Page 61 of Marko

Melissa was not only over the moon with the plans but especially happy to have ready-made tenants too. I was really pleased for her because although we were now officially living together, and I was more than happy to take care of her, I knew she needed to retain her independence.

This apartment building would give her one source of income, and the photography business she was setting up would provide another.

My Little Miss Pouty Lips had decided not to use the money Mathieson had left her. Instead, she had given it to me to keep in trust. When we discovered the families of those people murdered in the MP’s hunts, we were going to ensure that they each received sizeable sums. Of course, we couldn’t just hand it to them directly. However, they would suddenly find themselves beneficiaries of wills from previously unknown relatives, or lottery and other prize winners.

Watching her gushing with enthusiasm over the design of the pool, I couldn’t help but smile. Her excitement lit up her face and my heart clenched. Melissa was stunning and I couldn’t have been more proud of how much she had dealt with and everything she had achieved in just a few months since losing her dad.

Melissa signed her name on the papers with a flourish. “Yey!” she squealed, clapping her hands excitedly when she’d done so.

The plans were finished with only minor changes being made to the size of the gym and training spaces, and the addition of a large carport at the back of the house where Anton could keep extra security vehicles.

Seeing the plans for the new building had cured Melissa’s upset, especially as Lee had made it a priority to retain as much of the original garden and the rosebush planted in memory of her mum, and she was practically buzzing with excitement as we said goodbye to him.

As we left the site, Anton and I chatted about one of his current jobs where he had men acting as bodyguards to an Instagram influencer. I was so busy laughing at some of the antics he told me his men had endured while working for the woman that I didn’t take proper notice of my surroundings, a mistake I regretted later.

Melissa was walking just slightly behind us as we left the grounds because the pavement was not wide enough for all three of us to walk side by side, but it was not far enough behind for me to be worried. Another mistake I would regret later!

A jogger came towards us. His outfit and demeanour were that of a young nondescript man, out for a morning jog, listening to his music. There were no red flags, so I didn’t feel any danger until it was too late. As the jogger passed, he didn’t even look in our direction. He simply veered onto the road for a few steps until he passed us, then swerved back onto the pavement immediately after. That’s when my hackles rose, and I knew something was wrong.

Anton must have felt it too as we both turned quickly, just in time to see him collide with Melissa and hear an “Oof!” from her before she doubled over. She reached for her side and pulled her hand away, and there was blood.

My world stopped for a heartbeat as my own blood drained from my face. I rushed to her, lifting her up and shouting for Trigger, who was waiting by the car. Anton took off after the jogger, who was now sprinting away. Trigger and I got Melissa into the car; she seemed dazed, and I feared she might go into shock.

Trigger sped towards the Estate, weaving through the late morning traffic, and throwing frantic glances at us through the rear-view mirror.

My mind raced with worry and fury—furious with myself for letting her get hurt and enraged at the bastard who’d done this. I was ready to kill him. Anton had better catch the fucker; he couldn’t get away. Shaking with nerves and rage, I tore off my shirt, sat Melissa on my lap, and pressed the shirt against her wound while dialling Miki.

After filling Miki in and getting his promise that our doctor would be waiting for us, I finally took the time to examine Melissa’s side properly.

“I need to have a look,” I said, easing her hand away and lifting her T-shirt up. She cried out when I moved her, and my heart clenched. I hated that she was in pain.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it hurts, but you’re going to be fine.”

Thankfully, the stab wound didn’t look as bad as it had first seemed. I took a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. I sniffed hard, the gravity of it hitting me—she could have been killed. Instead, she’d probably need a few stitches and be sore for a while, but she would heal. Thank god.

“The doctor will be waiting when we get home, and he’ll fix you up,” I told her, trying to keep my voice even so she couldn’t tell how close I was to losing my shit.

Taking another deep breath, I reminded myself that it was just a shallow wound which would only have caused minimal damage. But that did nothing to assuage my anger.

That someone dared to attack my woman made my blood boil. This had to be the MP’s doing, and I made a mental note to ensure that when the time came, he suffered in jail before he was finally killed.

The jogger who stabbed her wouldn’t escape my wrath either. I hoped Anton would catch the bastard, but if not, I’d track him down myself. When I was done, he wouldn’t be attacking any more women.

Hugging her close, I kissed Melissa’s forehead, noticing that her eyes were heavy and her skin pale. I feared she was going into shock. Seeing the Estate come into view was a relief. As we drove along the long driveway, Anton called with bad news—he hadn’t caught the jogger. My frustration at his escape boiled beneath the surface; knowing that bastard was still out there, free and untouched, stoked my anger even more, but I bit down hard on my fury, pushing it aside to focus on my woman.

I carried a barely conscious Melissa into the house and straight to our small makeshift hospital room, where Doctor Rawlins was waiting.

“Get her up onto the bed,” he told me, and I quickly followed his instructions.

Doctor Rawlins had been our family doctor since we moved from Russia. Though British, he had once been threatened by a rogue group of Albanians who kidnapped his daughter to coerce him into providing drugs through his practice. My dad handled the situation and returned the girl unharmed. In gratitude, the doctor had helped us ever since with discreet medical issues. Dad always compensated him well, and they grew to be good friends. We trusted him with our lives.

The doctor handled Melissa gently, his hands steady as he cut off her T-shirt and cleaned her wound. After assessing the injury, he looked at me with a reassuring nod.

“It’s not as serious as it might have been,” he told her, his voice calm.

Melissa’s eyes fluttered open. Lifting her bag, the doctor showed us a hole in the leather.

“It looks like the knife penetrated your bag first, which reduced the force of the attack and kept the injury from being deeper. You’re quite lucky. The wound is shallow—just a few stitches will do,” he told her.

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