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She removed the towel, the soaked parts trying to cling to the wound. It was pointless to apologize to an unconscious man, but she did it anyway. “Sorry, Luka. I’m sorry.” His face was normally still, but not quite like it looked now. Not slack and empty.
Enzo frowned at her. “You somehow responsible, doll?”
“I—” Alina swallowed as the cold, blue eyes of the other man locked onto her. “No,” she said, pushing the guilt over touching him away. Luka would have left no matter what. She wasn’t the one who had slit him open. “No,” she repeated, stronger.
“Here, hold his wound together.” Enzo pulled the adhesive free as she moved to obey. Her hands were slick with Luka’s blood and tended to slip. She moved along the wound, Enzo following her with the tape. “Best we can do for now is keep his guts inside until the doc comes.” Enzo tossed the rest of the roll to the ground. His gaze lifted toward the wall beyond the bed. “Seems you’d be upset if the boy died.”
Alina stared down at the wound to avoid his gaze.
She hadn’t thought Luka could look more pale. As time continued to slip away, she realized she was wrong.
“He saved me,” Alina said. It didn’t matter that Luka had only arrived at the home that had been her prison to kill everyone inside. His presence had changed things. “I hate that I can’t do the same.”
“He came here because of you,” the blond man said. He pocketed his phone and moved closer to the bed to stare down at Luka. “We would have never known as quickly otherwise.”
Which meant they were watching the house. The house must have belonged to them, not the pakhan, then. And they weren’t part of the Bratva. That much she recognized.
Luka was more of a mystery than ever.
A knock finally came, though it sounded far away.
“About damn time,” Enzo muttered, leaving to lead the doctor in.
Alina was waved from the room along with the blond man. Enzo stayed behind to offer an extra set of hands. “You two are too close to the kid,” Enzo claimed, shutting the door behind them.
She’d assumed Luka was alone in life the way she was. Despite the blankness on the blond man’s face that reminded her of Luka, they didn’t look at all the same. This man had a darker, almost olive complexion and neatly combed-back white-blond hair more similar to her own. He also wore a suit that was much more like the one the man who’d hurt her wore.
The suit also reminded her of her father, along with the way he carried himself, with a forced stoicism that was offset by the hard set of his clenched jaw as he stared at the bedroom door. She knew better than to voice her questions, despite wanting to know how he knew Luka.
She slid down the wall instead, staring at her stained hands as she tried not to think.
Life was supposed to be short, but there were many moments that felt so very long instead.
Soon the vague murmur of voices beyond the door faded. Alina should have been used to the quiet. This one made a chill seep inside her, numbing her fingers. Words tumbled from her lips.
“This is your safe house, isn’t it?”
His mouth thinned, and he didn’t look away from the door. “Luka asked if you could stay. My answer won’t change should the worst happen.”
Heat chased away the chill until she was suddenly on her feet, pushing at the man’s suave jacket so he would stumble. “You think that’s what I care about?” It was as if the fear inside her had found a way to escape, and she shoved at him again.
Alina had missed the sound of the door opening, but the press of the gun against her temple was too familiar to ever mistake. Her arms fell to her sides.
“You. Don’t touch Giovanni Di Salvo. Ever,” Enzo warned her.
The doctor slid past, looking nervous as he escaped.
It wasn’t nerves that made Alina’s hands curl into fists; it was the memory of all she’d been willing to do once before to ensure the trigger wasn’t pulled. Her hands trembled as she wondered if she would have to face that choice again.
“That’s enough,” the blond man, apparently Giovanni Di Salvo, said.
The gun slipped back out of sight, but Enzo continued to watch her.
“Di Salvo?” A niggling of memory pulled at her, but not enough of one to form properly. Confusion filled her as she studied them. They weren’t Bratva. Enzo especially looked more Italian.
“Do you seriously not recognize the name?” Enzo asked, his words clipped, but his former hard expression was gone. He was back to smiling at her. It didn’t make her feel any safer, since the man would have no problem shooting her. “Even if you’re not born to the life, this neighborhood depends on the Di Salvos.”
She didn’t bother defending herself. They might as well treat her as if she had been born under a rock. Her life hadn’t been much above that, even before she was hidden away in the woods.
