But I’m tired of lies. “No.”
He nods, like I’ve confirmed a truth he already knew. “I get it.”
That surprises me. Alexei has always been Roman’s unpredictable but ultimately loyal wild card. “You do?”
“Some things matter more than orders.” His gaze drifts to the window where Chloe is visible and laughing with Vanya. “Like family.”
I study his face, trying to read the subtext. Alexei is the one who went against orders, dug into his brother’s death, and learned about the diamonds in the first place. And while doing so, he got himself engaged to a cocktail waitress.
To his credit, he’s seemed happier since marrying the woman. He’s even wearing a blue shirt today instead of his usual black one.
Roman accepted Aurora into the family, but I’m still not sure about her or about Alexei’s actions.
But those actions make a lot more sense to me now than they did just a week ago. “Max doesn’t agree.”
Alexei shrugs. “Max is a weapon. Point and shoot. No complexity.” He pockets the coin. “But we’re not just weapons, are we? Not anymore.”
Behind the layered question lies years of service, loyalty, of following orders without question. And beneath that, doubt.
“I don’t know what we are.” The words, though true, surprise me.
Before he can respond, the door to Cottage Seven opens.
Vanya leans out, his hazel eyes flashing with amusement. “If you two are done with your heart-to-heart, Kirill’s ready to get sewing, Kolya. Unless you’d prefer to bleed out dramatically in a parking lot.”
I’d forgotten about the steady drip of blood down my fingertips. Adrenaline is a hell of a painkiller.
Inside, the atmosphere has shifted. A makeshift medical station waits on the small coffee table. Suture kit, antiseptic, gauze. Max is gone, probably cooling off outside somewhere. Chloe, still on the arm of the sofa, looks like she belongs in a room full of Kozlov Bratva enforcers.
Even three days ago, that thought would’ve made me laugh.
“Sit.” Kirill points to the spot on the couch. No please. No coddling. Just efficiency.
I obey, stripping off my ruined shirt. The bullet that grazed my shoulder and Gio’s clawing left an angry red crater. My left arm, shot clean through, is the bleeder.
Chloe’s sharp intake of breath draws my eyes to her. “You need a hospital.”
I shake my head. “No hospitals.” My skin twitches as Vanya probes the wounds, which are starting to ache again in the wake of my fading adrenaline. “Too many questions.”
“Too many bodies.” Vanya smiles at her. “Tends to complicate the paperwork.”
Kirill pours antiseptic directly into the wounds while Vanya holds me in a vice grip. Sudden, blinding pain triggers a white starburst behind my eyes.
I don’t make a sound. Old habits die hard.
“That building.” Chloe’s eyes shine with tears. “All those men. They’re really dead? Because of me?”
Kirill’s hands pause for just a moment before continuing their work, threading the curved needle with practiced ease. For a half-gorilla, half-man, he’s creepily deft with a needle.
“Because of Gio.” I’m about to shake my head, but Kirill stops me when the needle pierces my skin again. “Because of his own choices.”
“But if I hadn’t?—”
“No.” Softening my tone, I pat her hand. “None of this is on you.”
She doesn’t appear convinced. Her fingers twist in the hem of her borrowed shirt, the gesture childlike and vulnerable. I want to reach for her, but with Kirill partway through stitching my shoulder, I can’t move.
“He’s right.” Vanya shocks me with his addition. “This game was in motion long before you were a player, darling. Those men knew the risks when they signed up with Gio.”
