Rafael leads the way back to the villa. We drive over the mangled remains of the metal gate, dodging the bodies littering the floor, both theirs and ours. The gatehouse is on fire, and parts of the courtyard are destroyed and smoking from grenades. For the first time, I realize the full gravity of the situation—the scale of destruction. We come to a stop, and I get out of the car, stepping over the body of a fallen Elite. They all look like little matching broken dolls in their black uniform. I move around the front of the Hummer and stop beside Rafael who is leaning on the hood. He grabs my waist and hoists me up onto the hood as though he’s trying to keep me above all the death and chaos. He braces his back against the hood between my knees, and I absentmindedly trace circles on the back of his neck as we wait.

Movement catches my attention, and I glance up to see Una step through the front door of the villa, a blonde Elite at her side. I stiffen for a moment because even just two of them are dangerous. But then several of Rafael’s men file out after her. Her gaze skims the scene in front of her, stopping on me. Blood splatter covers her neck and cheek, tinting the end of her white ponytail red. The black military gear she wears is skin tight, clinging to her athletic frame and showcasing the array of guns and knives strapped to her body. She’s every inch the killer, a machine, a weapon. I’m not sure if I’m in awe or terrified of her. The guy beside her looks even more lethal than she does. His eyes constantly shift, scanning, assessing, as though he’s expecting an attack any minute and more than ready to counter it.

“That’s Sasha,” Rafael whispers over his shoulder to me. “He’s the one who smuggled the child out.”

I study him further, the way he angles his body slightly to Una’s as though willing to take a bullet for her. He loves her or at least has strong loyalty to her.

“Now that everyone’s here…” Nero says, opening the back door of the car and dragging Nicholai out. Nicholai’s suit is rumpled and dirty from the desert floor, and blood still streams down his chin, spreading across his shirt. He seems so small compared to the insane man I met in Russia.

Nicholai glares at Una and then the man beside her. “You,” he says to Sasha, his voice layered in accusation and disappointment. “I gave you both everything,” he snaps.

Una shifts in front of Sasha, like a sibling protecting him from the wrath of an angry father. “You gave us nothing,” she says. “You took everything.” She moves closer, and I can practically feel everyone holding their breath.

She circles behind Nicholai and kicks hard, sending him to his knees with a grunt. She grabs his jaw and twists his face, forcing him to look at the four bodies of the fallen Elite that lay sprawled across the courtyard. “Do you know why you are here, Nicholai?” He fights her hold, so she grips the top of his head in such a way that threatens to snap his neck. “You are here, on your knees because you were arrogant. You believed yourself invincible, protected by your army. Protected by your children.” She releases him and walks over to Sasha who hands her two knives. I do not expect her to then throw them to the ground. They clatter to a stop just in front of Nicholai. “Pick them up.” She cracks her neck from side to side as she paces a few feet toward Nero and back again. “Fucking pick them up!” she shouts when he doesn’t respond.

“So you can kill me and call it a fair fight?” he says. Una snorts, and there’s a low rumble of laughter from Nero. He’s watching her every move, propped against the side of the car, arms folded over his chest. He’s not trying to protect her or shelter her. He’s allowing her to just be, to do what she was made to do… to have revenge on those who have wronged her. She’s not a pretty doll to him. She’s a warrior through and through.

“Nothing could make that a fair fight,” Nero tells him, amusement in his tone. “You will die, undoubtedly.” The pride in his voice is touching.

“You took my child from me and then forced me to fight some of your best only days later.” Una is practically pulsating with rage now, but I hear the pain in her voice. I can’t imagine what that must be like, to have your child taken from you like that. “So now you will fight your best, Nicholai. You will know what it is to fight for your life.”

He looks at her for a second, a million unspoken words passing between them. And then he grabs the knives, pushing to feet before he charges her. My heart skips a beat, but Una merely smiles, standing completely still as he rushes her. At the last second, she moves, catching his arm as he fires straight past. She twists his arm behind his back with a sickening crunch of breaking bone. The knife slips from his grasp, and she catches it, slamming it deep into his shoulder. He cries out in pain, and a feral smile graces her lips.

“Damn,” Rafael breathes, twisting to face me. “Maybe you shouldn’t watch this.”

I lift a brow at him. “I’m not some delicate princess, Rafael.” With a sigh, he turns back to the fight.

Nicholai is spinning, slashing wildly with the remaining knife, his movements nothing more than the desperate last-ditch efforts of a man who knows his fate is sealed. Without an ounce of mercy, Una slams her fist into his throat. He chokes, and she takes the knife from him, slamming it into his other shoulder. He roars in pain, and Una looks satisfied. She wants his suffering, his pain. I think she wants him to beg. I can relate because it’s the same thing I’d love to do to any man who has ever touched me.

Nicholai sways on his feet, blood pouring from both shoulders as he glares at her. “The Bratva will hunt you, little dove,” he says through a grimace.

“I don’t think they will. After all, with you dead, their guns and drugs will once again run freely.” She lifts an eyebrow and grasps the hilts of both blades, yanking them out and crossing them in front of her so fast I can barely track the movement. His stomach splits open in a cross from ribs to hip, both sides. His eyes go wide, and he coughs up blood, staggering for a moment before he collapses to the ground. There’s so much blood, and I swear I can see intestines. My stomach rolls, bile creeping up my throat. I can’t look as she deals the final deathblow. I know it’s over because I can feel the change in the air, the tension lifting under relief.

Nicholai Ivanov is dead.

* * *

I stand on the balcony overlooking the gardens below. The sun is just setting, streaking the horizon in a kaleidoscope of colors.

The house is full of people, and I know I should probably talk to them, but truthfully, I’m not ready to broach that. I think I’m getting better and doing okay, but Rafael is still very much my safe haven. I feel a confidence with him that evaporates in the face of so many strange people, specifically men. I don’t know the Italians. I don’t trust them.

A throat clears behind me, and I whirl around, my hand on my chest. Una stands in the balcony doorway like a statue. “You can’t creep up on people like that,” I snap.

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Sorry.”

My heart is still pounding, but it’s not just from shock. I turn away from her, wrapping my fingers around the balcony railing in an attempt to root myself. I want to run away and never have to deal with this. I want to just stay in my little bubble here, with Rafael, where my sister is still a traitor to me, and nothing else matters but him and me. But watching her kill Nicholai…I know that it’s not as black and white as it may have seemed.

She moves beside me, bracing her elbows on the railing. “I looked for you. For so long. I’d all but given up hope of ever finding you. I thought you must be dead,” she says quietly. “And then Nero asks me to do a job, and he shoves a photo of you in my face.” What do I even say to that? She sighs. “Do you hate me?”

I glance at her. “I hate what you’ve been forced to become. The sister I remember is gone.”

She nods. “You’re not the innocent, fragile child you once were either.”

“Innocent? No. Fragile…”

“I wouldn’t have survived that. What Nicholai did was hard and brutal, but I wouldn’t have survived sex slavery.”

“I didn’t,” I say, more to myself than her. If it weren’t for Rafael, I’d still be that ghost, wondering. Lost.

A frown pinches her features. “I’m sorry I cut your finger off. If I hadn’t, Nicholai would have sensed my loyalty to you, and he never would have let you go.”

“I thought you were going to save me.” I laugh humorlessly. “I should have known better.”

She closes her eyes for a beat, pain crossing her features. “I did everything I could,” she whispers. “And when I failed, I gave Rafael the means to get you out.” What does that mean?

“It’s okay,” I say. None of this is okay though, is it? Maybe it never truly will be. Or perhaps we’ll be fine. Can anyone truly recover from the kind of lives we’ve lived? “What will you do now Nicholai is dead?”

“People always need killing.” God, that sounds so cold. “What about you, Anna? What’s your purpose?”

“Purpose?”

“Everyone needs one, little sister. Without it, we’re just…existing. Mine was working for Nicholai. Then it was ending Nicholai. And now…I’ll have to find one.”

“Do you feel better?” I ask. “Killing the man who put you through so much misery…did it…does it make it better?”

Her lips curl at the corners. “Are you asking me? Or are you asking for yourself?”

My fingers tighten on the railing, and I drop my head forward. “Sometimes, I get so angry I can barely breathe. Because while I’m here, struggling just to survive, unable to sleep because of the nightmares, disgusted…they’re out there doing exactly the same thing to another girl.”

She suddenly stills, her head tilting to the side before her gaze snaps toward a point in the darkness. She steps in front of me and has her gun in her hand in the blink of an eye. Seconds pass before I hear the squealing of tires coming from the direction of the main gate. She turns and walks back inside.

“Stay in here. Lock the doors.” She hurries from the room, but I’m not staying in here. I step into the hallway, passing the bloodstains that still mar the carpets from the Elite assault. There are people everywhere when I get downstairs. I glance around frantically, seeking Rafael out. A hand slides across the back of my neck, and I spin around, coming face to face with Rafael’s massive chest.

“Avecita.”

“Rafe, what’s going on?”

“A car just dropped something at the gate. Carlos has gone to check it out.”

“Carlos…what if it’s a bomb?”

“Why do you think he’s taking so long?”

I groan. I can’t take this kind of stress.

He pulls me to his chest, pressing his lips to my hair. I melt against him, turning my head to the side until I can hear his heart beating. From the warmth of his arms, I spot Una standing across the lobby watching us. Her brows are knitted tightly together, her lips pressed into a flat line.

Carlos and another guy stagger inside, a massive plastic box between them. Rafael moves over to them, but I hang back, leaning against the stairway banister. Rafael, Samuel, Nero, Gio, and Carlos all crowd around as the lid hits the ground with a clatter.

And then there’s utter silence before someone takes a choked breath—a singular sound that rips through the air—a symphony of heartbreak. I watch Rafael’s entire body tense beneath his shirt, his fists tightening at his side. He walks away without a word, Samuel chasing after him.

I step forward, needing to see what’s in that box that has Rafael so angry.

Someone steps in front of me, and I look up into Carlos’ shadowy features. “No, Anna,” he says, so gently it scares me. He looks desolate, his features morphed by grief.

“Who is it?” I know someone has to be dead. He shakes his head. “Is it Lucas?” My voice hitches, reaching a point of hysteria.

I try to move past him, but he grabs both my arms. “It’s Maria and her family.”

Maria. Someone just killed the woman who was like a second mother to Rafael—to all the guys. The woman who cared for me without question when I had no one.

I close my eyes, tears breaking free. Poor Rafael.