Doessheknow how close I came to getting all three of us murdered tonight? Because I’m sure, without a doubt, that Sal would’ve followed through on his word after killing Konstantin.
Something inside me cracked the moment the pipe hit the side of his head. The moment Konstantin shoved me behind him, the moment that thug’s knife flashed. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee it, and the blood pressure machine beeps in warning, the nurse hurrying over to soothe me.
I curl to one side slightly, hugging the pillow. My body remembers the weight of Sal’s hand around my throat in the car, the pressure of fear climbing up and choking out everything else.I’d just gotten used to feeling safe again. Letting myself believe I was protected.
But nothing is safe when you belong to Konstantin Martynov.
And that’s the problem—I do. Whether I like it or not, I do.
My mind flits to the baby again.Mybaby. I don’t know when I started thinking of the pregnancy that way, but it’s real now. It feels real. It feels like mine. Not a punishment, not a transaction. A little heartbeat under my ribs. A quiet, vulnerable promise I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.
The doctor steps in with a sigh, murmuring to the nurse, “He’s turning down a scan, which is a mistake. Took a nasty hit to the head.” He checks my vitals, the baby’s vitals, and promises a luxury hospital dinner soon.
My stomach churns at the thought of trying to eat. Outside, the city seems to sink in darkness despite all the lights shining in the buildings.
The door creaks open andOlena appears for just long enough to spear me with a glance sharp enough to draw blood. Her designer coat is folded neatly over one arm, her heels echoing against the tile floor. She doesn’t speak—just lets her eyes sweep from my bare feet to the machines behind me. Like she’s cataloging everything that makes me unworthy.
Then she disappears.
I can’t even muster the energy to be embarrassed. I’m too tired. Too angry at myself.
For getting involved in this.
For stealing the money in the first place.
For falling in love with him.
The door clicks open again. And this time, it’s him.
Konstantin enters like a shadow—dressed down now in loose black sweatpants and a bandaged side, no jacket, no tie, just a clean t-shirt stretched tight over blood-stained gauze. There’s a dark bruise forming on the side of his head, easy to see as itcrawls out of his silver hair. His face looks tired, finally his age, lined with fatigue, pain, and worry.
The man who took a beating for me and didn’t even flinch.
There’s a smear of blood on his shirt and a wiry man with inked forearms is packing up a stitch kit on the hallway floor.
Konstantin walks straight to the chair beside my bed and sits heavily. No dramatic gestures, no charm.
“Is Olena mad?” It comes out as a whisper. His eyes ghost over my face, then look away—I have my answer.
Ignoring the question, he says, “They’re cleaning it now.”
“Cleaning what?”
“My townhouse.They’re quiet. Efficient. We’ll be able to go home soon.”
I think of the blood on the marble floor. The shattered glass. The furniture overturned and the bodies—oh God, the bodies.
Sal is finally gone.Sal is finally gone.
I whisper that sentence, scream it, repeat it in my head, but it still doesn’t seem real.
“Olena had men sweep the country house.” He pauses. “They found Lev.”
“He’s alive?”
Konstantin’s jaw clenches. “Barely. They flew him in. He’s in ICU. Surgeon says it will take time… a lot of time. But he’s a fighter.”
A sob catches in my throat, and I turn my face to the pillow, so he won’t see the guilt.
