I give a tired smile, watching Marina disappear around the corner, the kids’ laughter filling the hallway. For a second, everything feels… normal.Safe, even.
80
Dimitri
Iknow instantly something’swrong.
My body feels warm, but my nostrils are hit with the unmistakable scent of…pizza?
Yob tvoyu mat’.
No. It’s not just any pizza, either—borscht pizza.Blyat.
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain, and there it is. A blurry cardboard box resting on my chest. The smell ofbeets, sour cream, and… mozzarella?hits me full force.
I squint my eyes again, trying to make sense of it, and there it is. A goddamn pizza box. Right on my fucking chest.
Suka!
I try to look to my right, but I’m blinded by sunlight streaming through the window of… my room.Great,no more fucking hospital bed.
But, right now, I know what the fuck’s going on.Blyat.
“Are you seriously using me as a fucking… table?” My voice comes out raspy, and I barely recognize it as my own.
From somewhere near the window, a chuckle echoes. “Well, you weren’t exactly moving much, so…”
I turn my head, and there’s Erik, lounging in a chair with his legs propped up on my desk, his long sandy blond hair tied back. He gives me a lazy grin, not even pretending to feel guilty.
Suka blyad’! This is some real blyadina.
I try to move, but it’s like I’m bogged down by a bucket ofgovno. Must’ve pumped me full of so much anesthesia, it’s like apizdetsstraightjacket.
Luka walks right next to the bed with his fucking surfer-boy look, arms crossed and looking like he just stepped off a Hawaiian beach.
“You make an excellent table, D. We were considering a tray, but we figured you wouldn’t mind sharing the space.”
I snarl, or at least I try to, but it ends up sounding like a dry wheeze. “Get this shit off me.” I shift, attempting to sit up, but my arms feel like lead, and the damn pizza box doesn’t budge.
“Figured you’d appreciate a little taste of home.” He nods at the box like he’s done me some great favor.
I try to lift my arm, but I can’t really feel it. “Get that beet-covered dough away from me,” I mumble, trying not to gag.
“You can thank Erik for that culinary masterpiece. He thought you’d wake up feeling nostalgic.” Luka casually lifts the box off me. “Though it turns out you make a decent table, too.”
I try to blink the last bits of fog from my brain as Luka sits down on the edge of the bed, his face softened, relaxed in a way that’s almost unfamiliar. There’s a lightness to him now—less of that anger, that edge that used to be his constant companion. It’s like he’s finally let go of some of the darkness, trading it for a calm that looks foreign on him.
A laid-back version of Luka I never thought I’d see.
I grunt, giving him a hard stare. “Shut up and help me up, will ya?”
He reaches out, his hand firm as he helps me push myself up. “You know, I thought I’d never see you again,brat,” he mutters, and there’s something in his tone I’m not used to. Something soft.
I blink at him, wondering if the anesthesia’s still making me hallucinate.Luka Ivankov, thePakhan, getting all mushy on me?
Just when I’m about to fire back some snarky comment, Luka clears his throat like he’s trying to hack up a hairball, his expression going all serious.
“But I’m glad…” His voice drops low, his eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to read my soul. “…that you made it.”
