I don’t remember much about the car ride home. Or taking the elevator to the loft. Only Alexei’s arm locked around my waist and his steady voice in my ear anchoring me to the world as it threatened to spin away.
“Hold still.” Alexei kneels before me at the kitchen table, gentle despite the cold fury that’s radiated from him since the shooting. Earlier, he’d used two strips of my dress to slow the bleeding, but some blood has seeped through the thin material.
I hiss through clenched teeth but don’t pull away.
“You’re lucky.” Rage vibrates beneath the surface of his flat tone. “Glass. Not a bullet. Could have been worse.”
Worse. Like the bodies on the gallery floor.
Blood splattered across my ruined artwork.
Gio’s whispered threats before the world exploded into chaos.
Alexei rises and crosses over to a cabinet, his movements measured and precise. Like everything he does. Even killing. I watched him tonight, waltzing through the gunfire like itwas a dance he’d memorized. Saw him put a bullet through a man’s chest without breaking stride. And now he’s retrieving a first aid kit and laying out gauze and antiseptic with the same methodical care.
He returns to me and kneels again. “This will hurt.”
“I know.” It already does. But I’m alive, and that’s what matters.
I can face anything as long as we’re together.
Holy shit.
When did I start thinking that way?
His steady hands peel away the blood-soaked fabric. My skin comes with it, and I bite my lip to trap a pained cry. His lips thin, but he continues to work with single-minded concentration, cleaning the wound with antiseptic that stings like a bitch.
I grip his thigh roughly, but he never flinches.
“Breathe,lyubimaya.”
I exhale a shaky breath, watching his face as he gently tends to my cut.
Love swells inside me, and my eyes start to burn.
My gut lurches. Hold up a minute. Love? When exactly did that happen? When he took my cat to the vet and brought her back to me all patched up? Or when he gifted me an art studio furnished with every imaginable supply? Or maybe, oh, I don’t know, each time he saved my life?
The real question is, does Alexei love me in return? Or am I just his responsibility now? I have no doubt he enjoys my body, but lust and love don’t always align.
For the moment, I try to shove the thought aside and focus on Alexei.
Blood—thankfully not his—smears his white shirt. The tear near the shoulder reveals a glimpse of tanned skin. His jaw is set in a hard line, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble.
I’ve never seen him this angry. This contained. Like a grenade with the pin pulled just waiting for the right second to explode.
The antiseptic continues to sting, and I can’t help the small sound that escapes me. His eyes flick to mine. Blue, clear, and smoldering with an emotion too intense for words.
He pauses to press a soft kiss on my lips, and I melt a little at the tender gesture. “Almost done.”
I nod, not trusting my own voice. The gallery keeps flashing behind my eyes. Glass shattering. People screaming and running. Bodies falling. Gio’s face, inches from mine, threatening me. Threatening my sister.
Alexei rips open a package of butterfly bandages with his teeth. Pressing the edges of my wound together, he applies the strips as if he patches people up every day.
“Might scar.” A fact, not an apology. As if my pain matters to him, but not how I look.
“Scars are just another sign I’m a survivor.” The words come out a hoarse whisper.
His eyes meet mine again, darkening to a deep blue. “That’s true.”
