“Let’s finish this,” I yell to my men as I push forward.
A lucky fucker’s bullet clips my bicep, but that’s where his luck ends as Viktor takes him out.
The three vehicles are shot up, and when I kill the last man, I shout, “Move, move, move!”
Between the mafia and bratva, we have half the law enforcement in our pockets, but that doesn’t mean we stick around after killing a group of Albanians.
Viktor and I jump back into the G-Wagon, and I floor the gas, the tires screeching.
“Straight ahead. Turn off is in four miles,” Viktor says as he quickly tucks the weapons back into the duffle bag.
With one hand on the steering wheel, I peel the armored vest off and give it to Viktor.
Suddenly he snaps, “Fuck, you’re bleeding. Pull over.”
“You know I can’t,” I mutter. I take the off ramp and turn down random roads until even I’m lost. Bringing the vehicle to a stop, Viktor and I dart out and quickly place the duffle bag in the hidden compartment.
Viktor reaches for my arm, which has me snapping, “I’m fine. My jacket will cover the blood.” I shrug it on, finally feeling the bite from the bullet digging into the muscle of my bicep.
Definitely more than a flesh wound.
“I’m driving,” Viktor says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Once we’re back in the G-Wagon, he asks, “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just a flesh wound,” I lie so he won’t worry. “Let’s head back.”
We have to take a longer route home because we shut down the interstate, and traffic will be backed up for miles. By the time we reach the office, my arm is burning something fierce.
“I’m going to head home,” I say when we climb out of the vehicle.
Viktor nods. “I’ll check for any news regarding the hit.”
“Let me know if you find anything.”
“Will do.”
Viktor heads into the building while I slide behind the steering wheel. Driving back to the apartment is a bitch, and I try to use my left arm as little as possible.
I pull into the basement and park in my regular spot, but the moment I climb out and don’t see Ivan and Lev, a frown darkens my forehead.
I yank my phone out of my pocket and see a missed call from Mariya, but she didn’t bother leaving a message. Heading up to the apartment, I already know what I’m going to find, and after the gunfight, it’s the last thing I’m in the mood for.
When the elevator doors open and I don’t find Mariya in the apartment, unreasonable anger floods my veins.
Christ, she’s testing me on the wrong fucking day.
Chapter 17
Mariya
The moment I walk into the foyer, Luca’s voice is low and deadly, “Where the fuck have you been?”
I come to a sudden stop, my eyebrows darting up. “I went to the store.” I hold up the bag of snacks and Ibuprofen I got.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, his legs crossed at the ankles.
The pose might be casual, but I can feel the waves of anger coming off him from a mile away.
Slowly, he pushes away from the counter, his dark gaze locking on me.
A shiver shoots down my spine as I walk through the foyer.
“Where’s your phone?” he demands, his tone unnervingly calm.
I point to the stairs. “Upstairs.”
“Christ, you’re hell-bent on driving me insane,” he mutters.
“I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer,” I say in my defense.
“Then you send me a fucking text,” he shouts. “I’m out there waging a fucking war! The last thing I need right now is worrying about you.”
My head snaps back, instant anger flooding my veins.
No one shouts at me.
Stepping closer to Luca, I give him a look of warning. “Don’t shout at me! You’re not the only one at war. My ovaries are currently tearing down my insides, and it hurts like a fucker. I’m overemotional and moody as hell, and I just went out to get my favorite snacks because there’s nothing to eat in your damn house.”
Luca shakes his head, looking a little confused. “Your what is what?”
“I’m on my period,” I mutter. Pushing past him, I put the bag on the counter and take out the Ibuprofen. I pop two into my mouth and wash them down with some water.
Luca just stares at me as I grab a chocolate bar. “Get used to it, my husband. Blood’s going to flow freely for the next week.” I slump down on the couch, press my rechargeable heating pad against my abdomen, and let out a relieved sigh when I peel the wrapping back from the chocolaty goodness I’ve desperately needed all day.
Just as I take a bite, my abdomen decides it’s a good day to up the voltage of my cramps. I bring my legs up, curling into the corner and pressing the heating pad harder against my skin. “Jesus, the Ibuprofen better kick in soon,” I whisper to myself.