Page 201 of Marrying the Savage

Then I think of the man’s arm around her throat, his face swollen in the photo, Sergei’s gate opening for him.

I leave before I give myself another chance to stop.

Mikhail is in the hall outside the clinic door. He turns as soon as he sees me. “What happened?”

I show him the photo.

His expression hardens. “I’ll come with you,” he says.

“No.”

“Damir—”

“You stay here.”

His eyes move toward the clinic door. “With her?”

“Yes.”

He understands then.

I don’t say that Sofia already thinks I abandoned her. I don’t say that if I take Mikhail too, she will wake up to another empty room and another explanation from someone else.

Mikhail watches me carefully. “And if she asks where you are?”

“Tell her I had to deal with Sergei.”

His jaw tightens. “That will not make her feel better.”

“I know.”

“You still want her told?”

“Yes.”

No more convenient lies. Not from me.

Mikhail nods once. “I’ll stay.”

“Nikolai comes with me.”

“I’ll call him.”

“From here.”

His mouth almost moves, but he doesn’t argue. He takes out his phone and makes the call while standing in front of the clinic door. I leave him there.

Nikolai meets me at the parking two minutes later. He already knows enough not to ask useless questions. He gets into the front passenger seat. I sit in the back. Two cars follow behind us.

“Sergei’s house?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “This fucking ends today.”

That old bastard has spent years keeping his hands clean by putting other men between himself and the damage. He raised Sofia the same way he runs his business: controlled, hidden, useful, never free enough to become a problem.

Then he sold her to Dmitri.

Maybe Sergei gave the order directly. Maybe he let Dmitri use his men. Maybe he’s only stupid enough to shelter a man who touched my wife.