I study him. The hard angles softened by exhaustion, the stubbornness still burning under all that pain. “You’ll get back on your feet,” I tell him. “You always do, from what I hear.”
“Sounds like I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“You do.”
He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I just need a few days. Then I’ll be back on track.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I say. “You push too fast, you’ll end up back in that bed.”
He huffs out a breath that almost passes for a laugh. “Says the guy who’s walking around with a bullet wound in his shoulder.”
I can’t help the small smirk that flickers before it dies again. “Fair enough.”
The city hums faintly outside the window, muffled by glass. Misha’s apartment sits high enough that the noise can’t touch it—exactly how he likes it. Quiet. Controlled.
But I can tell it’s driving him insane.
Finally, he asks, “How’s your brother?”
I stare at the floor. “Still relearning to walk. He’s fighting.”
“That’s something.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “It’s something.”
Misha shifts again, his breath coming shallow. “You’ve been carrying all of it, haven’t you? Your business, the Bratva. This war with the Danilos.”
“Someone has to.”
“Petyr—” he starts.
But I cut him off. “Don’t. You know how this works. There’s no rest until it’s finished.”
Misha watches me for a long time, then nods. “Then let’s finish it.” He looks like he might pass out from just saying it, but the fire in his voice tells me he’s serious.
I stand. “Rest first. Then we talk business.”
“Fine,” he exhales. “I’ll get a clean bill of health. But you keep moving my guns.”
“Of course.” I fix my cufflinks. “It’s what I signed up for.”
I don’t say thatthis—the bloodshed, the pain, every goddamned setback we’re forced to power through—is also what I signed up for. Misha knows it. It’s what he signed up for, too.
I’m halfway to the door when Misha’s voice stops me. “Petyr.”
I turn back. He’s sitting up a little straighter, pale but focused.
“Before you go,” he says, “I need to say something.”
“You should rest.”
“I will. After this.”
He sounds serious. I stop in the doorway and listen.
“You saved my life.” He draws a slow breath. “I’m not the type to pretend that means nothing. I owe you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t owe me anything. You’d have done the same if it were me.”
