Page 75 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

He screamed, the gun dropping from his hand.

The standoff shattered. A full firefight erupted. My men were well-trained and coordinated. Within the first few minutes, our superior firepower overwhelmed Victor's crew.

I ignored the bullets whistling past and strode toward Victor on the ground. I planted my boot on his bleeding shoulder. He shuddered in agony, unable to scream. I pressed my gun to his sweaty forehead.

"You can't kill me. My family won't let you get away with it!"

My finger rested on the trigger.

"Wait—" He sensed real death approaching. "We can talk, Bykov. I can compensate for your route losses."

Could he? I laughed coldly inside.

"Go to hell."

Two shots came from behind me. Anton shouted, "Pakhan, watch out!"

A few of Victor's hidden men launched a surprise attack, bullets raining around us. Several of my men were hit.

That cunning rat Victor!

"Take cover!" I dove behind something and returned fire.

In that brief gap, Victor smashed open a nearby vent grate.

By the time we neutralized the attackers and turned back, his skinny figure had slipped into the narrow, dark underground passage like an eel and vanished.

"Damn it!" I cursed, emptying my magazine into the vent. Only metallic echoes answered.

"We should go after him," a few men said, ready to follow.

I raised a hand to stop them.

"No pursuit. Unknown layout inside—too easy to get ambushed." I ejected the empty magazine and loaded a fresh one, my face cold.

He had escaped today, but his base and forces were crippled. He would not be a major threat anymore.

Anton turned to organize the cleanup.

I walked outside. The cool night breeze washed over my face, carrying away some of the heat. Now I could finally go explain everything to Riley.

I needed to tell her that Veronica and I were only business partners. I had never wanted her dead. I needed to tell her I would protect her from any more harm. And I needed to tell her I loved her.

But... would she listen? Would she believe me?

Chapter Twenty-One

Riley

I sat on a plastic chair in the hospital hallway, clutching the lab slip in my hand. The smell of disinfectant made my stomach churn. I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.

The electronic screen on the wall scrolled through waiting numbers. Every time a new number flashed, my heart clenched.

Please, God. Please let it just be food poisoning. Or some hormonal mess from working myself to death.

But I knew better. I was lying to myself.

My period was almost two weeks late. For two weeks straight, that nauseous feeling hit me every morning like clockwork. Two days ago at the restaurant, someone's fried fish came up, and the greasy smell nearly made me puke on the spot.