Page 59 of Till Death Saves Me

He hesitates for a split second, glancing at my half-stitched wound. I fix him with a glare that could melt steel. "Did I fucking stutter?"

Dmitry pales and shakes his head. "No, sir. Right away, sir." He bolts from the room, and I allow myself a small sigh of relief.

The minutes crawl by as the medic works. Each second feels like an eternity. I tap my foot impatiently, earning a reproachful look from the man stitching me up. I don't give a shit. Let him be annoyed.

My mind races with images of Virginia. Is she okay? Did the safe room hold? What if something went wrong? What if-

I cut off that line of thought. No. She's fine. She has to be.

As people filter into the warehouse, I jerk my head up, ignoring the medic's protests. But it's just another soldier, coming to get patched up. I slump back, frustration and worry gnawing at my gut.

Where the fuck is she?

I strain my ears, listening for the sound of her voice, her footsteps. Nothing. Just the ambient noise of the warehouse and the medic's steady breathing as he works.

My fingers dig into the edge of the exam table, knuckles white with tension. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to spring into action the moment I hear her.

"Almost done," the medic murmurs, but I barely hear him. My entire being is focused on the door, willing it to open, willing Virginia to walk through it.

The seconds tick by, each one an agony of anticipation. Where is she? What's taking so long?

Just as I'm about to lose it, to jump off this table and go find her myself, I hear it. Footsteps. Voices. And then, like a balm to my soul, her voice.

"Ivan? Ivan!"

The moment I hear her voice, my world rights itself. I struggle to sit up, ignoring the medic's protests and the sharp pain in my shoulder. My eyes lock onto the door, and then she's there.

Virginia bursts into the room, her eyes wild with worry. Her hair is disheveled, her clothes rumpled - clear signs of her frantic rush to get here. But to me, she's never looked more beautiful.

"Ivan!" she cries, her voice breaking on my name.

I reach for her with my good arm, and she's in my embrace before I can blink. The warmth of her body against mine, the softness of her skin, the familiar scent of vanilla - it all washes over me in a tidal wave of relief.

I bury my face in her hair, inhaling deeply. My fingers dig into her back, probably too hard, but I can't bring myself to loosen my grip. She's here. She's safe. She's in my arms.

"Virginia," I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. "Malyshka."

She pulls back slightly, her hands cupping my face. Her eyes search mine, filled with a mixture of relief and lingering fear. "You're hurt," she whispers, her gaze dropping to my bandaged shoulder.

I shake my head, dismissing her concern. "It's nothing. You're here. That's all that matters."

A tear slips down her cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb. The simple act of touching her, of feeling her warm skin beneath my fingers, sends a jolt through me. It's like I'm touching her for the first time all over again.

"I was so scared," she admits, her voice barely audible. "When you locked me in that room... I thought... I thought I might never see you again."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I pull her close again, pressing my lips to her forehead. "I'm sorry," I murmur against her skin. "I had to keep you safe. I couldn't... I can't lose you, Virginia."

She melts into me, her body molding to mine as if we were two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. I feel her tears dampening my shirt, but I don't care. All that matters is that she's here, she's safe, and she's in my arms.

We stay like that until the medic is done. They force me to drink some water, making sure I'm fine as I stand up. Lev spots me and gives me a nod, so I know I can leave. I pull Virginia with me through the chaos to where Dmitry is waiting with a car.

I settle into the backseat, wincing as the movement jostles my injured shoulder. Virginia slides in next to me, her eyes neverleaving my face. The moment the door closes, she's on me, her hands fluttering over my body like anxious butterflies.

"Are you sure you're okay? Does it hurt? Maybe we should go to the hospital instead," she frets, her fingers ghosting over my bandaged shoulder.

I catch her hand, stilling her movements. "I'm fine, Virginia. Stop fussing."

But even as I say the words, I feel a warmth blooming in my chest. Her concern, so open and unguarded, stirs something deep within me. I've spent so long believing that no one truly cared about me beyond my usefulness to the Bratva. To see Virginia so worried, so invested in my well-being... It's both foreign and intoxicating.

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