Page 78 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
"I don't care. I'm watching."
The doctor wisely keeps his mouth shut and returns to his work. The bullet went clean through, which is good news. He cleans and bandages the wound with efficient movements, then gives me instructions for care and a prescription for antibiotics.
"No strenuous activity for at least a week," he says firmly. "And if you develop a fever or the wound shows signs of infection, call me immediately."
I nod, already planning to ignore most of that advice. A week of rest isn't an option when I'm running a criminal empire.
When the doctor finally leaves, Mariya tries to force me toward the bedroom. "You need to sleep. You lost a lot of blood."
"I need to decompress first." I catch her hand and pull her toward the library instead. "Come with me."
She wants to argue, I can see it in her eyes. But something in my expression must convince her because she follows without protest.
The library is quiet and dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. I sink into one of the leather chairs near the fireplace and pull Mariya down onto my lap, careful not to jostle my injured shoulder.
"Andrey—"
"Just sit with me," I murmur against her hair. "Please."
She relaxes against my chest, her head tucked under my chin. For several minutes, we just sit in comfortable silence. My hand traces lazy patterns on her back, and I feel the tension slowly drain from her body.
"Are you okay?" I ask. "Did they hurt you?"
"No." Her voice is soft, almost fragile. "They didn't have time. You got there before…"
She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. I can guess what Anatoly had planned for her. The thought makes rage burn hot in my chest, and I'm glad the bastard is dead. I only wish I could kill him again, slower this time.
"Tell me what happened," I say quietly. "From the beginning."
Mariya takes a shaky breath and starts talking. She explains how Anatoly had been planning this for weeks.
"He wanted to kill you and marry me." She grimaced. "The bastard said our bloodlines would make excellent babies."
The rage in my chest intensifies, burning hotter than the pain in my shoulder. "I'm glad he's dead."
"Me too." She shifts slightly, turning so she can look up at my face. "How did you find me? I didn't think anyone knew where I was."
The question brings back the memory of the phone call, and I frown slightly. "Someone called me and gave me the location of the warehouse."
"Who?"
"I don't know. The number was blocked." I run my hand through her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it between my fingers. "But whoever it was knew exactly where you were and wanted me to find you."
Mariya is quiet for a moment, processing this. "That doesn't make sense. Why would someone help us?"
"I don't know." But even as I say it, something nags at the back of my mind. Something about that phone call that I didn't notice at the time.
The voice.
I'd been so focused on the information, on getting to Mariya before it was too late, that I hadn't paid attention to who was speaking. But now, sitting here in the quiet library with her safe in my arms, the memory surfaces with crystal clarity.
The voice had been familiar. Older, rougher, but unmistakable.
My entire body goes rigid as the realization hits me.
"Andrey?" Mariya sits up, her gray eyes searching my face. "What's wrong?"
I stare at her, my mind racing through the implications. It doesn't make sense. It can't be right. But I know what I heard.
