"The doctors say you can hear me," I said, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "So hear this,malysh. If you die on me, I'll follow you to the afterlife just to drag you back and kill you myself."
My voice cracked on the last word, betraying the emotion I'd fought to contain. I cleared my throat, grateful no one was present to witness the moment of weakness.
"I'm not finished with you yet," I continued, my fingers tightening around his. "Do you understand me? This isn't over. You don't get to save my life and then check out before I can properly thank you."
I leaned closer, bringing his hand to my face in a gesture I would never have allowed anyone to witness. "Come back to me," I whispered against his fingers. "The world is considerably less interesting without you in it."
Evening shadows crept across the medical suite, stretching long fingers over the equipment that had become fixtures in my life.
* * * *
Outside my penthouse windows, the city transformed into a sea of twinkling lights—my city, my territory—yet for all its vastness, my world had shrunk to this room, this bed, this hand still limp in mine.
I shuffled through another stack of files, the latest reports on O'Rourke's crumbling empire, but victory tasted hollow with Mishka still lost in the depths of his unnatural sleep.
I flipped open a folder containing photographs of O'Rourke's principal research facility in Geneva—or rather, what remained of it. The building was little more than a smoking crater now, courtesy of an anonymous tip to certain European authorities about illegal human experimentation.
Another file showed dossiers of his top scientists, each stamped with a bold red "APPREHENDED" or "ELIMINATED," depending on their culpability and my mood when we found them.
"His financial accounts were frozen this morning," I said to Mishka's still form, continuing our one-sided conversation as if he might answer at any moment. "The Swiss were particularly cooperative once they saw the evidence of what their banking secrecy had been protecting."
I ran my thumb across a photo of Denton, now secured in one of my own holding facilities. His questioning had provided valuable intelligence, though extracting it had required methods that would have made Mishka uncomfortable.
I slipped that particular file back into the stack without elaborating. "O'Rourke himself remains elusive," I admitted with a frown. "But he's running out of places to hide."
I closed the folder, setting it aside with less satisfaction than such victories should have brought. What was the point of dismantling an empire if the one person I'd done it for wasn't here to see it?
The monitors beeped their monotonous response, mocking my silent question.
My bear grew restless beneath my skin, pushing me to my feet to pace the length of the room. Five steps to the window,five steps back to the bed. The space felt confining despite the penthouse's generous proportions.
My reflection in the medical equipment looked absurd—a massive, predatory figure among the sterile machines, like a bear trapped in a laboratory.
I'd removed my suit jacket hours ago, and my crisp white shirt had long since surrendered to wrinkles. My tie hung loose around my neck, a concession to comfort I rarely allowed in public. Few had ever seen me in such a disheveled state, Mishka being one of the exceptions.
"You'd mock me for this," I said, gesturing to my rumpled appearance. "The great Nikolai Aleksandrovich, looking like he slept in his clothes."
I could almost hear his retort:"Did you actually sleep, old man, or just glare at the monitors until they gave you the readings you wanted?"
The imagined voice was so clear it made my chest ache. I returned to the bedside, lowering my large frame back into the chair that had molded itself to my shape over the past month.
"You're making me sentimental," I accused his silent form. "A century of maintaining control, only to have it undone by an electronic manipulator with no sense of self-preservation."
My hand found his again, almost of its own accord. The contact had become necessary somehow, as if I could tether him to this world through sheer physical connection. My bear responded to the touch, settling beneath my skin with a contented huff.
I stared at our joined hands, weighing words I'd been rehearsing for weeks. Words I'd never spoken to anyone in my century of existence. Words that had always seemed like weakness, like vulnerability I couldn't afford to show.
"This would be easier if you'd wake up and force them out of me," I muttered. "You have a talent for making me say things I never intended to."
The steady rhythm of the monitors was my only answer.
Outside, the sky darkened to indigo. City lights sparkled across the panoramic view that had once been a point of pride—visual confirmation of the territory I controlled.
Now it seemed like meaningless glitter compared to the electronic signature pulsing faintly around Mishka's still form.
I'd lived a century, experienced the fall of empires and the birth of new world orders. I'd built a criminal organization that operated with the efficiency of a Fortune 500 company and the ruthlessness necessary for survival in our world. I'd faced down rival bosses, corrupt officials, and would-be usurpers without blinking.
Yet here I sat, unable to voice three simple words to an unconscious man.
