BONUS MAFIA PROTECTION
Chris has made every effort to distance himself from his Russian past, yet it has intertwined with his present, compelling him to safeguard his loved ones at any cost. With Raven by his side, he vows to shield her from harm, even if it entails reconciling with his family. To embrace the future, he must release the grip of his past, but the question remains: will his inner struggles prove insurmountable for their relationship?
Chris
My hands were stained with blood as I struggled to regulate my breathing. Harry’s urgent shake snapped me back to reality.
“Pull yourself together,” my cousin snapped, bloodstains marring his clothes and arms, a gunshot wound seeping crimson down his chest. “We need to get out of here.”
The chaos of the room surged back into focus, reminding me of the disastrous exchange. The Armenians had opened fire, and Sasha lay lifeless, a victim of a fatal shot to the chest. His failure to wear a protective vest, despite my insistence, echoed in my mind. Now, his vacant gaze haunted me, his blood coating my hands.
But mourning would have to wait; vengeance beckoned.
I retrieved my gun and fired from behind cover, taking down one assailant and injuring two others before seeking refuge from the incoming barrage of bullets.
With determination, I led the way to the back exit, Harry close behind. Despite his injury, I insisted on driving, directing him to tend to his wound as I navigated the streets of Moscow, narrowly evading pursuit.
As Harry handed me his phone, I cursed under my breath, swiftly arranging medical assistance while racing towards home. With a terse exchange with my grandfather, I outlined the grim situation: the Armenians had betrayed us, Sasha was dead, and Harry was gravely wounded.
Disconnecting the call, I focused on the road ahead, Harry’s pained grunts a grim reminder of the perilous situation we faced.
“Getting shot tends to have that effect,” I remarked, recalling my own brush with mortality when a bullet tore through my leg, narrowly avoiding a fatal outcome-a scenario mirroring Harry’s current predicament. “But you’re well aware of that.”
At twenty-eight, Harry surpassed me by a decade, a seasoned Bratva member accustomed to the harsh realities of our world. Violence and bloodshed were our daily companions, nurtured from an early age under the tutelage of our grandfather, who initiated me into firearms before I could barely grip one.
But what was the ultimate purpose of it all? Was it merely for wealth? To forge a better Russia? The notion seemed absurd.
Harry grunted in agreement, his eyes closed in exhaustion.
Arriving home, I sped into the driveway, disregarding the garage, and rushed Harry towards the front door, where Bryan awaited, cigar in hand and vodka at the ready, accompanied by Doc.
Without hesitation, I pulled Harry from the car, urging him awake with a jest about reclaiming his long-distance shooting title from me, grateful for his laughter amidst the chaos.
After helping Doc transport Harry inside, I was greeted by Babushka at the foot of the stairs, her concern evident as she embraced me, offering solace in her familiar warmth. Having lost my mother in infancy, she was the sole source of love and affection I had ever known.
“Chris,” she murmured, her touch a soothing balm as she reminded me of Sasha’s sacrifice, urging me not to let it be in vain.
With a silent nod, I followed her guidance, retreating to the solace of a shower, her care evident in the sleeping pill left on the bathroom counter. Emotionally spent, I could only acquiesce, knowing that if Harry’s condition worsened, she would summon me.
Three days later, with Harry on the mend, I embarked on a journey to the US, fully aware that nothing would remain unchanged.