Page 74 of Wicked Arrangement

“Not really,” I lie, “But I remember there was a fire, and my back certainly feels like a burn.”

I don’t want to give too much away about how it happened, I’ve no idea what the doctor knows and the last thing I want to do is implicate myself or cause a police investigation if the situation’s already been handled.

The doctor nods as though this is normal. “You received quite severe burns to your back and arms, luckily these were second-degree, not third, so no skin grafts were needed. But due to the extensive nature of the wounds, there was significant fluid loss and an electrolyte imbalance that we’ve been treating. You also had a bullet wound on your left arm, close to the shoulder as well as a lower surface graze on the same arm from a bullet. The gunshot wound to your shoulder nicked the artery, so we were required to give you a transfusion, but luckily, we stopped the bleeding and repaired the tear. However, you’ll be left with some considerable scarring, I’m afraid.”

He eyes me, waiting for a reaction, but I don’t give him one. Scars are the least of my concerns. I try to sit up, wincing at the pain as I do so.

“I can get you something for the pain,” the doctor suggests, noticing my discomfort.

I don’t want to fall asleep or be impaired. I need to find out what’s going on. I need to get out of here and find Kim. Take back my empire. I can suffer through the pain. A little suffering is part of the job.

“No. Thank you,” I add, trying to be polite. “Is my uncle nearby? Is there a way you could contact him for me?”

I’m hoping Innokentiy can give me some answers.

“Yes, actually, he’s here. He’s just in the cafeteria, I’ll get someone to bring him to you once I’ve concluded my tests.”

I nod, relieved I will be getting answers sooner rather than later, and allow the doctor to continue his tests in silence, only responding when asked questions.

“Everything seems good, great actually, I anticipate that we can release you soon. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Volkov,” he says with a smile before rushing off to deal with the next patient.

Before long, Uncle Innokentiy arrives, striding in with his usual confident swagger. He’s aged since I saw him last, his belly rounder and jowls looser, but he still dresses like a much younger man and preens like a peacock. As usual, he’s wearing a three-piece suit, the waistcoat strains over his girth. His hands are adorned with several diamond-encrusted rings. In short, he looks exactly how you’d imagine a Russian Mafia member looks—which is the opposite of being discrete.

“Nephew! How glad I am to hear of your awakening, for a while we were worried you might not make it,” he says, in hisusual unaffected tone, like we could be discussing the weather, not my near-death.

“Uncle, you know it takes more than that to take out the Volkov Pakhan,” I reply, doing my best not to show how much pain I’m in.

Innokentiy despises signs of weakness. He was especially harsh about it when we were kids, and more so, once my parents died. Even when my father was alive, he would chastise him for being too soft, though he was anything but.

Innokentiy scrutinizes me for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “And now you have some battle scars to show as trophies of your survival,” he declares, despite having largely remained out of the line of fire all his life.

Innokentiy prefers to use his intellect, scheming, and making financial deals, rather than brawn. He was always the smaller, more physically weak of the two brothers. It’s what made him and my father a good team, it’s what makes him useful to me, too.

“But that’s enough catching up,” Innokentiy adds, as though we’ve done anything of the sort. “I know you must have questions. But we need to discuss business first.”

“The porcelain shipment is due in six days,” I reply, referring to the important trade deal with have with Thomas Gillihan, the head of the Gillihan Mob. I may be in a hospital bed, but business is business.

“Exactly,” Innokentiy replies. “With you rendered out of action, I felt it would be best for me to take over and assist in tracking matters, but your secretary Artem withheld vitalinformation from me,” he says, referring to my righthand man disparagingly. “So, I cannot be held responsible for any fuck ups he’s made.”

So, Artem is alive, that’s a relief. I also can’t help but feel proud of Artem. Following the attack, I don’t know who I can trust anymore. Even family. Before, I trusted my uncle implicitly. Marta and I had been estranged for years, but shortly before her death, we reconciled, and she mentioned some rather unsettling opinions about our dear uncle. Until I know for certain who I can trust, I’m keeping my cards close to my chest.

“Artem was just following my orders, Uncle. He knows how important this project is and that only a select few should have all the information, lest it causes us to become compromised. Your job is to handle the financial aspects. I trust that he has it all in hand and that, if there was a problem, you would have been the first person he went to,” I placate him.

Innokentiy sniffs dismissively but doesn’t press the matter further.

“Now, we must talk about the incident at the factory,” he says. “I’m sure you must be aware that your sister, Marta, did not survive the explosion,” he adds, before continuing, as though this isn’t upsetting news. “The issue now is your littlecyka.”

“Kim is not a bitch,” I reply, my temper flaring.

He looks amused. “You might change your mind about that once you hear what happened.”

“What?” I ask, now suddenly worried. At least, if he’s talking about her as a problem to be solved, that must mean she’s still alive.

“When Artem and his men arrived, they helped the injured and gathered the dead. Miss Kimberly Walsh was not among them. Nor were the surviving enemies,” he says pointedly.

My heart floods with dread, the one thing I had been counting on was that Kim got out safely. Perhaps she fled and is hiding somewhere, waiting for me to come find her? If she saw the explosion, she might even think I’m dead. I ache thinking of the pain she must be in.

“That doesn’t mean she left with the enemies. She could be hiding, she’d just been kidnapped and witnessed a massacre. She might not know I survived. Did you try to find her?” I ask, keen for more information about Kim.

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