There are groans and grumbles, and there will definitely be impressive bruises beneath the protective layer of Kevlar, but overall, I’d say we got lucky.
“That didn’t go well,” Yaroslav huffs, looking backward out of the tinted rear window.
“That went terribly,” I confirm, pressing my fingers against my eyes and massaging the headache building behind them. “Drop me at my car.”
“Yes, sir.”
I climb into my car with heaviness clouding my thoughts. That couldn’t have gone any worse than it did, apart from one of us losing our lives. And I had no intention of shooting Illyin. I told all of my men before we arrived that he was not to be harmed.
He’s her brother, after all. She loves him, and I doubt she would be able to forgive me if I hurt him in any way.
But I have to admit that I didn’t expect him to be that level of hostile. I thought maybe we would have a chance to exchange at least a few words, even if they were heated and angry. We could have started a conversation.
The engine growls to life, and I push my foot against the accelerator, pulling out of the parking lot and into the street.
So, what happens next?
What do I do now?
What will Illyin do now?
Fuck.
This is so much worse than I thought, because without any kind of communication from him, the next step is impossible to guess or plan.
All the way home, I am drowning in worry.
Will he come after her with more force next time? The only reassurance I have in all of this is that I know he won’t harm her.
But what happens when he finds out she’s pregnant with my child? Will he bring harm to the baby?
My blood boils at the thought and my fingers dig into the steering wheel.
Don’t get distracted. You need to focus. You need to find a way out of this mess.
By the time I arrive home, my thoughts are a mess.
Walking into the house, I’m exhausted from the stress of it, but I am determined not to worry Izabel with this. She’salready going through a lot, and her health is more important than anything else. I can’t tell her about the shootout. I can’t tell her that it was a total failure when I tried to talk to her brother.
Izabel runs over to me to hug me. “Hi, I’ve missed you!” she says, snuggling close.
“I’ve missed you too, little pixie.”
She looks up, her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up. “What’s wrong?” she demands.
I chuckle, amazed at how quickly she can pick up on my mood. “Nothing. I just had a long day at work.”
She narrows her eyes even more, not convinced. “It’s more than that. You look upset,” she insists.
I brush my fingers through her hair and smile wider. “Beautiful little princess, all I want to do is sit with you in my arms in front of the fire. That will fix everything.”
She grins, shaking her head. “Fine, keep your secrets. But before any fire snuggling, you have to eat some dinner. I made roast chicken.”
“Really? With potatoes?” I ask.
“With potatoes. Extra crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. Just like you,” she giggles.
We eat dinner together in the living room. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor with her food on the coffee table and I have my plate balanced on my lap. She’s chatting about her day and her thoughts, carefully avoiding any topics relating to her brother, although I am sure he’s on her mind a lot today.
