Page 64 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
It was supposed to be just a simple meeting and drop with a new associate. The details had been decided long ago by Roman and Mikhail, and Nikolai and I were meant to see it through. What was meant to be a low-key exchange turned into a disaster far too quickly.
Somehow, they found out about the drop time and location, hijacking it before we could get out of there without making a mess. And with that in mind, we obviously have some tightening to do when it comes to security.
Luckily, we had enough men to cover us while we fought the assailants off, who were hellbent on bombarding us as hard and fast as they could. It didn’t take much to realize they were Grimaldis, but I couldn’t say if Balakins were mixed in with them. Still, it was enough to make me wish Carlo and Cesare had been there themselves.
While we defended ourselves well and earned ourselves only a few surface wounds, the associate was hit and killed, which means our deal is dead in the water. For that alone, I already know Roman will be up my ass about it. I can only hope I find a way to soften that blow before it happens.
After making sure Nikolai and the others were good, we scrubbed the place before heading out, heads hung lower than anticipated overall. Smelling like gunpowder, blood, and sweat, I can’t just get home and crawl back into bed as I had hoped.
My situation with Mila has been looking up lately, and yet, everything else seems to be getting worse, no matter how hard I try to patch it.
She’s been with me long enough for her brothers to start getting desperate now, and that means their escalations will only get worse from here. I hate how that’s something I even need to think about, when right now, I just want to focus on Mila and the baby growing inside her.
I want to take in every moment and appreciate the time I won’t get back again. But with Carlo and Cesare amping things up, I’m being pulled away from her more than ever. She’s been more forgiving about it than expected, and she shouldn’t have to be.
As much as I want to solve every problem here and now to prevent any more fallout, I know I can’t. For the time being, I have to stay vigilant and remember what I’m doing it all for.
When I get home, the condo is mostly dark, save for the faint hallway light that kicks on at night, and I take that as a good sign.
By now, some of the blood has already dried down against my skin, and my ribs ache just enough to remind me of how hard one of the guys slammed his elbowed me before I managed to gain the upper hand.
I focus on the fact that none of my injuries are life-threatening while I stumble my way inside, closing the door and just managing to take my shoes off without losing my balance. The deal might’ve been a failure, but now I’m clinging to the small, inconsequential victories.
It’s not the worst of what I’ve been dealt before, but it’s enough to be an inconvenience and enough to need tending.
The plan is to get in quietly, slip to the bathroom, and wash up before Mila even notices, since she’s surely already asleep by now.
The plan dies the moment I see her walking down the hall, barefoot with her golden hair loose around her shoulders. Her arms are crossed, and she’s wearing one of my shirts again. That notion alone stirs something in me, but the cuts sting, reminding me to focus.
She looks me over through her bleary gaze as I step further into the light, and her brows pinch with concern as she approaches. “Ivan?”
“I’m okay,” I tell her automatically, taking a deep breath while I shrug my suit jacket off with a wince before unbuttoning my shirt. It’s more of a humbling experience than I care for, but I know I can’t hide this in front of her now.
“You’re bleeding,” she points out, crossing the space far faster than I do. Her hands hover over my skin, unsure of where to start as I reveal more of my skin to her.
“I promise it looks worse than it is,” I murmur, though my flinch under her touch doesn’t lie. “Some of the blood isn’t mine, if that makes it any better.”
“It really doesn’t,” she returns, gaze slightly scolding.
Then, not accepting any more excuses from me, Mila guides me into the bathroom and steers me under the light above the sink, making me lean back against it. She helps pull my shirt off the rest of the way, and her gaze roams over me, cataloging every cut, scrape, and patch of dried blood.
As much as I want to protest initially, not wanting her to fuss over me, I let her, mostly because I want to see what she’lldo. I also know I’d likely do a piss-poor job of it myself in my current state.
“Supplies are in the cabinet,” I tell her, gesturing to the spot with a nod.
Her concern lingers even if I’m not exactly bleeding out, and without missing a beat, she heads to the cabinet and pulls out a few things, setting them down on the smooth countertop.
I may not always be the most organized person, but I always keep medical supplies stocked, at least. If it means not wasting my time getting patched up at the hospital and risking any questions being asked, then I’ll take it.
The worry etched into her features while she keeps her movements quick and efficient seems like a bit much given my stable condition, but it’s real. She doesn’t want to see me like this, and something about that makes my heart clench, like I should’ve known better than to do something that would affect her.
Before her, I never really had to consider who might have to live through the aftermath of my choices.
Quiet stretches on for a while as Mila does her thing, seemingly cataloging every cut before even getting started. Between her silence and the pinch of her brows, I know she’s trying to put the words together in her mind.
“This is what you went to do?” She eventually asks quietly, scanning my injuries again before focusing on the biggest cut across my bicep, where a rogue knife grazed me. Luckily, I was fast enough not to end up wearing it back home.
Taking a slow breath, wincing faintly at the burn of antiseptic against the wound, I nod. “I had to.”
