Page 109 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

Blood.

I look down and see it spreading across my shirt, a crimson stain that’s already soaking through the fabric. Great. The wound at my ribs is bleeding worse than I thought. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me going suddenly fades, replaced by a wave of dizziness that makes me sway on my feet.

“Roman?” Vera’s voice sounds distant, like she’s calling to me from underwater.

“I’m fine,” I say, but the words come out slurred. “Just... let’s get back to the safe house.”

I try to take another step, but my legs won’t cooperate. The world tilts, the mansion blurring into a swirl of lights and shadows. I reach out to steady myself against the car, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the cool metal.

“Roman!”

Vera is at my side now, her hands on my arm, her voice sharp with concern. “God, there’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s nothing,” I manage, though I can feel the lie in my own words. The pain is getting worse, a deep, throbbing ache that radiates through my entire side. “Just a scratch.”

“Artyom, how fast can you drive?” she asks. “However fast that is, drive faster.”

She helps me into the back seat. I collapse against the leather upholstery, my head falling back against the headrest. The world keeps spinning, the edges of my vision blurring into darkness.

“Artyom, drive,” Vera commands, her voice cutting through the fog in my mind. “The safe house. Now.”

The car lurches forward, the motion making my stomach turn. I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the pain.

“Let me see,” Vera says, her voice softer now. “Let me look at the wound.”

I force my eyes open and watch as she pulls out a first aid kit from under the front seat. I’d forgotten it was even there. Her hands are steady as she pulls out gauze and antiseptic, her expression focused.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“It’s not good,” she admits. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

She cuts away my shirt with a small pair of scissors, her fingers gentle against my skin. When the fabric falls away, I hear her sharp intake of breath.

“How bad?” I ask, trying to turn my head to see.

“Don’t look,” she says, pressing a wad of gauze against the wound. “Just stay still.”

The pressure brings a fresh wave of pain, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes my lips.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know it hurts.”

I want to tell her I’ve had worse, which is true, but my words slur instead.

I watch her through a haze of pain and blood loss. Her face is set with determination, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she works to stop the bleeding. This isn’t the Vera I met at the cemetery, the woman who was so fragile she looked like she might break at any moment. This is someone else entirely.

“You’re good at this,” I manage to say, my voice weak.

“I’ve had practice,” she says, her voice tight. “Dmitri... violence followed him home often enough. I learned how to patch him up.”

The mention of Dmitri’s name sends a fresh wave of anger through me, but it’s quickly replaced by admiration for the woman beside me. She survived him. She survived three years of marriage to a monster and came out stronger on the other side.

“Stay with me, Roman,” she says, her voice cutting through the fog in my mind. “Don’t you dare pass out on me.”

“I’m trying,” I say, though it’s getting harder to keep my eyes open. The world keeps fading in and out. The sounds are coming and going like waves on a shore.

The car takes a sharp turn, and the motion sends a fresh wave of pain through my side. I can’t stop the cry that escapes my lips, my body arching against the seat.

“Sorry,” Artyom calls from the front seat. “Traffic.”