Page 152 of The Viper's Wife

“We’ll have to leave everything behind,” he says. “No one can know we’ve gone. Your friends will have to think you’re dead. We won’t be able to come back.”

I think of Lacey and Mei.

My heart aches terribly.

Lacey, my best friend, who’s only ever shown me loveand understanding, who’s always been my rock as we’ve fought through life together.

I close my eyes for a moment. But if we stay, they’ll have to grieve for me anyway when Nico’s dad finishes what he’s started.

I nod. “Let’s do it,” I whisper.

Nico tilts his head forward to press his forehead to mine. His thumb strokes my belly. We have another life to care for now. We have to do what’s right by her. “Okay.”

“So we are decided?” Yevgeniy asks.

“Yes,” Nico says, squeezing my hand tightly. I squeeze back just as hard.

Yevgeniy slaps his hands on the table, stands, and wanders through the chairs and tables, picking up beer and liquor bottles. “I have not done this in years,” he says with a boyish excitement.

Dom seems to catch on to what the pakhan is planning, because he stands and walks around the place too, collecting bottles.

When Yevgeniy drops off his first haul at the table in front of Nico and Salvatore with a few old rags, the intent becomes clear.

We’re making Molotov cocktails.

I move to sit on the chair next to Nico and get to work with him and Don Salvatore.

The three of us work in silence to stuff the bottles with the rags. It’s oddly familiar—like we’re making collages in a craft circle, and I have to suppress a manic giggle at the mental image.

When we’ve gathered enough, Yevgeniy gestures toward the elevators. “Don Salvatore, Dom. I will start the fire and shoot a few bullets, yes?”

I look to Nico, and he grins at me, his eyebrows raised. Itfeels like we’re the only ones who seem to recognize what madness this is.

We need to be serious, but the look on Nico’s face has me biting back a smile and turning the other direction so I don’t laugh.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Dom says. “See you guys on the other side.”

He walks with Salvatore in the opposite direction as Yevgeniy brings a lighter toward the table filled with bottles. Nico pulls his phone out of his pocket and throws it several feet away. It lands with a crack.

Once the first rag catches light, Yevgeniy pulls a gun from the back of his pants. Nico tucks me against his chest as Yevgeniy covers his ears and shoots several times at the ground.

The fire moves hungrily across the table now, consuming the liquor soaked into the table. Yevgeniy scoops up a few more bottles, lighting and hurling them as he herds us toward the back wall of his basement.

I duck my head when glass explodes behind us. Nico pushes me in front of him, shielding me with his body.

Yevgeniy opens a door and ushers us into a small office with a big wooden desk and a bookcase along one wall. He points to the bookcase. “Pull down statue’s head.”

Nico and I move to the bookcase as Yevgeniy dives behind his desk and stuffs his arms full of paperwork.

I spot the statue first, a little casting of a man’s head—it takes some force, but eventually, Nico and I manage to pull it to one side.

The bookcase moves on a track, revealing a brightly lit, concrete hallway.

“Let’s go,” Yevgeniy says, dozens of folders trapped against his chest.

“You don’t have shoes,” Nico says by way of explanation before scooping me into his arms and carrying me through the dusty tunnel. I hook my arms around his neck and press my face against his chest.

He came for me—for us.