I shake my head. “It’s not. I’m just surprised you’d do that.”
His brows draw together in that infamous Vaughn frown, and I kind of hate that I ruined his mood, but then he sighs. “I understand why you’d feel that way.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I’ve always tried to keep some distance between us, fought any of your advances or suggestions to bring us closer, and even called us temporary. It makes sense that you’re wary about that, but I want you to know that I’dneverdo that again, baby. I’m sorry it took the thought of losing you to finally shake me out of it.”
“I’d die a thousand times?—”
He places a palm over my mouth, his hand trembling. “Don’t say that.”
I smile against his palm, but that makes him frown harder.
“The moment I saw you slumped unconscious, my life flashed before my eyes, and it was full of regrets, of everything I should’ve done for you so you wouldn’t have ended up there. I felt like I failed you when you needed me the most, and I’ll never, and I meannever, let anyone hurt you again.”
I slowly remove his hand from my mouth so as not to trigger the pain too much. “The only person who’s able to hurt me is you. This injury is just physical. It means nothing.”
“It means something to me. God, I want to kill your dad.”
“Kind of impossible.” I sigh. “I thought of that, killing him, point-blank, ridding myself and Alya of him, but that would make us a target of the loyalists in Chicago. Almost everyone is on his side, even if Lukas is trying to recruit them. But he could be a worse option since, well, he never liked me or Alya and would get rid of us to make sure no one would oppose him.”
“There must be something we can do,” he muses.
“Love it when you get all scheming, baby.”
His lips part, then he bites down on the corner of the bottom one. “You called me baby again.”
“Well, you are my baby, Mishka.” I touch his face, determined to at least get a kiss. Fuck my broken body. We should be fucking in the dirtiest way possible right now. Just saying.
A knock lands on the door, interrupting the moment. Vaughn clears his throat as he releases me, leaving me empty as fuck, but at least he doesn’t get up. “Come in.”
A tall, broad guy fills the doorway like he owns the damn building—and judging by the three-piece suit that fits him like it was sewn on him, he probably does. Everything about him is sharp, from his clean-shaven jaw to the way those frameless glasses sit perfectly straight on his nose. He’s got that whole polished, ruthless vibe, the type of man who could order someone’s execution while adjusting his cuff links. One look and I just know this is a man who doesn’t shout to get what he wants. He just exists, and the room falls in line.
And yet he smiles warmly at Vaughn and speaks in Russian. “Am I interrupting, Zolotoy?”
“No, not at all,” Vaughn says, then motions at me. “Uncle, this is Yulian. Yulian, this is my uncle, Anton.”
I’m suppressing a smile because Vaughn’s uncle calls him Zolotoy—the golden one—that’s so adorably fitting.
“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for hosting me.” I try to sit up, but Vaughn pins me back down.
“Don’t make your injuries worse, Yulian.”
“I just want to say hello to your uncle properly.”
“Stay still. He’ll understand.” He looks at Anton, who’s just smiling. “Right?”
“Right,” he says in accented English.
“I can speak Russian, so there’s no need to switch to English.” I say, “Kabardian, too. Though not so well. Haven’t spoken it in ages.”
“Kabardian?” Anton asks, and Vaughn raises his brows. Right, we didn’t discuss family ties much because I used all the time we had to fuck.
I mean, I told him about Mom’s origins and my dedushka, but I didn’t mention the language thing.
“Mom’s family comes from Kabardino-Balkaria, a pretty aristocratic family, actually, historically full of warrior nobility and lots of wealth. Beishev, if you’ve ever heard of them.”
“I have, indeed,” Anton says, sounding impressed. “Are any of them still around?”
