Page 220 of Marrying the Savage

“Yes,” Nikolai says. “One of his people followed the man after we dumped him in the street. Grigori said the attacker ran to Sergei’s side gate.”

“And how did he manage to procure the photograph?” I say.

Nikolai frowns. “He didn’t say.”

I look down at Maksim’s wrist again. A puncture hidden under clear adhesive. A child made sick.

Grigori was the one who told us Arman’s network couriered the wedding invitation. Grigori was the one who connected Anya to Arman, the one who stood in my study and made every line point back to Sofia. Now his son is violently ill at the exact moment the house has emptied around my pregnant wife, and Grigori is not in the car, not with his child, but supposedly meeting us at the hospital.

I look down at Maksim’s wrist again, at the hidden puncture, the medical tape, the bruise from a controlling grip, and the fever that came too quickly to be natural. The pattern doesn’t need to be explained now. It’s sitting in my lap, burning and unconscious, while the woman carrying my child is locked inside a house I just left behind.

“Stop the car,” I say.

Irina jerks forward. “What are you doing?”

“Stop the car.”

The driver brakes hard near the curb. Irina grabs the seat to steady herself, her face twisting with fear as she looks at Maksim. “Damir, he needs the hospital.”

“He will get there.” I shift Maksim carefully into her arms, making sure his head is supported before I release him. She clutches him to her chest immediately, and I lean close enough that she has no choice but to hear me clearly. “Your child will be taken care of.”

“What does that mean?” she demands.

I look at Nikolai. “Take them to the hospital. Call Dr. Morozova’s pediatric team directly, they’ll take care of your every need.” Then I continue, looking at Irina. “Your son will be fine.”

Nikolai’s face changes. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“You need men.”

“I need you to keep the child alive.”

He stares at me for one hard second, then reaches under his jacket and pulls out his gun. He hands it back without another word.

Irina’s eyes are wide now, the anger draining into something colder. “Damir, what is happening?”

I open the car door, then look back at her. Maksim’s face is still red against her coat, his mouth slightly open as he struggles through the fever. She has every right to hate me for stepping out of this car, but Sofia is alone, and every second I spend explaining may be the second Grigori uses to reach her.

“He has all my best people,” I say. “My wife has only me.”

I step out before either of them can stop me. The door shuts behind me, and the car pulls away at once, cutting back into traffic toward the city with Maksim, Irina, and Nikolai inside it.

I stand at the curb with Nikolai’s gun in my hand and the streets silent around me.

Then I turn toward the road back to the house.

“I’m coming, Sofia.”

35

SOFIA

I take one step back.

Grigori’s eyes follow the movement at once, and the gun in his hand shifts with him, not raised fully, not pointed at my face yet, but ready enough that my body understands the threat before my mind finishes catching up.

“What are you doing?” I ask.