Page 111 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.

“You’re going to need to rest,” she says, packing up her instruments. “First your ribs, now this. You’re a mess, Roman.”

“I hear you.”

She leaves, and Lev appears with a glass of water and some painkillers. I take them gratefully, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.

“Get some rest,” he says. “I’ll take care of things here.”

I nod, my eyes already feeling heavy. Before I can let myself drift off, I need to know something.

“Vera,” I say, my voice weak. “The ledger. Where is it?”

She pulls it out from under the couch, where she must have hidden it when they were helping me inside. “Right here,” she says. “Safe.”

“Good.” I reach for her hand, my fingers finding hers. “You need to hide it somewhere no one will find it. Don’t let anyone know where it is, not even Lev or me.”

She nods, her expression serious. “I will.”

“And the baby,” I say, my voice getting weaker. “Promise me you’ll protect the baby. No matter what happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.

“Promise me,” I insist. “Promise me you’ll keep our child safe.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she nods. “I promise,” she says. “I’ll protect our baby with my life.”

“Good,” I say, my eyes finally drifting closed. “That’s... good...”

The darkness claims me then, pulling me under into a deep and dreamless sleep. The last thing I hear is Vera’s voice, and the feeling of her hand in mine.

33

VERA

The house is unnervingly quiet.

It’s not the peaceful kind, but the weighted silence of a house holding its breath.

I’m curled in a chair beside the bed, my hand wrapped around Roman’s. His skin is cool to the touch, but he’s breathing. It’s shallow, but steady. The rise and fall of his chest is a rhythm I’ve been watching for hours.

The first rays of dawn filter through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold and pink.

Roman’s fingers twitch in his sleep, a slight fluttering against my palm. His face is pale, his brow furrowed even in unconsciousness.

Yelena said he’d be okay, that the wound was clean and he was young and strong enough to bounce back. I’ve seen too much death in my life to believe it until I see it.

I brush a stray lock of hair back from his forehead, my fingers lingering against his skin. He doesn’t stir, but I know he’s there. I know he’s fighting.

The door opens quietly, and Lev slips inside. His face is grim, his shoulders tight with tension. He moves to the foot of the bed, his gaze shifting from Roman’s still form to me and back again.

“How is he?” Lev asks, his voice low.

“Stable,” I say. “Yelena checked on him an hour ago. His fever’s down and his heart rate’s normal. She said that’s a good sign.”

“It is.” Lev nods, but there’s something in his expression that makes my stomach clench. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

“But?”