Nora didn’t breathe.
She didn’t blink.
She kept the gun trained on Artem Volkov as if her heartbeat itself were pulling the trigger.
Artem stood near Sasha’s bed, half-shadowed by the flickering clinic lights.
Tall.
Still.
Predatory.
Sasha clung to Mila, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Artem lifted one hand—slowly—like calming a skittish wild animal.
“Little heir,” he murmured, “don’t be afraid.”
Nora fired.
The bullet grazed Artem’s cheek with surgical precision.
A red line bloomed along his skin.
He touched the blood with two fingers, staring at it.
Then he looked at Nora.
Something ancient and vicious lit his eyes.
“You,” Artem whispered, “are dangerous.”
Nora didn’t lower the gun.
“Step away from her.”
Artem smiled.
“You think you terrify me?”
“No,” Nora said
