Page 65 of Bratva's Mercy
What the actual fuck? I stared at the keypad and contemplated unlocking the door myself, but I didn’t want to force my way into his home anymore. I wanted to enter because I was invited, dammit.
“Leo, I swear she’s my friends’ girlfriend.”
Ah, fuck it.
Just when I was about to reach for the keypad, the dooropened. I breathed in a sigh of relief. “Why do you smell like your friends’ girlfriend?”
“I visited them before I came here, that’s all, and we talked for a bit. I’ve been pouring all my energy into pursuing you.” I didn’t bother to hide the hurt panic in my tone. “Trust me. There’s no one else I’m fucking with. You have to believe me.”
He stared at me as if weighing my words against my reaction. Finally, he nodded. “I believe you, but get this, Sergei. If you sleep with anyone else, it’s becauseIdecide to share you, so don’t get any ideas if you’re really serious about me.” He reached for the bags and took them out of my hand, including the wine. “Thanks for dinner, but I still don’t like the smell of her on you. I’d suggest a shower from head to toe, and don’t bother putting those in the laundry. Just burn it all. Have a good evening.”
For the second time that evening, he closed the door in my face. I just stood there, staring at the closed door as if I could still see him through it. His words replayed in my head, slower this time. More deliberate.
If you sleep with anyone else, it’s because I decide to share you.
A slow grin tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
He was jealous.
Leo Cavanagh—controlled, distant, impossible to read—had just all but staked a claim on me. The man who barely let anyone close enough to touch him had admitted, in his own twisted, careful way, that he didn’t like the idea of me being with anyone else. It was the most honest he’d been about what we were to each other since I started stalking—no, dating—him.
Did this count as dating? Eating dinner in my truck in his driveway and getting his door slammed in my face for bringing him dinner?
Yup… I could work with that.
At least he’d said thanks for dinner.
I exhaled, some of the tension leaving my shoulders, even if the disappointment still lingered beneath it that I wasn’t spending the evening with him. I pulled my shirt up to my nose and inhaled. There it was. Jess’s cucumber-rose-scented soap—body spray or whatever the hell it was.
I turned on my heel and headed back toward my truck, the evening air cooler than I’d anticipated. For now, I’d take the little crumbs Leo offered me in his version of what was happening between us.
Because Leo wasn’t running, and if Leo wasn’t running, I was winning. The grin stayed on my face the entire drive to the club.
20
LEO
The last few days of my return to the hospital felt like fresh hell, but I knew the feeling wouldn’t last. Every holiday was the same, my body fighting to get back into the rhythm of things. During time off, I did the bare minimum required to survive, letting the hours blur together until even getting up felt optional. Dragging myself out of that lethargy always took a few days, a few too many cups of coffee, and a stubborn refusal to fall behind.
It didn’t help that Emma’s death had left a gray cloud hanging over the hospital. Work hadn’t slowed. If anything, it had doubled. This time of year always stretched staff thin, and now there was an absence no one quite knew how to fill. People still moved through their shifts, still chatted, still joked in low voices at the nurses’ station, but it all felt muted.
Emma had been well-liked. One of the other nurses—her best friend, Celeste—hadn’t come back at all. Just resigned without warning. I understood that more than I wanted to.
I caught glimpses of how her absence affected the staffeverywhere. The way people hesitated outside certain rooms. The way her name would almost come up in conversation, then die on someone’s tongue. The last time the hospital felt like this was when Dr. Palmer got struck by lightning on a golf course and died on the spot. Sudden and senseless.
Somewhere between patients, I’d gotten the email on the first day back. It was a reminder about protocol and expectations regarding my abrupt departure before my leave. Nothing accusatory, nothing personal, but the message was clear enough. The reprimand sat in my inbox, and I didn’t respond to it until the third day. After all, in all my years working at the hospital, I’d never been written up.
Usually, having a stain on my pristine record would have annoyed me, but I brushed the email aside and took care of my patients as best as my years of experience had taught me. Or maybe it was the thought of Sergei that lingered in my mind like a stubborn cold sore that made everything else feel trivial.
Because that day he’d brought me my favorite Italian meal and I’d sent him away remained on my mind. The way I’d reacted to smelling the feminine scent on him was out of character for me. I’d been right on the verge of inviting him inside. Of bringing him upstairs and making love to him in the guest room. Earlier, I’d aired out the room, made the bed with fresh linens, dusted and everything. I’d figured maybe I wouldn’t feel too guilty about having sex with him if it wasn’t in a bed I’d shared with Brad.
Then I’d smelled him, and the floral cucumber scent turned my stomach. It was too sweet. Toonothim. My visceral reaction to the moment—slamming the door in his face—still shook me up. I needed to be careful around Sergei before I ended up doing something as stupid as falling so far into those green eyes that I couldn’t get back up.
I couldn’t forget why I was doing this, so I’d decided Iwould sleep with him before he lost interest and I lost the chance to snoop. But we hadn’t found the time. Between my shifts at the hospital and his at the nightclub, we barely saw each other. A few scattered messages throughout the day. Short calls that never lasted as long as they should, and I found myself wondering if I’d pushed too hard about us doing it at his place, so I would have the opportunity to go through his stuff.
Maybe he’d found someone else. There wasn’t anything special about me, after all.
I hated my reaction at the thought, the anger that consumed me from inside.
