Page 192 of Dance of Madness

“Rurik,” Marko grunts. “Are we dead yet?”

Rurik chokes out a raspy, wet laugh. “Not yet, boss.”

Marko winces, grimacing as he turns to Kir.

“Well,” he groans. “This is a surprise.”

“What…” Milena’s brow furrows as she stares incredulously at Kir. “Whatare you doing here?”

Kir sighs, glancing at me. I shrug. He nods, then turns his gaze back to Milena.

“I seem to have a terrible habit of not wanting to see my nephew killed.”

40

MILENA

Rurik grunts,helping me lower Nero onto the couch in the living room as Vasilisa frets and Angelina starts sorting through the first aid kit.

I glance at Rurik, my heart pounding as my face caves a little. There's holes in his suit, leaking blood. Yet somehow, he’s helped me carry Nero up here.

He grimaces as he rips his dress shirt open, revealing the flak vest underneath it.

“Doesn’t work as well as it’s supposed to when the bullets come from five fucking feet away,” he grunts.

He shrugs off his jacket and shirt, undoing the velcro on the vest and tossing it aside to reveal twohorriblewelts where the bullets hit. One actually wentthroughthe vest that slowed it down. Rurik makes a face as he grabs the back end of the slug between his thumb and forefinger and yanks it out of his pectoral muscle with a grunted curse.

“I'm fine, Milena,” he smiles before glancing down at Nero. “Take care of your lunatic here.”

He smirks at Nero, then puts a hand gingerly on his good shoulder.

“You did good, De Luca,” he growls. “And thank you for protecting her.”

“You’re welcome for saving your ass, too.” Nero grins a bloody smile at him.

Rurik rolls his eyes and walks over to help Angelina get Papa tosit the fuck down.

I sink onto the edge of the couch, my face crumpled.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, lightly cupping the side of Nero's face.

He just grins at me, shaking his head. “For what.”

“For my family,” I groan.

“It’ll definitely make for some interesting Thanksgiving dinners,” he grunts.

I groan again.

“Hey, princess?” he murmurs, his voice raspy and hoarse.

My lips curl. “Yes?”

“I know I’m a mess right now,” he croaks. “But I’d really like to fucking kiss?—”

I slam my mouth to his, making him grunt, not even caring if it hurts when I do.

Pretty sure he doesn't, either.

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