“You’re all right. You’re all right,” Anton repeats, holding him down. “Let me apply pressure. You’re going to be okay.”
I feel so helpless. All I can do is watch as this happens. Finally, the man stops twisting under Anton. He grabs hold of Anton’s hand and says, “I’d better not bleed out.”
“You won’t. I’m not letting that happen.” He looks over at me. “Get over here.”
I will my feet to move. As soon as I’m near the couch, Anton grabs my wrist and pulls me down, placing my hand on the wet towel. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll be right back.”
He gets up and rushes out of the room before I can say anything. I hold the towel down with both hands. The blood is oozing through the towel and between my fingers.
“So,” he says to me, a smile on his face. “You’re the Bratva princess that’s got his head all turned around. You know, I’ve never seen you up close before.”
I tilt my head in curiosity. “You… know me?”
“Of course I know you. Petrov’s daughter. You are really stunning, you know that?”
I blush. “You should probably focus on other things right now.”
“On the contrary. When a person is in extreme pain, it helps to have a focal point of some sort. I think your pretty face will do just fine.”
“Stop flirting and sit up,” Anton says as he walks into the room. He’s carrying a tin box with a fat red cross on it. With a nod of his head, he signals for me to move. I do, standing up to let him take my place.
He sets the tin box aside and slowly removes the towel. The wound isn’t oozing anymore, but it doesn’t look good. Dark blood stains the sides of flesh that’s been ripped apart in jagged edges.
“You never properly introduced me to your paramour,” he says, winking at me.
Anton sets the towel aside and opens the tin box. He fishes out a curved needle already attached to a long thread. “Mikki, this is Natalya. Natalya, this bleeding sack of shit is Mikki.”
Mikki chuckles, then coughs. “Don’t do that. I’m not a well man. Laughing could kill me.”
“Yeah, yeah. This is gonna hurt like hell.” He takes the bottle of vodka and pours it over the wound. Mikki sucks in air sharply but bears the pain. “You good? I need you conscious.”
Mikki’s wincing in agony, but he nods quickly.
“Good. Ten or eleven stitches, friend. Ready?”
“Just do it.”
Anton leans in and starts stitching the wound closed. Mikki winces, grabbing onto the cushion as Anton pulls the string through. “So, who did this?”
“Don’t know,” he responds through clenched teeth. “Didn’t see his face. I had just packed up the car with the stuff from Maria’s, I turned around, and the next thing I know, I was fighting for my life.” He pauses as Anton applies another stitch, closing his eyes to bear the pain for a second. Then he looks over at me and says, “The car’s full of clothes and things for you. Hope it all fits. You look about my daughter’s size, so I just eyeballed it.”
I have no idea who Maria is, but I’m thankful for the clothing. “I appreciate it,” I tell him.
“It’s… it’s nothing. Just some things to get you by until you can go shopping—Shit.”
“Need another shot?” Anton asked.
“No. Just keep going. Get it over with.”
I look over at the bloody knife on the table and realize that there is something familiar about this. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something about this attack that’s ringing a bell in my mind. Maybe it’s the covert nature of it. It’s like something I’ve heard about before.
“It was weird,” he went on. “You know, Maria’s security is usually out and about at this time of night, but the front of the club was deserted.”
Anton looks up at him with a frown. “Bono wasn’t out front?”
Mikki shakes his head. “And he was there earlier when I went in.”
“Is he always out front?” I ask, and Mikki nods his head. “Maybe somebody was watching for him.”
