Alexei stopped in the doorway and took a long look at his son’s head on the floor, a mixture of pain and rage crossing his face. The man looked like he’d aged twenty years in a single day.
He didn’t say a word as he moved to sit on the couch across from Kristian. Alexei had always voiced his disappointment in his sons. I’d even seen him shoot Dimitri in the thigh once for fucking up. I expected revenge on the simple principle. I did not expect the man to put his face in his hands and . . .
Alexei Mikhailov was crying.
It was awkward as fuck.
I met my brother’s gaze and nodded to Dimitri’s head, telling him to do something with it—like nudge it behind the couch. He didn’t. He gave me a dry look and sipped his vodka.
While Alexei was having his moment, Ivan leaned against the wall and stared daggers at me.
“Long time no see,” I drawled easily in Russian, then frowned in thought. “Although there was that one day you visited my home and left naked to crawl back to your owner . . .” My eyes narrowed. “And we can’t forget that other time where you almost killed Mila with your failed attempt to off me. But other than that, I’d say it’s been a while.”
His gaze hardened. “If you didn’t kidnap Mila, she would have never been in that position.”
Frustratingly true. “Maybe not. But we all know the position you want her in. Too bad you’d rather fuck Alexei than his daughter. Not that you would have had a shot with her anyway.”
I was sure I’d get a reaction from Alexei then, but the man was still immersed in awkward grieving.
Ivan shot a cautious look at Alexei before saying, “I could have had multiple shots. I just wasn’t interested.”
I laughed. He couldn’t have her, so now he wasn’t interested. “You know, you remind me of a two-faced bitch. I’m beginning to wonder if you even have a dick.”
“Because I chose Alexei’s side? You call me a bitch, but you’re holding a grudge like one.”
Unperturbed by the insult, my mind flickered to the past. “I always knew something was off about you—the awkward loner who sat next to the trash cans in prison. Charged with murdering your grandma. I mean, your fucking grandma. The news painted her as this sweet old lady, but you convinced everyone of how evil she was . . .” I leaned back in my chair. “She really was a sweet old lady, wasn’t she?”
Murderous heat flared in his eyes.
“What’d she do? Forget to cut the crusts off your peanut butter sandwich?”
“Go to hell, D’yavol.”
Kristian and Alexei were now silently watching us, but I continued because I had shit to say.
“When I took you under my wing, you liked whatever I liked. I could say I liked a cucumber shoved up my ass, and you would say you liked it too. It was fucking annoying, but you were loyal to a fault. Only you weren’t, were you?”
Red washed up Ivan’s neck. “I don’t regret fucking you over. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“I know. Because you’re a fucking snake that can reveal your true psychotic self under Alexei. He loves his men unhinged. I should know. I worked for him too.” I did multiple things on that man’s orders that I couldn’t even stomach thinking about today.
My eyes slid to Alexei to see his on mine. I wondered if he was mentally killing me, or if he was reminiscing on the past as well. Or maybe he was thinking about Mila and how I was indefinitely submersed in her life now—whether she liked it or not.
Kristian was content with his tumbler of vodka, though I could tell he was ready for things to turn south quick.
Ivan let out a bitter breath of amusement. “You call me a snake. Yet you’re the one who kidnapped a fucking innocent woman.” His eyes narrowed. “There’s no chance she’ll stay with you,” he snarled. “She isn’t that stupid.”
“So aggressive over a woman you supposably don’t even want,” I drawled. “Let me guess . . . Alexei promised you Mila when I first took her. And then he changed his mind, thinking Carter would be better after all. And you went along with it because you’re content kissing his ass.”
The shady flash in Ivan’s eyes confirmed it.
“I’m sure he gave you a consolation prize though—a trafficked girl to tide you over. Did you cut her up like you did your granny?”
Ivan lunged for me but halted when Kristian pulled out his gun and aimed it at his head, tumbler still in hand.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Alexei got to his feet. Besides in the hospital, this was the first time I’d ever viewed him so passive and defeated. At this point, revenge was a non-issue. The man was slowly killing himself.
He met my gaze with venom. “You’ve murdered my son.”
I raised a brow. “You almost killed him when he strangled one of your expensive girls to death.” I shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “So I didn’t really think it would be an issue.”
His eyes flashed. “You have my daughter in your hands now, so I have no choice but to end this now. I can’t afford to lose her on top of Dimitri with more war.”
I didn’t exactly have his daughter . . . though he must assume she’d chosen my side by taking that bullet for me. The thought brought me back to the second I noticed what she’d done, and my chest tightened. If she would have died and taken all her sunshine with her . . . fuck. The idea made me sick and made me see red at the same time.
“It’s a good excuse, Alexei, but we both know you’ve lost your touch. If Moscow wasn’t mine, it would have been another’s by now.”
His jaw tightened as he held in a retort, and then he turned to the door. “Come, Ivan.”
As Ivan picked up the severed head and followed his owner like a lapdog, I said with feigned concern, “And I might reconsider your hiring process.”
“Go to hell, D’yavol,” Alexei snapped.
“Can you guys mix it up a little?” I returned with annoyance. “Your insults are tired.”
After they both left, Kristian drawled, “Well, that was unexpected.”
Agreed. Not a single person died.
I stood up and rounded the desk.
“Where are you going?” Kristian asked.
“To rehearse,” I announced and walked out.
I realized Mila might need some space. I didn’t like the idea—in fact, every cell demanded I drag her back to my bed where she belonged just to know she was mine. But I had to work with kidnapping the girl, threatening to kill her papa, and a slew of other serious offenses.
I could be patient when I really wanted something. But I didn’t want her; I needed her.
If this was what they called “love,” then I’d own it.
I never did anything half-ass.
MILA
I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of Ronan. He might not be in the hospital room with me physically, but his presence was everywhere.
After the doctors examined me, I often thought they rushed out of the room, phones to their ears, to update him on my condition. Only D’yavol would receive that sort of hasty, nervous response.
The first conscious day in the hospital, a boy delivered a mini fridge full of vegan meals, a bag of dog food, and a note.
Eat.
—Ronan
I would have rolled my eyes at the demand a couple of weeks ago, but this time, it brought a smile to my lips and a throb to my heart.
Ronan had pulled some strings threatened someone to allow Khaos to stay with me, and I knew it because a dog’s portrait in the universal red no-entry sign decorated the wall outside my room. The gesture filled me with relief, because I didn’t think I could handle being alone with my thoughts right now. Khaos was the only thing holding me together.
Most of the staff steered far away from the surly tempered German shepherd, but a no-nonsense older nurse pushing into her sixties took the initiative to take him outside for bathroom breaks, even chiding him when he growled at her, which confused him enough to go along with it.
The second day, the boy delivered a new laptop loaded with every season of Forensic Files and another note.
If you want to know how to kill someone and get away with it, you only need to ask.
—Ronan
The third day, the boy delivered Pacifica shampoo and body wash, and, of course, a note.
Stop arguing with the nurses.
—Ronan
This time, I did roll my eyes. Not only was Ronan being informed by my doctors, it seemed my nurses were tattling on me to him too. I’d refused to bathe after having one of the staff read me the ingredients on the back of their shampoo. The bottle was practically stuffed with a tiny murdered animal. When I finally washed my hair with Pacifica, my heart trembled little beats of longing.
The fourth day, the boy delivered two suitcases filled with clothes. Dresses, sweaters, underwear, shoes—it was practically an entire new wardrobe.
There are three pairs of pants under all that yellow.
Wear them.
—Ronan
He wished.
Though I was more than relieved to get out of my hospital gown. My wound had healed enough I could wear loose-fitting clothes without worry of chafing. The doctors—and when I said “doctors,” I meant ten of them—were pleased with my condition enough they told me I could be discharged in a couple days. As much as I wanted out of the hospital, nerves turned my stomach about what I would do when I left.