TATIANA
Death smashed into the back of Adrian's slick Maserati, demanding our lives. My body jerked forward and the seat belt cut into my chest. My heart jumped, racing as fast as my husband's driving.
"What's going on?" I whimpered frantically as I glanced over my shoulder. The headlights of a black SUV filled the rear window. Smash.
My body jerked forward again. "Adrian!" I screamed. "Gun, get a gun."
He acted as if he hadn't heard me, just kept speeding down the dark road. My eyes darted to my husband as my ears buzzed with fear. Adrian looked scared. Terrified even. This wasn't good.
Not. At. All.
"Head back to New Orleans," I yelled. We were way outside the city limits, headed for Adrian's place. Dark roads highlighted only by the light of the moon. We hadn't seen a house or another car for miles.
"Head down," he barked. I obeyed at once, as I struggled against the seat belt.
If Adrian was worried, there was something terribly wrong.
"Adrian," I screeched, fear seeping into my bones. "Turn around and get us into the city. We'll be safer around others. My brothers have men everywhere."
He didn't react, just kept driving forward.
It was the only time I wished we had my brother's bodyguards with us. I hated them lingering behind me, always tailing me and reporting to my brother. Vasili had men following me before I was married, and he had bodyguards after Isabella and their kids at all times. Alexei did the same with his wife, Aurora.
They didn't mind it, but they didn't grow up suffocated by bodyguards that reported everything to your brothers. Even how many times I fucking went to the bathroom. It was annoying as fuck. Except now, I really wished they were here.
The bullets began flying, shots echoing around the car as they whizzed past us. A loud pop shattered the back windshield and shards of glass rained down on us.
A scream tore through the air. Mine. But I could barely hear it over the buzzing in my ears and adrenaline pumping through my veins. I clutched the seat, glass shimmering like diamonds over my red Valentino dress.
The tires screeched as more gunshots whistled through the air.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Adrian was shooting, but from the sounds of it, he wasn't hitting anything because more bullets rained on us. More windows exploded. Pain erupted in my forearm and warm liquid trickled down my skin.
And amongst all that violence, the oddest thought crossed my mind. I shouldn't have worn a sleeveless dress. I could have protected my skin.
The throbbing pain pulsed through my body. Fear gripped my throat.
A sharp turn and my body slammed against the door.
"Fuck," Adrian snarled.
There was a moment of calm before the car began spinning wildly out of control. I wrapped my arms around myself as if to offer some sort of protection. My body jerked forward, then back. The air rushed out of me with each loud thud, pain slicing through me. I couldn't breathe. My heartbeat slowed. The echoing sound of metal screeching, folding in on itself as the car rolled. Once. Twice. Three times.
Our eyes connected for a fraction of a moment. The terror reflected on his beautiful face that usually had women swooning. The look in his eyes held secrets. Regret.
He'd started to mouth, "Tatiana, I'm—" His lips moved. He said something else. I couldn't hear it.
Smash.
My head slammed into something hard and the world turned black.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Screeching tires. Distorted voices. Throbbing headache.
"Kill him." A firm order. A deep voice void of emotions I blinked. What? Who?
My brain was enveloped in a fog. My ears still rang. My pulse raced.
My lungs squeezed, and I desperately tried to inhale a lungful of air. I blinked to get rid of the dots swimming in my vision.
I turned to the driver's side. Empty. As if I couldn't trust my vision in the eerie yellow glow from the headlights, dark, my hand reached out.
Nothing. Just air. Adrian wasn't there. The silence lingered in the surrounding wooded and swampy area, even the crickets ceased their noise.
As if they held their breaths in anticipation of what was to come.
The sizzling sound of liquid against the hot metal sounded from somewhere - too close or too far, I couldn't distinguish. The pungent scent of gasoline and oil seeped into my lungs, suffocating me. A warm liquid trickled down my temple. Slowly, I brought my fingers to it. Blood. My hair was wet and sticky, plastered against my forehead.
"They both have to die," the same voice commanded. The gruff sound of grunts and foreign words filled the air.
My heart stopped beating and panic slowly overwhelmed all my other senses. I had to get out of here. Whoever was after us wasn't our friend.
Where was Adrian?
More screeching tires. Loud voices. Foreign language. I struggled to process. Was it Italian? French? My brain was too slow, the buzzing vibrating through it too loud and overwhelming.
All I knew was that I had to get away.
I jerked against the seat belt. Unsuccessfully. The unbearable scent of gas drifted into my nose, and smoke filled the small space. My eyes burned.
Although it wasn't just the smoke. Tears stung the back of my lids.
"Wrong time," I whispered.
Sasha, the brother I was closest to, always said it was the wrong time to cry. I was almost twenty-seven and had yet to learn when it was a good time to cry.
My trembling fingers frantically jerked on the seat belt.
"Please, please, please." My voice was a soft whisper.
If I could get my phone, my brothers would come to our rescue. They always came to the rescue.
Where was Adrian? What if he was dead already? Who was out there?
The ache in my bones pulsed harder.
My fingers finally found the button and pressed it. The seat belt came undone, hitting the door with a loud bang. It sounded like a gong going off and instantly everyone stilled outside.
The popping of bullets being fired broke the silence.
Instinctively, I ducked down, although I was already crammed down, before placing both hands over my ears to block out the loud noises. It reminded me of the crescendo of a bad opera piece. The pitch became louder and harsher, piercing my brain. It felt like they went on for hours, when in fact it was just a few seconds.
It stopped. A deafening silence. I should be relieved, but it felt even more ominous than the sound of gunshots.
My heart squeezed in my throat, the pulse choking me slowly.
More voices speaking in a foreign language. Unrecognizable words.
The voices were high-pitched, angry, and not holding back. Until I recognized one word.
"Moya." Mine. Russian.
At least one of those men was Russian. Did my brothers come already?
More words. It was hard to hear them over the buzzing in my ears, but I recognized it. I was certain it was Italian. Russian and Italian.
More bullets. More screeching tires. Until it suddenly stopped. It would have been one second or one hour, I couldn't distinguish.
"She dies. No loose ends," one of them demanded in English, and instinctively I shrank further back into the car, although it was burning, coming dangerously close to an explosion.
"No." A cold voice. A hard tone. But it wasn't Adrian's. Was he even alive?
My nails dug into my palms, squeezing so hard that pain exploded on my skin. More commotion. More words. I couldn't process a single word because my brain was still stuck on 'she dies' and terrified they meant me.
"Are you sure?" The deep masculine voice filled the air along with the sound of crunching glass. A pair of expensive, leather Italian shoes filled my vision.
I had to be in shock. Because I registered the brand. Santoni's men's shoes. My husband was in danger, and I stared at a pair of five grand Italian shoes.
"The woman doesn't know anything." The voice sounded vaguely familiar. I couldn't place it. "I'll take full responsibility for her."
"If I find out she had anything to do with her husband's games, I'm coming for her." A light Italian accent. Deep voice.
"She knows nothing. If she does, I'll handle it." Another pair of expensive shoes. Art. 504 shoes. Even more expensive. Dark suit pants.
Perfectly fit in length. Expensive material.
I shook my head. I needed to get out of here, not identify their wardrobe.
Another pair of expensive shoes entered my vision. A pair of Prada shoes. Adrian wore Prada shoes.
Was that him? I should have called out to him, but instead I stayed frozen in my spot. Staring at the Prada shoes like the ones I'd bought my husband.
"D'accordo." Definitely Italian. What the fuck did that mean? "Don't make me regret it."
Bile rose in my throat and I inhaled deeply to stop myself from retching.
One of the men left, a pair of expensive Italian leather. Two remained. My heart raced. My vision swam. My ears buzzed. My lungs burned as I waited.
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum.
Bang.
The last bullet. It felt like the final bullet before it was my turn.
A body hit the dirt with a loud thud. My eyes pulled from the shoes outside my window to the other side of the car. Adrian's dead eyes met mine. An expression I couldn't identify was still etched on his face. The last expression before he died. Staring back at me. A single bullet hole in his chest, blood seeping out.
A gasp left me, and my heart stopped beating.
"A-A-Adrian," I choked out, my voice broken. He didn't move. His stare blank, fixed on something I couldn't reach. His face bruised and bloodied, whether from the impact of the car crash or someone's fists, I couldn't tell.
With each heartbeat my life slowly faded, following him. Until something inside me snapped.
"Nooo!" I shrieked and my world as I'd known it ceased to exist.