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CHAPTER1
4Years Later
Sebastian
“Boss,there is a call from the hospital. It’s about Marinka,” Pedro said, walking into my office. My blood went cold when I saw his expression and the way he gripped the phone so tight in his hand. I hadn’t visited my wife in a few days, so the doctor was probably concerned. I truly didn’t want to talk to him because I couldn’t bear any more bad news this week.
I took a deep breath, then dragged my hand through my hair and motioned to him to hand me the phone.
“Hello, Dr. Stephens, how is she doing?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even, but I sounded so fucking pathetic. It had been almost four years and still, she remained fast asleep. Gone to the world—away from me, from us. Nothing had changed or was going to change. I just had to get used to it. Her organs would shut down eventually, and it was time to move on.
My heart clenched because no matter how many times I repeated those words to myself, I knew I wasn’t there yet, in a place where I was forced to give up. This wasn’t in my nature. Especially where it came to Marinka, the woman I loved most in this fucked-up world. Yet, although I knew I was supposed to have faith, a sliver of hope was now tough to cling to.
“Sebastian, there’s been a development,” he disclosed with just the appropriate dose of emotion. Doctors and their stellar nerves… “She’s awake. Your wife Marinka is coming around as we speak.”
An anvil fell from the sky and hit me on the head. The words sounded garbled at first but once they sank in, I shot up from my chair and stared at the phone before putting it back to my ear. Marinka … my Marinka … had woken up?
“Are … are you sure, doctor?” I finally found my voice, only to ask the stupidest question. Four years of agony. Four years of fear, anger, frustration, tears and resentment … and she was finally back.
“Yes. The nurses are with her now, but you have to get here right away, Mr. Dimitrei,” he said, and then quickly added, “Alone, if possible. We don’t want to confuse her.”
I handed Pedro the phone and collapsed on my chair again, taking deep breaths. The weather outside was terrible, pouring cats and dogs, but this was the best news I could ever ask for. The nightmare I’d been living in the past several years was over. My Marinka was alive and she was conscious.
So why I was so fucking miserable?
I wondered what her reaction would be when she saw me. My stomach fluttering like a schoolgirl’s mired in the emotional minefield of first love, I grabbed my car keys from the foyer and hightailed it to the hospital. I needed to see her. Speak to her. My very soul craved it.
Yet, I dreaded it, too. How could I explain the emotions whirling inside of me?
Relief. Joy. Uncertainty. Fear.
I could order a raid or execution with the greatest of ease but this … thing to do with this woman that made my heart beat to an unfamiliar rhythm … brought me to my knees. Even after all these years of not talking to her, not looking into her beautiful blue eyes. Not touching her…
I owned her, lock, stock, and motherfucking barrel. I’d claimed her. I’d evenearnedher. Yet, this was one thing I couldn’t fix with the ways of my world.
I left the office. The penthouse was unnaturally silent but the dead spaces I walked through daily would come alive soon again.
Pedro, as usual, was waiting for me outside. Ever there, ever loyal.
“She’s awake! Let’s go to the hospital.” I got in the passenger’s side and put my seatbelt on. “Fast.”
He smiled brightly and when he slid in the driver’s seat, he slapped me affectionately on the shoulder. Pedro Mendoza was like a brother to me, proving his commitment over and over, especially in these last few challenging years.
“Great news, boss.” Pedro got on the road and floored it—at least as much as he could without alerting the traffic cops. My mind raced as I started typing the message to my lawyers. By some miracle, I’d managed to keep Marinka’s state under wraps. From bribes to surrounding myself with a smaller yet trusted circle, establishing an understanding with doctors, nurses, and hospital staff—somehow, the news never leaked.
To be honest, I suspected the other families, particularly the ones I had conflict with, such as the Russians and Italians, knew she was in hospital, but had no idea what had happened. I made sure all paper trails, all records, were wiped out, and it had been an expensive and complicated task. Her parents had been informed of the situation, but I kept her location a secret and forbade them from visiting. They knew I wasn’t kidding—I’d cut off their fingers and feed them to them if they dared defy me. Not that they would. The bastards never cared one iota about their children, especially the mother. They didn’t deserve Marinka.
Pedro negotiated the Chicago streets, then the highway, like a pro, shaving off ten minutes at least from an hour’s drive. By the time we got there, it had stopped raining. The hospital was in a small suburb, usually catering to wealthy and celebrity clients—chosen precisely for its private and discreet location and staff. It had cost a small fortune, but I wouldn’t take any chances to keep Marinka safe.
When we parked in the underground garage, a lump formed in my throat. I was here, and soon I would see her. Stepping out of the car, I gathered my wits. It wouldn’t do to look like a pussy, even in front of Pedro. That was like the death knell for manhood where I came from.
I looked down at my black shirt and charcoal pants and wondered how I looked, then internally slapped myself. We took the elevator up to the lobby.
“I will be waiting here, boss,” Pedro said, sitting on one of the comfortable designer chairs paid for by patients’ families.
“I will text you once I know more,” I told him, knowing that he was eager for updates. He nodded and then, I went to find her room—a path I’d be able to walk through blindfolded by now.
It was all my fault that she got shot. I should have never left her alone in the club that day. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d just taken her with me. The all-too-familiar guilt reared its head, an emotion I lived with each and every day. It had become like an old, uncomfortable slipper I couldn’t get rid of.
