Mikhail stood up. His chest rose and settled as he breathed hard, and I looked beyond him. The Italians began to flee, one after the other, but Yuri and the rest of the soldiers chased after them, firing bullets at their cars.
The atmosphere cleared, and Mikhail turned to see me looking at him in awe. It was at this moment that I knew that Mikhail wasn't only my husband, but my ruthless guardian, and I found it to be both intriguing and charming.
His face was covered in blood and soot. Blood dripped down his hands.
We’d lost hundreds of our soldiers, but many more deaths came from the Italians. It was a win for the Lobanovs, and from this point on, I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same.
**********
Mikhail limped and squeezed himself into the back seat. The car began to move. Our car drove between Yuri and the rest of the soldiers. I was grateful to have the chance to breathe such clean air. I turned around to see Mikhail's face. He had a welt on his left cheek, a wounded lip, and a black eye. He winced as the car jolted past a bump.
“Are you alright?” I asked. He gave a light nod. It was moments like this that I wished I had something to clean his face with. Something to tend to his wounds with. Maybe a first aid kit or so. But there was nothing.
“That was incredible,” I said in a low tone, hoping he wouldn't hear.
“What?” He asked. His voice was low and lacked briskness. My face grimaced for a short second as I recalled the unending jab he shot at Caruso's face.
“The way you killed Caruso. It was incredible and horrible at the same time.” I tried to imagine what was left of Caruso's face. He probably passed out after the third punch because his hands slid to the floor in defeat. His face must be distorted, that's if he still had something to call a face. Nonetheless, he was dead now, and all that mattered was this moment.
Mikhail forced himself through the pain to turn and look at me. His pale blue eyes fell on mine. The car seemed to be driving at high speed, and Mikhail's face made me worry if he had sustained an internal injury.
“You know, all I did back there, I did it for you. I might not be nice or charming or romantic. But I know that I'm a protective partner. I grew up handling the most violent job in the Bratva union. I don't make peace with people who waged war. I kill and get overly violent when anyone messes with the people I love, and in this case, you.” He winced again. “You mean so much to me, Isabella. Hundreds of men died today. Not because I gave them orders to open fire at the Italians, but because I'd give anything, even myself, to make sure that you're safe and well cared for. Your beauty is more than a thousand suns. Your voice is better than the chirp of birds. I only hope that soon, you realize that I mean what I say. I hope you see that you're not a pawn to me but my wife. And I love you, even to the death of me.”
I had forgotten how to breathe after Mikhail finished speaking. I didn't know if I wanted to smile or cry. I knew I wanted to do both, and it was impossible. I longed to kiss him, submit myself to his every pleasure, to be his forever. He meant every word he said, and that was what defined him.
The car jolted, and Mikhail coughed out in pain. He struggled to rest his back on the seat, and I helped him through it. Deep down, I felt the rush of words. So many things I intended to say hung in the air. I looked at my Mikhail, then turned to look out the window. Tears formed in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I didn't know what I did to make a man love me this much, to give his all to me as though his life meant nothing to him.
“Are you okay, Isabella?” He asked after I sniffed.
“Yes,” I said in response, cleaning the tears from my face. “I can't wait for us to get home so you can relax and get better.”
**********
Yuri and some of the guards carried Mikhail to the bed in a rush.
“Everything hurts.” He said after they put him down and let him relax on the soft mattress.
“You're going to be fine,” Yuri said. “I've told the nurses to come and treat your wounds.”
“And tell them not to forget those bandages. I think I broke my arm.”
“Of course, Mikhail. At least, you get to enjoy Isabella's company before they arrive. Her presence might relieve you from some pain.”
“Get out, Yuri.” Mikhail forced a smile onto his face, and Yuri turned to exit. “Yuri,” he called out again, securing his attention. “Thanks.”
Yuri still kept his stern, mysterious look. He gave a mock bow and walked out of the room. I looked at Mikhail's face and traced patterns on his arms. I wondered what all the tattoos on his body meant. He wasn't as buff as Yuri, but he definitely had the muscle and will of a killer.
The sun had begun to set, and the orange tinted our silent bedroom. I leaned in and kissed him on his lips. His breath scattered on my face; he smelt of smoke and sweat. His lips tasted almost salty, and his eyes opened wide in wonder.
“You know, you've destroyed me, Isabella,” he coughed out. “You should know that I don't care. I'd let you destroy me over and over again. As long as I get you, I'm willing to pay the price.”
I sighed. My fingers traced more patterns on his torso while I tried to get the words together.
‘Speak, Isabella, just say it. Say it!’ my brain screamed. My mind was in chaos. ‘You know how to talk. Don't play dumb now. Say it,’ I told myself.
Emilia's words came into my thoughts. Don't run, I heard her say. So I sighed again and shifted my gaze from his torso to his blue eyes. My mouth opened, and I felt the words rushing out.
“There's something I must say, Mikhail,” I heard myself stutter. My mind kept talking to me, telling me to breathe. Breathe, Isabella, breathe. You can do this. Stop running from the truth. This is your reality. Accept it.
