“Vera.” I’m at her side in two strides, holstering my gun so I can touch her. My hands hover over her face and arms, checking for injuries but afraid to hurt her more. “Are you okay? The baby?”
“I’m okay.” Her voice is shaking as she slowly sits up and I gently help her, needing to feel her. “I’m okay, but Dimitri…” She swallows, looking stricken. “It was Alexei. He was here.”
The world seems to crumble. Alexei. My brother washere. In my house. He put his hands on mywife.
“He climbed through the window,” Vera continues, words tumbling out in a rush. “He told me everything. About Konstantin, about the plan, about—” Her voice breaks. “He triedto make me go with him. Said I was his. That the baby was his. That you?—”
She stops, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
“What?” I force the word out through clenched teeth. “What did he say about me?”
“He said you won’t live long enough to stop him.” She wipes her face, and I notice that her nails are caked with blood. But it’s not her blood as there isn’t a scratch on her. “He said—he said you won’t live long enough to stop him.”
The rage singing through my veins intensifies and becomes something cold and lethal and absolutely focused.
My brother. My fucking brother broke into my home and put his hands on Vera—on MY wife. On the mother of the baby I’ve claimed as my own.
I want to hold Vera. To pull her against my chest and promise her everything will be okay. To comfort her and check every inch of her for injuries and make sure she knows she’s safe.
But the rage won’t let me be still or be gentle. It’s coursing through me like electricity, demanding action, demandingblood.
“Get her to the safe room,” I order Mikhail without taking my eyes off Vera. My voice comes out harder than I intend. “No one goes in or out except Dr. Petrov and me. Understood?”
Mikhail’s eyes dart between me and Vera. “Sir?—”
“NOW.”
Mikhail moves immediately, helping Vera to her feet carefully. She winces the moment her weight shifts, her face contorting with pain.
Wait, when did she injure herself?
“Stop.” The word cracks like a whip and Mikhail freezes. “Why is she wincing? Vera, what hurts?”
“It’s nothing,” she tries to say, straightening up, but I’m already moving toward her.
“What. Hurts?” I ask again, my voice rough. “What happened, Vera?”
She sighs in resignation. “My hip.” She touches her side gingerly. “When Alexei shoved me, I hit the dresser. It’s just bruised, Dimitri. I’m fine.”
He shoved her. He shoved her hard enough to injure her.
My brother put his hands on my wife.
The violence inside me intensifies until I can taste it. It’s metallic and sharp like blood in my mouth.
“Dimitri.” Vera reaches for me, but I step back.
If I touch her right now, if I let myself hold her, I won’t be able to let go and do what needs to be done.
“Carry her,” I tell Mikhail, and my voice doesn’t sound like my own. “Don’t let her put weight on that hip. Get Dr. Petrov to examine her immediately. If there’s any damage beyond bruising, you call me. Understood?”
He nods sharply. “Yes, sir.”
Mikhail moves to lift her, but Vera pulls away from him, looking irritated. “Dimitri, I’m okay. I can walk. I’m not going to be carried like a baby.”
“You’re not walking anywhere on an injured hip.” I force the words out through clenched teeth. “Please, Vera. I need to know you’re protected. I need to know you’re safe before I can?—”
Before I can hunt down my brother and uncle and tear them apart with my bare hands.
