Page 112 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
My blood.
Something in my chest tightens that has nothing to do with the bullet wound.
She stayed.
I don’t know why that surprises me. We’re married. She’s supposed to stay. Except nothing about our marriage has ever followed conventional rules, and Janice has made it clear more than once that obligation doesn’t dictate her choices.
She chose to stay anyway.
I reach for her with the hand that doesn’t pull stitches, fingers brushing her hair. She startles awake immediately, eyes wild with panic before focusing on my face.
“Dimitri.” My name breaks on something that might be a sob. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Should I get the doctor? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You were shot!”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not reassuring!” Her hand finds mine, gripping hard enough to hurt. Not that I’d tell her. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Tears spill over, tracking through dried blood and ruined makeup. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Don’t apologize. Just don’t do it again.” She swipes at her face with her free hand, smearing the mess further. “I thought you were going to die in that car. There was so much blood, and you kept trying to stay conscious, and I couldn’t stop it!”
“Janice.” I pull her closer despite the protest from my ribs. “I’m here. I’m alive. You can stop now.”
She collapses against me carefully, mindful of the wound, her whole body shaking. I hold her as well as I can with one functional arm, feeling her tears soak through the thin hospital gown someone dressed me in.
We stay like that until her breathing evens out, until the trembling stops.
“How long was I out?” I ask finally.
“Six hours.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. “The doctor said the surgery went well. Bullet didn’t hit anything vital. You just lost a lot of blood.”
“What happened to the shooters?”
“Felix is handling it.” She pulls back enough to look at me, and I see the fear still lingering in her eyes. “He said it was Zullo men. Three of them. They’re all dead now.”
Good. One less problem to worry about.
“You should rest,” she says. “The doctor left instructions about rest and meds.”
“I need to tell you something first.”
“It can wait until you’re stronger.”
“No. It can’t.” I shift, trying to sit up more. Pain lances through my side, sharp enough to make my vision gray at the edges.
Janice makes a distressed sound, helping me adjust pillows. “Stop moving!”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“You knew that when you married me.”
