I press my hand to my mouth as emotion wells up again.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “I thought he was lying. I thought…”
I trail off, remembering what I’d overheard in the hallway—Dmitri saying he was “close” to getting information, that I “wouldn’t be a problem.” It sounded damning. But now, I realize I’d only heard part of the conversation. The part where he was still pretending for his brothers, before he finally told them the truth.
Alexei shakes his head. “My brother lies when it suits him, but never about the things that matter.” His tone softens. “You matter.”
I swallow hard, fighting the tears that blur my vision. “I love him,” I say quietly. “I think I knew it before I even admitted it to myself. I just hope I get to tell him again.”
Anya leans forward, her hand warm on my knee. “You will.”
Viktor gives a small, knowing grin. “He’s too stubborn to die.”
That earns the smallest smile from me. “He’d better be.”
The room falls into silence again, but this time, it feels different. Not hopeless, merely…waiting.
Through the window, I can see the nurses moving back and forth. Somewhere behind those doors, Dmitri is fighting his way back. And I make myself a promise.
If he wakes up—not if, when—I’m going to be there. And I’m going to tell him again that I love him, no matter what it costs.
Chapter Six
Dmitri
The first thing I feel is pain.
A dull, pulsing ache deep in my side that drags me up from the dark. The world comes into focus slowly. I hear the faint hums and beeps on the machines, and the unfamiliar scent of antiseptic fills my nostrils. I blink hard, forcing my eyes open. My vision is blurry, but only until my eyes land on Mireille.
She’s curled in a chair beside the bed, her head resting on her arms, hair spilling across the blanket. She’s asleep, but it’s the kind of restless sleep that only comes after too many nights without it.
For a long moment, I just watch her breathe.
Then another voice cuts through the quiet. “You look like hell.”
I turn my head too fast, and the pain spikes, sharp enough to make me grit my teeth.
Alexei is sitting in the corner, jacket draped over one arm of the chair, eyes fixed on me.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, brother,” he says quietly. His eyes soften for a second, and I actually catch a glimpse of his worry and relief.
I clear my throat, ignoring the tightness in my chest. “How long was I out for?”
“Two days. The surgery went well. You lost a lot of blood.”
I glance down at the bandages across my abdomen, the IV taped to my hand. “Feels like it.”
Alexei stands from his seat and moves closer to my bedside. “You stopped a bullet, brother. I’d say you’ve earned some rest.”
“Rest later,” I mutter. “What happened after?”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sergei’s dead. Viktor shot him. You saved Turner’s life. And Mireille wouldn’t leave your side after you went down.”
That last part hits something deep in me. I glance at her again. She’s still asleep, but even from here, I can see the tear tracks that have since dried on her cheeks.
“What about Nowak?” I ask.
Alexei’s mouth tightens. “Viktor’s taking care of it as we speak.”
