Seeing Dinara nearly die—correction, take a fucking bullet for me—broke something in me that won’t heal until I see her again. Alive. Breathing. Eyes open.
I glare at Marina across the waiting room and she meets my stare without flinching.
Whatever happened to her after she escaped from Velour’s basement made her into someone formidable and terrifying, someone who could command an army and take down criminal empires.
But she also became someone who could look at her own daughter like she was a stranger.
That’s the part that makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
It took Dinara taking a bullet to crack her open. Just enough to let the love she’d buried come flooding back.
I don’t know if that changes anything. But it’s Dinara’s choice how to move forward with Marina.
Our father, though, that’s a different story. He’s Marina’s now, taken back to whatever compound she’s running, and I don’t give a single fuck what she does to him. I’d join in the fun of torturing that monster if I had the time, but right now the only thing I care about is the woman in surgery three floors above us.
The door swings open and the doctor walks in, still in his scrubs, mask pulled down around his neck. We’re all on our feet before he’s fully through the threshold—me, my brothers, even Marina rising from her chair across the room.
“She pulled through,” he says, and my heart slams against my ribs. “The bullet missed all vital organs. She lost a significant amount of blood, but we stabilized her and repaired the tissue damage. We’ve checked thoroughly for internal bleeding and found none.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost give out. Matvey grips my shoulder and even Dem’s rigid posture eases slightly.
“But,” the doctor says, giving us pause. “We won’t know the full extent of complications until she’s awake and we can run more tests. The bullet tore through muscle and soft tissue. Therecould be nerve damage, reduced mobility, chronic pain. We won’t have a complete picture for another few days.”
My stomach twists. She’s alive, but we don’t know yet if she’ll walk out of here whole or if this is going to change her life in ways we can’t predict.
But nothing else matters. She’s everything. More than the bratva, more than duty, more than my own fucking life. She’s not just the woman I married. She’s mine in a way that goes beyond rings or vows. She’s carved into me so deep I wouldn’t survive losing her. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.
“Who’s Kirill? Dinara keeps asking for him in her sleep,” the doctor informs us, glancing around the room.
I step forward. “I am. I’m her husband.”
The doctor gestures toward the hallway. “She’s in recovery. Still under from the anesthesia, but she’ll be waking up soon. I can take you to see her now.”
Before I leave, I look back at Marina. “Someone needs to contact Dinara’s father. He’ll want to come right away, I’m sure.” I pause. “I can call him, or you can. Your choice.”
Marina sucks in a quiet breath and looks away, steeling herself. “I will. He deserves to hear it from me.”
I turn and follow the doctor through the doors, toward the woman who stepped in front of a bullet meant for me without hesitation.
The recovery room is small and sterile, machines beeping softly around the bed where Dinara lies with her eyes closed. An IV drips into her left arm, monitors tracking her vitals in steady green lines across a screen. Her face is pale, dark circles bruisingthe skin under her eyes, and there’s a thick bandage wrapped around her torso visible above the thin hospital gown.
But her chest rises and falls. She’s breathing. She’s alive.
I pull the chair close to her bedside and reach for her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers carefully. Her skin is cold and I rub my thumb across her knuckles, trying to warm her.
“Come on, solnyshko,” I murmur. “Open those eyes for me.”
It takes a minute, but her eyelids flutter and then slowly lift. Her eyes are unfocused at first, but then they find me, and they light up.
“Kirill.” Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“I’m here.” I lean closer, bringing her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m right here. How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot.” A weak smile tugs at her mouth. “Which I did. Right?”
“You did. You threw yourself in front of a bullet meant for me and scared the fuck out of me.”
Her smile fades and she tries to sit up, wincing. I’m on my feet immediately, easing her back down. “Don’t move. You just got out of surgery.”
