Ivan shivered.
I rose. Already the booze was making my legs tingle. Wine I could handle. But the hard stuff? I was practically a lightweight. Hurrying to the partition, I leaned over the receptionist desk to see one of the Made Men lounging in the office chair.
“Find me a blanket,” I ordered.
The soldier jumped, gave me a frightened, wide-eyed look, and took off.
I didn’t even make it back to the seat when he came with a thick, stiff wool throw. I took it from him and gently laid it around Ivan’s shoulders.
Those black eyes turned up to me. They were unguarded. Vulnerable. My chest squeezed tight. I brushed my hand over his head, ignoring the sticky, sweaty feel of his hair, and pressed my lips to his brow.
“I’ve got you,” I promised.
Ivan shuddered. “Thank you.”
I murmured and continued to stroke him, giving him physical reassurance, since my words didn’t seem to convince him.
“You can see him,” Kiril said, popping into the doorframe.
Ivan sighed and pushed to his feet. He was unsteady. I shot a look to Kiril, who was there in a heartbeat, offering Ivan his arm.
The kingpin batted it away.
I rolled my eyes. “Either you lean on him, or we stay out here.”
Ivan squinted at me. “Are you always this bossy?”
Humor twitched on my lip. “Only when occasion calls.”
“I was wrong about you,” he muttered. He held out his hand to me, shoving Kiril aside.
I gripped him tight. The look I gave the soldier was a silent communication that he’d better not wander away.
Stay close,I mouthed.
Kiril nodded.
But Ivan didn’t need support. His hand was a connection to mine, not a crutch. He held me as though he were scared I’d vanish, not because he couldn’t support himself.
“In here,” Kiril said, pushing open a door to a private operating room. Or, at least, that was what I assumed the space was. It could easily be a grooming area. Probably doubling as both.
Rayko was sprawled over the Formica platform. His leg was braced but not in a cast. There was a vivid green hue to his otherwise pale skin. He looked decades older.
Ivan snorted. “He’s looked better.”
I gaped at his dry humor.
“What?” Ivan smirked down at me. “He’s also looked worse.”
Kiril laughed behind us.
“Fuck off,” Rayko grumbled in Bulgarian.
At least he felt well enough to joke.
Ivan pulled me into his side. Our hands stayed locked, and he bent to kiss my cheek. “I’m sorry we worried you, flower.”
I was about to tell him it was okay. That this was par for the course. I expected this if I was truly going to be a mobster’s wife.
