Page 28 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“Anya, Boris has been stabbed.”

“Holy shit,” she says, her entire demeanor shifting. “Stay where you are. Do not call the police, I’ll get my brothers. Are you at Noch?”

“Yes,” I say, a tear sliding down my cheek. I wonder if Boris always comes here or if he told them that he would be bringing me here today.

Anya stays on the phone with me while she runs through the house, rousing her brothers and sending them our way. Anton is the first to arrive, as he was already out in town, and he grabs a first aid kit from the wall before rushing to Boris’s side.

“We’re gonna take the knife out,” he says, looking at me while he rips a piece of tape with his teeth. “I need you to hold him still if he wakes up.”

I nod and place my hands on Boris’s chest. I'm not sure I’m going to be able to hold him still, but I'm preparing myself anyway. A moment later, Viktor, Roman, and Anya hurry in, all looking like they are either asleep or in bed.

Kneeling in my sparkling dress—which is now covered in blood—I feel ridiculous. Roman drops to his knees and puts his hands on Boris’s chest as well, while Viktor helps Anton pull out the knife and clean the wound before packing it with gauze.

“Anya,” Anton says, “call the family clinic and tell them we’re going to need scans done,” then, to me, he says, “he could have a perforated bowel, but we’re just going to pack this wound to stop the bleeding, then get him to the clinic. We can make sure there’s no major internal bleeding and check his organs once we get there.” He takes a deep breath, looking up at each of his siblings. “Looks like it missed all major arteries, so we’re good.”

Viktor and Roman lift Boris, and as we all move together, carrying him out to the SUV, I turn to Anton.

“I thought you studied business?” I ask, breathless, wondering if medical training is just part of the life of a Bratva member.

“Minored in business,” he says, grinning, as he wipes his hands on some napkins Anya found for him. “But medicine is my real passion—” he sticks out his bloodied hand. “Anton Milov, MD.”

“You’re insane,” I say, shaking my head and not taking his hand. Instead, I climb into the back of the SUV, where they’ve laid Boris down across the seats. I place his head in my lap and try to breathe—we’re getting help. He’s going to be okay.

The family clinic turns out to be a small, free-to-the-public clinic that the Milovs operate on the other side of town. Besides being a free clinic where people can get flu shots and antibiotics, it also functions as the Milov family emergency room.

A man and a woman meet us outside with a stretcher, and Roman and Viktor help slide Boris onto it before they quickly get him inside. Anton goes to wash his hands, and Anya sits with me in the waiting room.

The clinic is eerily quiet in the dark, reminding me of a horror movie. I jiggle my leg and twist my hands together, waiting to hear about Boris.

It reminds me too much of the day my dad died—how I’d found him. He had a heart attack from a lifetime of eating crap and taking steroids from randoms at the gym, but he was still alive. By the time I got him to the hospital, he was barely breathing, his eyes bugging out, tears tracking down his cheeks.

Brave in the face of everything except death.

“Hey,” Anya says, making me jump. She reaches over and puts her hand on mine. “It’s going to be okay. Boris is the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“That knife was meant for me,” I say, the words coming out in a hurried breath. “But he stepped in the way.”

“That sounds like him,” Anya says. “No offense, but it’s a good thing he did. That knife would have killed you. Since he’s a big guy, he’s probably just got a muscle wound.”

“We’ll see,” I say, bringing my hand to my mouth and tearing at a hang nail. “That—Anya, the guy who stabbed him? I recognized him. He’s one of Allard’s men, I think. Maybe a bodyguard for Olive.”

Anya’s eyes widen, and she leans back, swallowing and glancing at the door. She presses her lips together.

“My brothers don’t like me to be involved in the Family’s business,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But if you say your friend wouldn’t know, I trust you. I have some friends I would genuinely trust with my life. When you know, you know.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, grabbing her hands with mine. “Will you wait to tell your brothers? I don’t think Boris would want them running out, guns blazing, until we have a plan.”

Barely knowing the guy, I’m not really sure what Boris would want, but I don’t want them running out, looking to kill. Because that might mean Olive would get caught in the crossfire. And she doesn’t deserve that.

Holding hands as we sit in the waiting room, I can’t stop thinking about Boris’s question: Is there really not a single cell inside of you that could believe she’s involved?

For the first time since coming here, I realize my answer has changed because I don’t know if Allard ordered that hit without her knowing or if my best friend might want me dead.

***

I’m sitting by Boris’s bedside the first time he comes to, his eyes opening slowly, then scanning around the room. I hear the sheets rustle and look away from my book.

“Fiona?” he asks, his voice rough, and it sends a shock through me. He hasn’t seen me yet and is already asking for me. Of course, he could just be checking to make sure I’m not dead, but there’s still something soothing about the fact that I’m the first person he asked for.

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