby in less than three minutes, standing amidst the fallen bodies of my father’s elite killers.
Dmitri rushed in from the courtyard, bleeding from a graze on his shoulder. "Boss, the rest of them retreated to the perimeter gates. What do we do?"
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Alexi looked down at the blood staining the white marble, then turned his gaze slowly to me.
"Call Giovanni," Alexi ordered Dmitri. "Tell him his daughter is staying in Moscow permanently. And if he wants to try to take her back, he can come to my wedding himself."
