“Why can’t I move?” My voice came out rough, barely more than air.
Ethan huffed a quiet laugh. “You came out of anesthesia swinging. Took out an orderly and busted a stitch.”
That got my attention.
“And Mira?” I asked, already bracing for the answer.
He nodded toward the far side of the room as he carefully untied the restraint around my wrist. “She won’t leave.”
I followed his gaze.
Curled up in a chair beneath a thin hospital blanket, fast asleep, was Mira.
My Mira. She was a sight. Her hair was a mess, dark circles shadowing her eyes, exhaustion etched into every line of her body because of me.
God, she was beautiful.
“She hasn’t left your side,” Ethan said quietly. “I may have told the doctor she was your fiancée so they’d let her stay.”
He moved to the other side of the bed and released my other arm.
I didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t.
Because for the first time since I’d opened my eyes, my chest eased—not from the pain medication in the IV—but from the simple truth that she was still here and she was okay.
I sighed and grabbed my side.
“Fuck, that hurts.”
“The bullet missed anything vital,” Ethan said quietly. “But it did enough damage that they had to open you up. You lost quite a bit of blood.”
“What did you say for them to let you in?” I asked.
Ethan smiled. “Victor and I are your brothers, have been since high school, you know that.”
I huffed a laugh, then immediately regretted it as pain flared in my side. Mira stirred in the chair.
“Hey,” Ethan added, lowering his voice, “they never thought it was life-threatening, so I didn’t call your mom.”
“Thanks, the last thing I need when I’m trying to talk her into moving back here.”
“Well,” he said lightly, “the doctors say you’ll make a full recovery. You’ll be back to terrorizing employees in a few weeks.”
The mention of work sobered me instantly. I hadn’t even thought about the business.
“There’s nothing left until they recover it.” Stan had drained our accounts. The fact that we’d already traced the accounts to offshore, which meant recovering it would be close to impossible.
I frowned and reached for the cup of water, groaning as I shifted. Ethan steadied it and helped me take a drink.
“The FBI wants to talk to you,” he continued, “but the money’s already been returned.”
I lowered the cup. “What?”
He tipped his chin toward Mira. “Apparently when Stan handed her the accounts he wanted the funds routed into, she planted a Trojan of her own.”
Pride and disbelief hit me at the same time.
