Page 97 of Protected By the Sinner
“How do you know about the fainting?”
“I went back to Russia, but I would never leave you and your family unprotected. I know you handled the issue with the damn Italian, and I believe that’s the end of that story—but I don’t trust the Sicilians.”
I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore that he’s always in the loop. Since the day I met him, Ruslan has always been there, somehow knowing exactly when I need him.
“She remembered everything. I still don’t know what that means. She started screaming that she had betrayed me, and then she passed out. The doctor politely asked me to give her space.”
“And you listened?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make her okay. Even if it means staying in the background.”
“You really love her.”
“Yes, I do. When I saw the guilt on her face, the horror at thinking she’d betrayed me, I felt her pain. I wanted to take it away.”
“If what you two have is real, everything will work out in the end.”
“Yeah. It will. I won’t give up on our family.”
“And what about the cult?”
“I’m coordinating to get the girls out, but I don’t want to delay the plan.”
“Let me know if you need backup.”
“Thanks, but I have to handle this myself. For Amber.”
I wouldn’t even need Roman walking beside the woman coming down the hospital corridor to know she’s Elodie Martin.
Other than being slightly shorter than her sister and wearing her hair shoulder-length, they could pass for twins.
“Beau, how is she?” she asks, pulling me into a hug.
It’s not easy to catch me off-guard, but Elodie just did—with style.
We’ve spoken on the phone a few times, mostly about details regarding the elders, but I didn’t expect her to be so open.
Maybe a more serious version of Amber, being the older sister.
Definitely wasn’t expecting a hurricane.
She’s also . . . verycolorful.
Attractive in her own way, but she wears way too many colors for my taste. Honestly, I’m not even sure I know all the names of the ones she’s got on.
“Your sister woke up,” I manage to say, “but the doctor said I should leave her alone to avoid stressing her out.”
“That doctor’s a moron. Amber doesn’t like distance, and she doesn’t have that suffocated feeling most women get when faced with a possessive guy. We’re both touchy-feely. We likehugs and kisses—I mean, not from everyone, but I’m sure she loves yours.”
I try to mentally catalog everything she’s telling me—it’s all useful—but I probably miss a third of it. She talks fast. Very fast.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she says, as if totally confident in her plan. “You’re going in there right now and talking to her. Openly.”
“Don’t you think you should see her first?”
“No. If I go in first, she’ll feel safe and get emotional. Then the chances of her wanting to see you today go down.” She plants her hands on her hips, making a bunch of her bracelets jingle. “So, what’s it gonna be?”
I don’t need to think. “I’m going in.”
