Page 49 of Stolen By the Bratva

“Stabbed me,” he muttered after hissing at my touch.

I nodded, checking him over quickly for any other deep injuries. I saw none that bled as much as the gash on his side, and I brought his hand toward the folded-up bunch of fabric.

“The priest.” He tipped his chin toward the man, grinding his teeth as he slumped into the chair. “He was stabbed too.”

I nodded, not wasting another second to hurry to the religious authority. He prayed yet, mumbling for forgiveness, and I was so edgy, so overwhelmed by the action, that I almost laughed. Forgiveness? From whom? Or for whom?

He didn’t protest as I slipped his colorful stole free from his shoulders. I didn’t know what it was called, but the long length of multicolored blue and black ceremonial material was an ideal compress for the knife slashes on his torso and up near his neck.

I supposed he was right to pray to his god. If Andrey had aimed his blade just a fraction higher, the priest wouldn’t have lasted this far.

Satisfied that they all seemed stable, I scrambled back to Alek. As I rejoined him, I glanced again at Andrey.

I killed him.

I actually killed someone! Shock kept my observations detached, as though I wasn’t myself but another bystander looking in. I couldn’t make sense of the gravity of what I’d done.

“Mila…” Alek groaned as he tried to sit again, but I kept him down and ripped off more lacy material to stem his bleeding.

I couldn’t have left them unattended. I was no nurse, but it was in my nature to help them. Just like I did for Rosamund and others in my bratva. If I had the power to show another person pity and compassion, I wouldn’t hesitate.

But a careful glance around the room showed me that they would make it. All three of them. Maxim, the priest, and Alek. They’d live, and with that simple goal ensured, it was the perfect time to look out for myself.

I can run. I could get up and sprint out of here. I’d done my good deed. I’d assisted them with their wounds. None of them were in any condition to chase me down, and I knew without a shadow of hesitation that this would be my chance. This was the window of opportunity I needed to be free to run and get away at last.

But I didn’t. I remained lodged right here as I glanced again at Andrey.

I’d just taken out the heir of the Valkov Family. I’d done so for the sake of saving Alek, but that detail didn’t change the fact that I’d pulled the trigger and ended Pavel Valkov’s son.

My intended husband—my former fiancé.

Alek had taken that role, and as he grabbed my hand, I squeezed his fingers back.

I’m a dead woman walking now.

I couldn’t run. I had nowhere to go. Not a single place on earth would keep me safe from the reality that I’d killed Andrey Valkov.

I swallowed hard and lowered my gaze to Alek.

I don’t want to run. With a deep, long look from him, I understood that he was asking me the silent question.

Would I stay? Or would I go?

I knew the choice I had to make. Nothing was strong enough to make me bolt and leave him like this now. I was already in too deep to do anything other than to want him, to care for him. I couldn’t figure out when or how it had happened, but sometime between his visit to the S.T.L. headquarters offices and the moment I killed to protect him, I’d fallen into a trap of wanting to keep him in my life.

I shook my head, holding his hand. I wasn’t going anywhere, and there was only one way to prove it.

After I strained to clear my throat, I lifted my face and addressed the priest.

“Can you still marry us?”

21

ALEK

The priest didn’t answer, fumbling with sounds and stuttering like he didn’t know how to reply.

She tried again, asking louder as she remained near me on the floor. “Can you still marry us? Can you stand?”

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