The tires of the SUV I barely managed to help Lev into before he passed out on my lap squeals as Vanessa speeds away. Beside her in the passenger seat is Zeno, who’s consistently checking how I’m doing, as thoughanyof this is okay or normal or worthy of being fine. I stopped being okay when getting kidnapped. I stopped being fine when Lev took a bullet to the shoulder.
None of this isokay.
Beside me, Anastasia, Lev’s sister, holds a cloth onto the bullet wound, trying to keep it closed to infection. Every couple of minutes, she mutters to Vanessa, who speeds up. I can’t hear them properly, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It’s too loud to focus on anything except the man in my lap and stroking my fingers through his hair. It’s the only semi-helpful act I can do.
“You’re doing good,” Anastasia reassures, as though hearing my frazzled thoughts.
Zeno glances behind him again, his mouth pressed together.
Stroking Lev’s hair doesn’t feel useful and is nowhere a good enough thanks for saving my life. He jerks every once in a while, mainly when Vanessa drives over a pothole too roughly, but I’m quick to shush him back to sleep.
You’re hurt because you helped me.Words I should say aloud so they understand how and why he got shot. My throat feels tight and words are stuck, so instead, I just bow over Lev and keep his bangs off his face while examining his features.
He’s insanely hot, and if I wasn’t filled with guilt, perhaps I’d appreciate that more. His hair is a fascinating mix of blond and brown, like he can’t figure out which colour to go with. His nose is a bit crooked, but nothing that disrupts his face. Three pale white lines are scattered on his chin. Scars, I realize. His body is a combination of thin and wiry and corded muscles—some of which held me during our escape—that reminds me a little bit of my boyfriend, Alessio.
Alessio, who is probably pissed he hasn’t heard from me in days. But getting kidnapped would do that.
As Vanessa takes another sharp turn, the motion wipes thoughts of Alessio from my mind. As much as I like him, his possessiveness isn’t in my capacity to deal with right now, and it’s so minuscule compared to someone’s life.
Finally, we arrive at a mansion—as castle, really, a three-storey tall building made of a dark brick that awes me. It’s so opposite from the Mancini villa, which is all tan siding, archways, and a vast number of windows to allow the warm Italian sun in.
The SUV slams to a stop by the front door, and then there’s a mad rush of movement to slide a groaning Lev out of the backseat. Men in uniforms reminding me of Zeno’s soldiers appear out of nowhere to carry him into the house.
Vanessa follows them while Zeno lingers, helping me from the vehicle. When the mansion’s doors shut, we’re alone, and the sudden silence is deafening after the day. The fighting and shooting, yelling and threats, are replaced by my brother’s relieved sigh and the wind blowing over the forest fencing the mansion.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Zeno yanks me into a hard hug, his arms tight around my back. “Are you truly okay?”
I’m not sure.“I’m alive, but I feel bad for Lev.”
His eyes tighten again, the same way they’ve been doing half the drive. “He’ll be alright. Their doctor will patch him up.”
“Still. They saved us, Z. We should be there for them in return.” Not entirely sure if Vanessa would want us in her house, I drag him through the doors, feeling a panicked urge leading me through the many hallways and following the commotion of Vanessa and Anastasia shouting orders.
As long as Lev’s okay, maybe the rest of this will beokay. If he’s gravely injured, it’s not fair for another person to be dragged down by me all because I slipped my protection detail and got kidnapped.
In the end, Lev’s injury is my fault.
3
LEV
For ages, sleep and I have had a rough relationship. My bedroom is too silent, my mind often unable to settle, too distracted to doze off.
Some people count sheep; I count zeros and ones.
It’s why, more often than not, the futon in the basement of the Bratva mansion, where Anastasia and I moved in with Vanessa and Dimitri after her takeover, ends up becoming my bed. The whirling from my servers and computers lulls me to sleep. What would be noisy for others is soothing to me—white noise, technically, but not the annoying shit from machines specifically designed to make those sounds.
So, getting shot fuckingsucks.
Not because of the obvious. No, it’s because I’m trapped in my bedroom, shoulder bandaged, medication caging me between consciousness and sleep. Worse: there are people consistently hovering, and Idespisepeople in my space.
Even when conscious, my eyes heavy, only the droll of conversation in the background gives me something other than annoying silence to focus on. Occasionally, it’s Anastasia. Sometimes, it’s Vanessa and another guy—Zeno, presumably.Never Dimitri, but given recent events, he’s likely busy hunting his father.
Most often, there’s another voice. It’s an unrecognizable feminine lilt—angelic almost, though it’s unlikely an angel would come for someone like me. Her voice is soothing in ways no one else’s is with its musical chime, which is simply outlandish.
The drugs are clearly doing their job if I’m thinking like this. It’s the meds calming my mind, not her, I convince myself of.
Her paced breaths should irritate me because sleeping means she’s remaining in my space. Why didn’t Anastasia drag the angel away?
