Page 60 of Painted Scars

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The sound explodes in the room, and Leonid’s scream follows. He crumbles to the floor on his side and starts wailing, clutching his bloodied leg.

“If you wanted to take my place, you really should have made sure I was dead, Leonid.”

“Bastard,” he sneers through his teeth, his spit flying everywhere. “I’m going to kill you!”

Screaming, he lurches in my direction, his hands raised like a madman’s. I aim at his head and let the bullet fly. His body crumbles to the floor, blood pooling around his head.

“You had your chance for that, Uncle,” I say to his prone body.

I stand up and start walking toward the door when Leonid’s phone rings. I consider ignoring it, but then bend down and reach for it, while my knee screams in pain. The screen shows an unknown number. I take the call.

“I found her,” the voice from the other side says. “Prepare the money transfer.”

The call disconnects.

“Are you sure?” I look over the vase I’m holding. “It’s atrocious. I’m positive they will love it, and this one already costs more than a car.”

“Pakhansaid it needs to be something large.” Ivan shrugs his shoulders and stands behind me.

“I’ll ask if they have bigger vases.” I turn toward the sales assistant.

I feel overwhelmed with all the fancy pieces of décor on display around me. It makes me nervous knowing that the cheapest item here has at least three zeroes on the price tag. There were much more appropriate things that could be brought as a wedding gift, but for some reason, Roman insisted I come all the way across Chicago and choose something from this exact shop. Everything here is so over the top, including the golden chandeliers and life-sizeDavidreplicas. It makes me shudder. Some people have really weird taste.

I pass the tall glass vitrine holding sets of crystal glasses when I hear a sound piercing the air. The vitrine shatters and falls to the ground, a million tiny glass pieces exploding everywhere. People start screaming. Hands grab me around the waist and pull me down to the floor. In the next moment, Ivan is hunched over me, ushering me toward the back of the store. Another shot rings out and I stumble, reaching with my hand to avoid hitting the floor headfirst. Pain sears my palm. With his hand clutched around my upper arm, Ivan keeps dragging me toward the emergency exit, while shouting into the phone he holds with his other hand.

We burst through the emergency exit into the back alley at the same moment a car comes around the corner. The tires screech when the car stops abruptly. Ivan pushes me back inside the doorway, reaches into his jacket, and takes out a gun. I hear two shots ring out almost simultaneously.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder and leaves my sight.

A couple of seconds later, I hear another shot. I have no idea what’s happening. Is it a random shooting or someone trying to kill us? Should I stay here or go back inside? Should I get out and look for Ivan? I’m so scared, I’m not sure I could move from the spot even if I knew where I should go.

I look down at my left hand where a big chunk of glass is half-buried in my palm, blood pooling around it. It hurts like hell.

Footsteps are coming from the alley, fast, so I take a deep breath and wait to see who it’ll be.

Ivan enters my line of sight, grabs my hand, and takes me running down the street. I throw a look over my shoulder and see the car. The driver’s door is wide open and an unmoving figure lays on the ground. Sirens blare somewhere in the distance, but the sound is nearing.

My steps falter, but Ivan keeps dragging me down the street and then around the corner toward the parking lot where he parked our car.

He opens the door and is ushering me inside when he sees my hand and hisses.

“Nina Petrova! Dear God, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t seem like a priority back there,” I say and raise my hand. “Do you think that doctor who patched up Kostya would do the same for me?”

Ivan raises his head to stare at me with wide eyes, then shakes his head and murmurs something in Russian. “We’re going to a hospital. If we don’t,Pakhanwill not be pleased.”

“I guess we shouldn’t rattle his cage. Yourpakhanhas been a bit cranky lately. Let’s go then.”

Ivan snorts and helps me inside the car, and we leave.

“There has been a shooting, Roman.”

I stare at Dimitri and swear my heart stops beating when the call from earlier flashes through my mind. No. I grab for his throat and bring my face into his.

“Where is my wife?” I sneer through clenched teeth, trying my best to keep myself from breaking his neck.

“We don’t know. Ivan called to say that someone started shooting when they were in the store, and that he is getting her out. That was fifteen minutes ago. I can’t reach him; he hasn’t been answering his phone since.”


Tags: Neva Altaj Romance