Page 110 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“It’s not your fault,” Vera says, her hand pressing against my shoulder, holding me still. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

I feel the pressure of her hands against my wound, but it’s getting harder to focus. The edges of my vision are blurring all over again.

“Roman?” Vera’s voice sounds distant, like she’s calling to me from the end of a long tunnel. “Roman, stay with me.”

I try to answer, but the words won’t come. My eyes are too heavy, my body too weak. I can feel myself slipping away, the darkness closing in around me.

“No,” Vera says, her voice sharp. “Absolutely not. You stay with me, Roman. You hear me? You stay with me.”

Her voice is like an anchor, pulling me back from the edge. I force my eyes open and find her face in the dim light of the car. Her eyes are wide with fear, but there’s a fierce resolve in the set of her jaw.

The car slows, then turns onto a bumpy road. The motion sends jolts of pain through my body, but I bite my tongue and refuse to make a sound.

“We’re here,” Artyom says.

The car stops, and the back door opens. Lev appears, his face grim. How did he get here? He must have taken another car, but my thoughts are scrambled.

“Yelena’s waiting,” he says. “Let’s get him inside.”

Between them, they manage to get me out of the car and into the safe house. The movement makes me want to be sick, but I grit my teeth and bear it. I won’t show weakness in front of my men.

Yelena is waiting in the living room, her medical bag already open on the coffee table. She takes one look at me and her expression tightens.

“Get him on the couch,” she says. “Now.”

They lay me down on the leather couch, and I can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes my lips. The soft cushions are a welcome change from the hard car seat.

Yelena cuts away the makeshift bandage Vera applied. When the wound is exposed, I hear her sharp intake of breath.

“Bad?” I ask with a weak chuckle.

“The bullet went deep,” she says, her voice grim. “It probably missed anything vital, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get it out, and soon.”

“No hospitals,” I say, my voice weak but firm. “No official records.”

She nods, already pulling out her instruments. “I understand. I can do it myself, but this is going to hurt like hell.”

“I can deal with it,” I say, though I’m not sure I believe it.

Vera appears at my side, her hand finding mine. “Squeeze if you need to,” she says. “Don’t worry about my hand.”

I nod, my eyes already fixed on the ceiling as Yelena prepares to work. The first touch of the pliers is a sharp, searing pain that makes me gasp. I squeeze Vera’s hand, my knuckles turning white.

“Breathe,” she says, her voice steady. “Just breathe with me.”

I try to follow her instructions, but it’s hard. The pain is overwhelming, a white-hot agony that threatens to consume me.

“Almost done,” Yelena says, her voice strained. “Just a little longer.”

The pain intensifies, and I can feel my consciousness starting to fade again. The edges of my vision blur, the sounds around me distorting into a meaningless roar.

“Roman,” Vera says, her voice cutting through the fog. “Stay with me. Remember what you told me? You’re not going to leave me, you’re not going to leave our baby.”

Our baby. The words cut through the haze, anchoring me to the present. I force my eyes open to focus on her face. She’s crying, silent tears tracking down her cheeks, but her expression is determined.

Yelena works quickly, which is a small mercy. The pain begins to fade, replaced by a dull ache that’s almost tolerable.

“All done,” she says finally, tying off the last stitch. “You’re going to live thanks to my handiwork.”