“What?”
“I believe they are called the Romanovs. We received intel about a failed raid that happened in one of the Aslanov warehouses… and it is believed that it was done by them. The cameras could not capture a lot, but we have a few descriptions of what the main… members might look like.”
“Do you have the information?”
Timofey nodded, “At home. I’ll send it your way once I get back.”
“How did you find their name?”
“Someone caught the number plate of the car involved in the raid. It is registered under Romanov, but the car was later found abandoned on the highway with no other clues.”
“It has to be them, but we need to get you fixed so you can rest and be better,” I said, once again looking at his wound. It looked a little less bad in the light.
“You should know that… Zhenya will probably kill you when she finds out about this marriage of yours… and that you did not tell her sooner. And she will kill both of us when she finds out that I knew about… this before her. Oh, how I will enjoy her misery.”
“She is your sister, Timofey.”
“And I love her. But she can be… insufferable at times.”
“So can you.”
Timofey chuckled softly, then looked at me, his expression serious. He was lying back down, his head resting on the head of the couch.
“Do you love her?”
I whipped my head to look at him. “I married her for protection. There is nothing more to it.”
Timofey burst out laughing at my reply and then winced as pain shot through his ribs, but the leering grin did not fade from his face.
“What?” I asked, beginning to get annoyed.
“Avgust Chernykh seems to be falling in love at last, and I am here for it.”
Chapter 11 - Ilana
Dimitri met me halfway down the hall, arms overflowing with supplies. He had everything. From gauze rolls to antiseptics to alcohol swabs and clean towels. I grabbed half the things before he could protest.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He only nodded, always quiet, always observant. My heart hammered as I walked back into the living room. Timofey was still sprawled on the couch, shirt half open, blood soaking into the fabric. Avgust hovered over him, jaw clenched tight, hand steady in that cold, lethal way he carried himself when the world turned threatening. They both looked up when I entered. Abram walked in right after, holding two bowls filled with clean water.
“I’ve got it,” I said quickly, crossing the room before Avgust could argue. “Move and give me some space.”
Avgust’s brows pulled together. “Ilana—”
“I’ll do it better than you. Trust me,” I said, forcing my voice to stay firm. It was already difficult for me to convince myself, but Timofey’s wound needed attention before it got infected. For a moment, I thought Avgust would refuse. His glare cut sharp as a blade, the kind of look that made lesser men step back.
But then something in his jaw shifted.
He moved aside.
Slowly and reluctantly. But he moved anyway.
Timofey flashed a pained grin. “You’re an angel, Ilana.”
“I’m not,” I murmured, kneeling beside him. “But hold still.”
I dipped one of the towels in the bowl of water, wringing it to remove all the excess water. He hissed when I pressed a towel on his wound, letting the blood seep through it. The towel turned red within seconds, but I kept holding onto it firmly.
