Page 40 of Tangled Vows

I roll out of bed to the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. A glance out the window provides a clue. A black van is parked in front of a red one, a dust cloud forming over them.

Loud, roaring voices fill the air, talking over one another. I hear the front door flying open and banging into the wall behind it. I hurry to my bedroom door, buckets of cold sweat washing over me. I reach the railing only to find Leonid, Dmitri and Dr. Yuschenko in the living room. When Dmitri steps aside, I’m able to see the reason behind the yelling.

Ivan is lying on a stretcher. His eyes are shut, his entire torso exposed. He’s perfectly still, a small patch of black just below his shoulder.

“Oh my God!” I squeal, hurtling off. I run down the stairs. “What the hell happened?”

“Ivan was shot,” Leonid informs me, his weak voice showcasing his sadness.

“For the last time, you two,” Dr. Yuschenko groans, “get out and let me do my job. Ms. Jensen, the same goes for you.”

“Come on,” I urge, gesturing Leonid and Dmitri away from Ivan. “He’s right. We’re not helping here.”

Leonid snorts in frustration and walks out the open door. I throw one last glance down at Ivan, biting my lower lip. Desperation rises within me. The mighty Bratva captain has fallen. I’m anxious to know more, but at the same time, I’m eager to satisfy the doctor’s request. Of all the people around Ivan, he’s the only one who can help him. So, I close the door behind me and join Leonid and Dmitri outside. Both are silent. Dmitri is heading away; Leonid uses a tissue to wipe some sweat from his brow.

“Talk to me,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

“It all went horribly wrong, right from the start,” Leonid mutters, gazing into the void. “The bastard that tried to blow us up? We found him. We ambushed him in a parking lot. But we underestimated him—Ivan and I agreed to keep our men out of this, because we wanted to go it alone. That guy had two of his buddies with him. At the last second, they made us. We were pinned down. If they hadn’t left, we’d probably be dead now.”

“Dear God,” I sigh, running both of my hands through my hair. “Why didn’t you have any backup? I mean, what guarantees did you have he’d be alone?”

“None,” he answers, returning his attention to me.

I take a few seconds to consider a comeback. His glistening eyes say what his mouth can’t—or won’t. Two tears roll down his face.

My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest. I can’t believe this... My tough Leonid is actually crying.

Tears rising in my own eyes, I can’t hold them back. I put my fingers over my mouth, feeling moisture on my cheeks.

“Damn it,” I whisper, staring up at him. “I can’t take this. First it was you. Now Ivan, too?”

“That’s part of the deal, Clare,” he explains, his voice rising in volume and nerve. “It comes with the territory.”

“Screw the territory!” I yell, taking a step closer to him. “You and Ivan are supposed to look out for each other! How could you let this happen?”

“It did,” he continues, his voice slower than usual. “There’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“You...” I pause halfway through my sentence and grab him by the lapels of his jacket with firm hands. Still, once we’ve made eye contact, I feel my strength leaving my body. Tremors start at my shoulders and shoot all the way down to my fingertips. I duck my head, more tears spilling out of my eyes as I bump into his chest.

Leonid wraps his arms around my waist, keeping his mouth shut.

Emotion runs rampant through my system. The image of Ivan lying on that stretcher dominates my thoughts. I’m shaking in Leonid’s embrace. My brain is being pulled in a hundred different directions. Questions form and disappear in moments, all of them destroyed by a single desire: to stay right where I am; to not move a muscle.

Leonid’s arms are my refuge. My shelter for dark times like this. I’m not going anywhere. I just want to be sheltered by him for the time being. To hide from awful events like his brother’s shooting.

Ivan

A rhythmic beep.

A green screen is to my left, depicting a spiking line.

A feeling of tightness over my shoulder makes me wince, my eyes settling on a man at the foot of the bed.

Leonid.

Leaning against the railing, I can barely recognize him. The entire left sleeve is missing from his shirt. The rest of it is creased, his tie missing. I can make out droplets of sweat across his cheeks and forehead. Dark circles under his eyes betray his sleeplessness. This isn’t the Leonid I know. The clean-cut, well-groomed man is gone. He looks like someone who’s been through a car crash.

“Hi,” I whisper. A burning sensation spreads high up my chest, making me grit my teeth.

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