Page 29 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“Hey,” I say, coming around the side of the bed and setting my book on the side table. I take his hand, watching as he blinks through the painkiller.

“Fiona,” he breathes, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “I thought—”

“I didn’t get the motherfucker,” I say, my voice quiet. “I had to choose between helping you or killing him. And I made my choice.”

“You think I care about that?” he laughs, swallowing hard, and I reach the table, grabbing the glass of water I’ve been keeping fresh in case he needs it. “I’m—I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Well, you’re the one who actually got stabbed, so—”

“Oh, right,” he says, shifting and wincing in pain. “What’s the damage?”

“The doctor at the clinic said you got lucky—the knife missed major arteries and organs. It’s a muscle wound, but it’s going to take at least two weeks to heal. And it’s going to be painful for a long time. There may be lasting nerve damage, and you should probably do physical therapy.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that it was barely a scratch?”

I roll my eyes, letting out a breath.

“I’d better let your siblings know that you’re awake,” I mutter, “or they’ll kill me.”

Boris’s eyes darken, and I laugh when I realize that at least one of them—Viktor—has actually tried to kill me. When I text them all from Boris’s phone, Anya and Anton take less than five minutes to arrive. Anton spends ten minutes telling Boris the more technical details of his injury—like which muscles were injured and how he can best heal them. Anya piles several stuffed animals onto Boris’s lap and sets a vase of flowers on the mantle.

“I don’t need all this stuff,” Boris snaps, pushing aside a stuffed pig so he can meet Anya’s eyes.

“According to the internet,” Anya says, “a pleasant environment is essential to fast healing.”

“You call this a pleasant environment?”

At that moment, Viktor walks in, his eyes locked on Boris.

“Hey, asshole,” he says, “good thing you’re alive, or we’d be stuck with Roman as our head.”

“Fuck you,” Roman says, walking in a moment later and punching Viktor in the arm. The two of them glare at each other for a moment until Anya hands them each a stuffed animal.

“What the fuck?” Viktor asks, his eyes darting to hers. She walks across the room, giving me a stuffed Pegasus.

“Where are they even coming from?” Boris mutters, looking around the room.

“I don’t know,” I say, looking at mine, then switching it for the stuffed pig near Boris’s face, “but they’re adorable.”

“It creates a pleasant environment,” Anya says, turning to Anton, “where’s the chicken soup? You were supposed to be making chicken soup for him when he woke up!”

Anton hurries out of the room with Anya on his heels, and then Roman gets a phone call and steps out. Just after Roman closes the door, a loud snore rips through the room, making me jump. Boris falls back asleep the second the commotion dies down.

I gaze at him for a moment, wanting to reach out and touch his face, but Viktor is still here, and he’s glaring at me. My brain itches to tell Boris about the attacker and how I recognized him, but I also know he needs all the sleep he can get if he’s going to heal quickly.

When I look up, Viktor motions for me to follow him to the hallway. I give Boris one last look, tuck the stuffed pig into bed with him, and follow Viktor out.

“So,” he says, spinning on his heel the second he has me in the hallway. His gaze is dark, his eyes pinning me to the spot. For the first time since arriving here, I actually feel a little fear looking at him. “Am I supposed to believe that Allard’s guy stabbing my brother was a coincidence?”

“What?” I breathe, eyes darting between him and the door to Boris’s bedroom. “Did Anya—”

“You really think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Viktor laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. It’s cold and calculating as he takes a step toward me, boxing me in against the wall. My instincts kick in, telling me to knee him, head butt him, get away from him as quickly as I can, but another part of me feels trapped under his stare. He sneers at me as he continues.

“I checked the cameras the second Boris was stabilized,” he says, his eyes running over my face like he’s just waiting to catch me in a lie. “And I saw the guy—the cameras in the club are pretty good if you can believe it. With facial recognition, it wasn’t hard to trace him back to fucking Olive Allard. So, you’d better tell me, right now, what the fuck is going on.”

“What’s going on is that I was attacked, and your brother saved my life.”

“Yeah, right,” Viktor says, rolling his eyes. “Pretty convenient that Allard’s guy got him and not you. Too bad he couldn’t go for the kill shot, huh?”

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