His eyes fall on us as Leo Leblanc climbs out behind him, looking svelte in comparison to Murphy’s broad, muscular frame. Murphy charges toward us, long fast strides bringing him swiftly to where we stand. I start to move, to sidestep in front of Anya to protect her against his onrushing force, but she stops me, placing her hand on the crease of my arm.
She steps forward.
Fuck.
She steps forward and I’ve never been so terrified in my life. My pulse thrums, my fists clench, my muscles ache to fight for her, to protect her, to keep her safe. But her life depends on negotiation, not fists and blood and violence.
But then I realize she never needed me to stand in front of her for protection…because he’s not going after her.
He’s coming straight for me.
Murphy’s jaw is set, eyes determined, and I’m overwhelmed by the surge of adrenaline inside me. But my instinct still pulls me toward Anya because I’d jump in front of a bullet for her without a second thought. I glance at her, and because my attention is on her, Murphy catches me off-guard with a sucker punch to my cheek.
The rings that he wears mar my face, adding an extra oomph to the shooting pain that bursts across my cheek. His other fist collides with my gut, doubling me over. When he hits me in the stomach a second time, I slump to my knees with a grunt and a groan.
The fucker packs a killer punch.
I lift my head just as he moves his attention to Anya, pointing a finger in her face. “You are proving to be far more trouble than your worth, lass.”
She takes him on with a deadly stare. “I’m worth the entire fortune of the Mikhailov family,” she says with the most convincing coldness.
Murphy chuckles, glancing back over his shoulder as Leo helps Renata off the aircraft, then his cousin Cordelia. “You sure have got a sizeable pair of balls, woman.”
“Bigger than yours, I imagine,” she returns with a lifted brow.
Murphy cocks his head to the side. “Get in the car. I’ll drive.”
Anya sets her jaw. “I have guests to greet first.”
Murphy cracks his knuckles with another small laugh. “You’re quite a proud little bitch for destroying two families, aren’t you? If we didn’t have to handle this as a board matter, I promise you, I’d have strangled you to death by now.”
I plant one foot on the ground, ready to rise to my feet, practically trembling with rage, but Renata marches toward me with one long finger outstretched, pointed directly at me.
“Stay on your knees if you wish to live beyond this night, slave.”
My jaw tenses. I open my mouth to retort, but Anya snaps at me, just like she used to in the beginning, “Mal’chik. Don’t say a goddamn word.”
Fuck, I want to fight.
I want to argue.
I want to shout.
I want to attack.
I force myself to dampen my natural urges because I know what has to happen here.
I’m not in control.
I don’t have the power.
But Anya might just be able to take it for herself—for the both of us—if I just shut up and do as I’m told for once.
So, I keep my shit under control, and I do it for her.
I settle there on my knees, sitting back on my heels. I throw my hands up momentarily in surrender before I let them flop down onto my thighs when Renata appears satisfied with my concession. She rounds on Anya next, and it takes everything within me to remain where I am.
“You vile little slut!” Renata shouts at her, her words clipped and precise. “You killed my brother!”
I see a venomous smile touch Anya’s cheek. “He deserved it.”
Renata forces her way around Murphy, slapping Anya with a thwack that echoes through the clearing. She wraps her fist around Anya’s hair, tugging her head sideways. Anya yelps and my muscles twitch.
“Stop it,” Murphy says coolly. “She may have killed your brother, but she’s a fucking wife. You can’t behave this way, Renata.”
Renata grits her teeth, hesitating with her grip on Anya, but after moments, she finally lets go. “Fine,” she says, stepping back. “I’ll be civilized.”
Murphy laughs. “Right, you will.”
Cordelia quickly finds her way to Renata’s side, her face red and eyes glossy with tears. She links her arm with Renata’s and pets her hair as if she’s some broken creature who requires comfort. It’s almost comical to watch these heathens pretend to be human, as if they have actual emotions and give a shit about human life.
When all the passengers have gathered and the whir of the helicopter’s engine shuts off entirely, silence washes over the dark clearing. The wind whispers through the trees surrounding the circular space, encircling the stand-off between Anya and the board of the four families.
She stands alone, proud—as cold and hard as she needs to be—and utterly fucking strong. The sheer power of her will is a supernatural force that could bring them all to their knees…and I have no doubt that in time, she will.
“Is this everyone?” Anya asks without a hint of wavering in her tone, though I sense her anxiety rushing beneath the surface. “If you’re all ready, I’m happy to take you to the manor and welcome you to my home.”
Cordelia shouts, “That is Nikolai’s home, not yours! You’re a talent slave, no better.”
Anya raises her chin. “I am better than a talent slave. I’m a Mikhailov. I’m Nikolai’s bereaved bride. Surely, you would grant me some kindness in my time of grief.”
It’s a total fuck-up on my part, but I just can’t hold back my chuckle. Thankfully, they’re all so high-strung that they don’t seem to notice or care.
“Give me the keys and get in the backseat, lass. I’ll drive that car,” Murphy gestures to the car Anya drove here.
“Fine,” she replies, holding out the keys for him.
She doesn’t wait for anyone. She confidently strides away, turning her back on all of us, gliding away like a queen to her carriage.
I’m so fucking proud of her.
Head over fucking heels in love.
“Lorenzo, drive the other car,” Murphy says to a man that must be a Vittori—he looks like a younger version of Vigo.
Lorenzo forces me into the backseat of the second car—separating me from my girl—and I’m forced to make the entire thirty-minute drive back to the manor with anxiety pricking pins and needles into my bones. I know she can handle her own, but I hate being apart from her.
I fear our separation, and not just for this relatively short car trip—it’s deeper than that. I fear what will happen to her if they sell or kill me. I don’t want to leave her behind to live this life alone.