Page 113 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

"You mean—" I felt dazed.

"If nothing unexpected happens, we can transfer him to a regular room this morning."

I braced against the wall. The wire that had been pulled taut in my chest all night finally loosened.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Briony

"Where did she go?"

Varlam's voice drifted from the hospital room—hoarse, weak, but still carrying that force that made people obey without thinking.

"Sir, you can't get out of bed." The nurse's voice became clear as I pushed the door open.

Varlam had already thrown back the covers, one foot on the floor. The IV line pulled taut, the heart monitor beeping urgently. Gleb stood at the foot of the bed like a silent wall. Two nurses flanked Varlam, neither daring to actually restrain him. Makar blocked his path, looking like he was seconds away from fighting his own brother.

Everyone turned to look at me at once. Varlam too. Those steel-gray eyes tightened first, then all the sharp edges withdrew. His shoulders dropped an inch, as if only now allowing himself to breathe.

I held up the thermos helplessly.

"I just went to get water." I walked in, kicking the door shut with my foot. "Five minutes. Was that worth the dramatics?"

Varlam stared at me without answering. His face was pale, the wound still seeping blood. Silver-gray hair fell across his forehead, less neat than usual, stripped of that untouchable authority.

"Get back in bed," I said.

Varlam didn't move.

I set the thermos on the cabinet and turned to face him. "You want to lie back down yourself, or should I call the doctor to strap you down?"

Varlam finally sat back on the bed. The nurses rechecked the needle and wound, warning him not to move around. He listened expressionless, his gaze never leaving me.

That look was hot and direct, like a hand sliding slowly down the back of my neck. I poured a glass of water, deliberately not looking at him.

After the nurses left, Gleb retreated to the window. Makar didn't leave. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a hard line.

I handed Varlam the water. He raised his right hand. The IV port still taped to his wrist, fingers pale from blood loss.

"Drink," I said. "Stop interrogating me with your eyes."

"I'm not interrogating you."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Making sure you're here."

Even like this, he could still say things that got under my skin.

I pulled over a chair and sat beside the bed. "I'm here. Now drink."

He obeyed.

This was probably the most unbelievable scene since I'd known him. The head of the Petrov family, used to making entire rooms bend to his will, quietly finishing half a glass of water because I told him to. He set the cup down, palm still cupping the side.

"There are things I should have told you sooner."

"Yes. There are."