CHAPTER 34
IRIS
The ambulance sirens are still wailing in my ears when the twins come running down the street, their faces tight with alarm as they push through the crowd of onlookers gathering around us.
"What the hell happened?" Roman demands, dropping to his knees beside me where I'm still pressing my hands against our father's chest trying to stop the blood from pouring out. "Who shot him? Did you see anyone?"
"There was a man," I say, my voice shaking so badly I can barely get the words out. "He was wearing a hoodie, he just pulled out a gun from nowhere, I tried to push Dad out of the way but I wasn't fast enough."
"Did you see his face?" Kirill asks, his tone sharp as he scans the dispersing crowd. "Anything distinctive about him at all? Hair color? Build? Scars?"
"Just the hoodie," I say, my hands trembling as the paramedics arrive and gently pull me back so they can work. "Bright blue. He ran off into that alley over there, I don't know who he is, I don't know anything."
"Don't worry about it right now," Roman says, placing a hand on my shoulder while his eyes track the paramedics loading our father onto a stretcher. "We'll investigate everything later, just stay close to Dad, okay? We need you to stay calm for him."
I nod even though my mind is already spiraling into dark places I can't control.
The paramedics work quickly, lifting the stretcher into the ambulance while one of them shouts medical terms I don't understand, then Roman is pulling me into the back of the ambulance with him while Kirill runs to get the car.
The ride to the hospital is a blur of beeping monitors and the paramedic calling out vitals while I sit there with my father's blood still wet on my hands, staring at his pale face.
When we arrive at the hospital, they rush him straight into surgery while a nurse tries to guide me to a waiting room, but I refuse to move from the hallway outside the operating theater.
Roman and Kirill catch up minutes later, both of them looking grim as they take positions on either side of me.
"What if it's Ilay?" I blurt out suddenly, the thought that has been clawing at my brain finally escaping my mouth. "What if he sent that man? He threatened to kill all of you, what if this is him starting to make good on that promise?"
They both look at me with identical expressions of concern.
"What if it's him?" I say again, louder while my voice cracks. "He told me he would wipe out this entire family if I didn't come back to him, maybe I should just go back, maybe if I go back he'll stop, I don't want him to kill anyone else, I'm so scared that this is all my fault."
"Iris," Kirill says firmly, stepping in front of me. "You need to calm down right now."
"I can't calm down!" I shout, my hands shaking as I gesture wildly.
"Don't you understand what kind of man he is?
He's capable of genocide, he threatened an entire country just to get me back, he could easily send someone to shoot Dad as a warning, maybe I should just leave, maybe if I disappear he'll leave you all alone. "
"It's probably not him," Roman says, as he tries to talk me down. "We have more enemies than just Ilay Ivanovich, this could be anyone with a grudge against the family, there are dozens of people who would want Dad dead."
"No, you don't understand," I say, shaking my head frantically while tears stream down my face.
"You don't understand what he's capable of, you didn't see his face when he told me to run, he's already planning to kill all of you, maybe if I just go back to him then he'll stop, maybe he just needs me to come home. "
"Iris, stop," Kirill says, his voice cutting through my panic like a knife. "You're spiraling into hysteria right now."
"He's just misunderstood," I say, barely hearing him as my thoughts race faster than I can process them. "He needs help, he needs someone to show him that violence isn't the answer, he needs me to fix him."
"Okay, that's enough," Kirill says, stepping closer and gripping my shoulders.
"Listen to me very carefully right now, he doesn't need you to fix him, we need you to stay here with us, what we need you to do right now is calm down so you don't faint in this hallway, you're hyperventilating and if you pass out while you're unconscious when Dad wakes up from surgery, he's going to put a bullet through both our skulls for not taking proper care of you, so please, just breathe. "
I take a shaky breath, trying to force air into my lungs. "Yes. Okay. I need to calm down. I need to stop thinking. I need a drink or something to take the edge off."
Roman raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. "Are you sure alcohol is a good idea right now?."
"I don't care," I say, desperate. "Just get me a beer, please, I need something to stop my hands from shaking like this."
They exchange a glance, some silent communication passing between them, then Kirill nods. "Alright. I'll get you one from the vending machine outside, but you're only getting one, not a whole six-pack."
He disappears down the hall while Roman guides me to a row of uncomfortable plastic chairs outside the surgical wing, and I sink into one with my head in my hands.
My mind won't stop racing with terrible possibilities.
What if it is Ilay orchestrating this from the shadows?
What if he sent that assassin as a message to my family?
What if I'm the reason my father is lying on an operating table right now fighting for his life?
Kirill comes back with a beer and hands it to me without a word, then I take it and drink half of it in one long gulp that burns going down.
"Easy," Roman says, watching me with concern. "You're going to make yourself sick if you keep drinking that fast."
"I don't care," I mutter, staring at the beer bottle in my hands.
They sit with me in silence after that, neither of them trying to fill the quiet with empty reassurances. Hours crawl by while the doctors work behind those closed doors, the three of us sitting in that sterile hallway while I spiral deeper into guilt with every minute that passes.
Finally, one of the surgeons comes out still wearing his scrubs with flecks of blood on them. "He's out of surgery," he says, pulling his mask down. "We managed to extract the bullet successfully, it was lodged near his lung but we got it out clean, he's stable now but he's not awake yet."
My chest tightens painfully. "When will he wake up?"
"It'll be at least two weeks, possibly longer, depending on how his body responds to the trauma," the doctor says gently. "He's an older man and the gunshot wound was severe, his body needs substantial time to heal from this kind of injury, but I can assure you he's out of immediate danger now."
"Two weeks?" I repeat, feeling like the floor just dropped out from under me. "Possibly more," the doctor confirms. "We'll be monitoring him closely throughout his recovery, but for now all we can do is wait for him to regain consciousness on his own, you're welcome to sit with him if you'd like."
I nod quickly, standing up so fast I feel dizzy. "Yes. Please. I want to see him."
Roman and Kirill stand up with me, flanking me on either side as we follow the doctor down the hallway to the recovery room.
My father lies there on the hospital bed looking so pale and fragile, hooked up to more machines than I can count, an IV drip in his arm, a heart monitor beeping steadily beside him, With oxygen tubes in his nose.
He looks nothing like the powerful mafia boss who bought me an entire store's worth of dresses just this morning.
I pull a chair up beside his bed with shaking hands and take his hand gently, careful not to disturb any of the wires.
"I'm here, Dad," I whisper, my voice breaking.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." Roman and Kirill stand by the door, watching quietly while I sit there holding our father's hand.
"We'll take shifts," Roman says after a moment.
"Make sure someone's always here with him in case something changes.
" I nod without taking my eyes off my father's face.
"Thank you." Kirill steps forward, his usual mask of indifference cracking just slightly.
"He's going to be fine, Iris. Dad's survived worse than this. "
"I know," I whisper. The days that follow blur together into an endless cycle of sitting beside his bed, holding his hand, talking to him even though he can't hear me, telling him stories about my life in Germany, about law school, about Mom, about how much I miss her, about how scared I am right now.
The twins keep their word, rotating shifts so someone is always in the room with him, Roman bringing me food I barely touch, Kirill bringing me books I can't focus on reading.
***
Two weeks pass with agonizing slowness, every day the same routine of sitting with him, checking for any sign of improvement, watching the monitors, listening to the steady beep of his heartbeat.
Then one afternoon while I'm sitting beside his bed reading aloud from one of the books Kirill brought me, I see his fingers twitch.
My breath catches in my throat. "Dad?" I whisper, setting the book down.
His eyes flutter open slowly, unfocused at first, trying to adjust to the light.
"Dad!" I say louder, leaning forward, squeezing his hand.
His eyes finally find mine after a moment of confusion, then a weak smile crosses his face.
"There she is," he says, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "My beautiful girl."
Tears spill down my face immediately, hot relief flooding through me. "You're awake. Oh my God, you're actually awake."
"Of course I'm awake," he says softly, his smile widening slightly. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere yet, didn't I?" I grab his hand tighter, laughing through my tears. "I was so scared, Dad. I thought I was going to lose you."