He stands and crosses the room, then hesitates. His fingers flex over the tray before he picks it up.
“They just brought this in earlier, but I didn't touch it. I thought maybe you’d need it first.” He sets the tray on the edge of the bed. “You want some coffee? Or maybe water first?”
I look at what the guards sent up. There’s a basket of dark bread and thick slices of roast beef. A wedge of aged cheese with a heavy knife laid across it. Butter. Olives.
I study him. “And you didn't eat any of this? You’re crazy, malysh.”
He ducks his head, worrying his thumb along the tray edge. “You need it more than I do. So, I waited.”
He stays where he is, propped on one elbow, eyes already back on the bandage with that narrow focus he gets when he works.
“How long have I been out?”
“More than two days. You were hard to wake.”
Two days. Whatever the fuck they gave me was meant to keep me down. I take the bread first, then the cheese, eating withoutceremony. It goes down fast. Jonah sits beside the bed, hands on his knees. His shoulders ease when he realizes I'm not going to put the tray down.
I lift my chin toward what’s left. “Eat.”
He obeys. He keeps his eyes on the tray, on the floor. Anywhere but me. When he finishes, he wipes his fingers and sits still again. He’s been hungry. I don't know why he chose to wait for me, but the debt of it settles heavy.
Jonah’s gaze darts to the door, then back to me. “What do they want from you?”
A short breath leaves me. “Well, my uncle Sergei wants me gone, because he's a son of a bitch. And he's onto something. I just haven't figured out what.”
“Well, I noticed they rotated the guards again last night. They asked Petrov if the dose would be enough. They kept saying you had to be ‘manageable’ when you woke up.”
My jaw locks. “Petrov? Did that snake come into the room while I was out? If he touched you...”
Jonah's face flushes. He shakes his head quickly. “No. He just came to check on you. That’s all.”
My pulse refuses to drop. “He came close?”
Jonah swallows. “He checked your breathing. Your pulse. He didn't... he didn't come near me.”
“Good.”
“But they did...” Jonah’s voice drops. “They asked what to do with me. If they should move me downstairs. Petrov said no. He said you’d lose control if they touched me.”
My mouth curves. “That’s correct.”
Jonah's ears go pink. “Does Petrov work for your uncle?”
“He does. Petrov was the family doctor. Loyal to our name. Loyal to my father. He's been in my life longer than anyone else in this house.”
Jonah frowns. “Then why’s he doing this?”
A dry laugh catches in my chest. “Because the motherfucker backed the wrong Morozov. He thinks Sergei will reward him. My uncle doesn't share power. He hoards it.”
Jonah’s brows pull together. “Viktor, if I may... what happened? How did you end up here? I mean, like this. Your shooting was all over the news. They brought your body through the hospital. It was a closed casket. The funeral was everywhere.”
He doesn't finish the phrase. I like the way my name rolls off his tongue. He's so fucking innocent, and it makes my cock harden.
“Because he wants me here. What for, I can only imagine. We've been enemies for years. So right now, Sergei's got me where he wants me. I don't know when he'll strike. Or how. Hell, I'm not even sure how long we've been here. My birthday was on November sixteenth, so I've been here since. But I've lost track of the days.”
“I haven't.” Jonah reaches for the block and pencil. His handwriting is neat. “Today’s December second. We've been here sixteen days. So what, they shot you and brought you back?”
I hesitate. That’s the part wrapped in fog. I remember Lev, Nikolai, the street. The next thing I remember I woke up here. With Jonah by my side. He leans closer. “Why? Why bring you here if they wanted you dead?”
