Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Kirill
I stood beside the operating table, my black overcoat soaked through, hanging heavy on my shoulders. But I didn't feel the cold—Genevie had sucked up all my attention and frozen every one of my senses.
She lay on the gurney, eyes closed, an oxygen mask strapped over that face so pale it was almost translucent. Fragile. Breakable. The doctor cut away what was left of her silk gown, and as the fabric fell away piece by piece, the damage underneath blazed under the lights.
Bruises covered Genevie's body. The old ones were a sickly yellow-green, like mold spreading across a canvas.
The fresh ones screamed purple-red, still weeping blood.
Her arms showed clear fingerprints—someone had gripped her hard.
A massive scrape ran across her ribs, like she'd been whipped repeatedly with a belt buckle.
Even around her ankles, dark red welts circled the skin. Shackle marks. Long-term restraints.
"Goddamn it!"
I roared and slammed my fist down on the stainless steel tray. The metal shrieked. Every doctor froze and stared at me in terror.
"What the hell are you looking at? Keep going!" I snarled. "If anything happens to Genevie, I'll chop off your hands and feed them to the dogs."
The doctors trembled and went back to work, but even the lightest touch made the unconscious woman shudder.
My mind dragged me back five years to that afternoon. Genevie had come to me crying. The Sterling family was bankrupt. She had to marry Julian Dante. Back then, I'd just taken over the Orlov family, but I wasn't strong enough yet to go to war with the Dante family on the West Coast.
I'd backed down. Pushed Genevie into hell. In a way, I'd put her in that psycho's bed myself.
"Kirill..."
A weak voice came from the gurney.
My head snapped around. Genevie was awake. She'd curled into a ball, hands clutching her head, throat making garbled whimpering sounds.
"Don't hit me, please! Julian, I'm sorry, don't hit me..."
My heart clenched like someone had squeezed it in a vise.
"It's me, Genevie." I softened my voice, trying to calm her down. "I'm Kirill. This is New York. You're safe."
At the sound of my voice, her trembling eased. Slowly, she lifted her head and focused on my face.
"Kirill!"
Genevie threw herself at me. Her hands were ice-cold, nails digging into my skin like a drowning person clutching a lifeline.
"Save me... save me and the baby, please. You're all I have. Kirill."
Baby?
My eyes shot to her stomach.
Rage exploded in my skull. Julian Dante. That bastard.
That lunatic had beaten a pregnant woman? Whatever grudge they had, abusing a pregnant woman, beating her to this—he'd crossed the line. Even in our world, this was unforgivable.
"I'm pregnant, Kirill." She grabbed my hand and pressed it against her flat stomach. "Three months. I can't let Julian kill this baby. I couldn't go anywhere else. You're the only one I know, Kirill. For what we had, for how much I loved you—please. Save my baby..."
I caught Genevie and used the movement to pull my hand back from her stomach. The gesture felt too intimate. Wrong. This wasn't five years ago when we were still together.
"Stop." I cut off her sobbing. "This isn't five years ago. As long as I'm here, Julian Dante won't touch you again."
I turned to the doctor, eyes sharp. "Use the best medicine. Get Genevie the best nutritionist."
The doctors nodded frantically and scrambled out to prep medication.
Just me and Genevie left in the room.
I stood by the bed and suddenly felt... uncomfortable. Strange.
Five years ago, being alone with Genevie never felt like this. Back then, she was the only one who made me feel relaxed and safe. But now, I felt off. Like I was standing where I shouldn't be.
And... I frowned. A blurry shadow flickered through my mind, but before I could grasp it, Genevie's voice cut through.
Genevie leaned against the headboard, emotions settling slightly. Then a smile worse than crying crossed her pale face.
"Am I interrupting? I heard... you got married."
I nodded stiffly. "Yes. Recently."
Tears flooded Genevie's eyes again. This time, she cried silently, and it was more heartbreaking.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." She covered her face and wept. "If I hadn't been so weak back then, if I'd refused to marry Julian... would everything be different now? I lost you, Kirill. This is what I deserve..."
She cried with such regret, such pain, and it deepened my guilt.
"Stop crying." I sighed and awkwardly reached out, patting her shoulder. "It's over."
Genevie collapsed into my arms, wrapping herself around my waist.
"Let me hold you, just for a moment." She choked. "It's so cold here, Kirill. I'm scared."
I hesitated.
My hand hung in the air, never falling. A voice in my head reminded me: You're married. Your wife's name is Harper. Harper's waiting for you.
But another voice fired back: Genevie's pregnant. She's been abused. She just needs comfort. Pushing her away would be cruel.
Finally, my hand fell. I held her lightly.
"Don't be afraid," I said quietly.
The door slammed open.
The crash shattered the sticky warmth in the room. Genevie screamed and dove under the blanket like a startled rabbit.
I turned, frowning, and saw Olga—face twisted in fury.
Olga stormed in, cane tipped with black obsidian, eyes sharp as a hawk's, pinning Genevie to the bed.
"Get this woman out. Now."
"Olga!" I stepped in front of Genevie, trying to reach her softer side. "What are you saying? Genevie's hurt!"
"Hurt?" Olga laughed coldly, dripping contempt. "Since when did we turn into a hospital?"
Her words cut like knives. I heard Genevie's muffled sobs through the blanket.
"She's not leaving," I raised my voice, showing Olga a hardness I'd never used before. "Julian's an abuser!"
Olga had never liked Genevie. That was no surprise. But I knew she couldn't stand seeing young women abused by their husbands.
"She can stay. But you can't." Olga slammed her cane down, voice heavy with suppressed rage. "You better remember where you were supposed to be tonight. Instead, you left your Harper standing in the rain while you ran here to hold this woman?"
Harper.
The name hit me like ice water, dousing my anger and leaving me cold to the bone.
I remembered the scene at the entrance. I'd pushed Harper away. I hadn't even explained.
"I'll explain to Harper." My confidence wavered. Harper was kind, but what I'd just done would piss off any good woman. "But Genevie can't leave. Julian's hunting her. She's pregnant. If she goes out there, she's dead."
"Then send her to a safe house! Or anywhere else!" Olga jabbed a finger at the door, voice dripping disgust. "Just not here! There's only one mistress in this house, and that's Harper. What are you doing keeping your ex-girlfriend under the same roof? The Orlovs don't do disgusting shit like this!"
"Olga!"
"Boris!" Olga didn't listen, barking orders at the guards outside. "Escort Miss Sterling to the estate in the suburbs."
Boris and several guards stood in the doorway, torn. They obeyed me absolutely, but Olga's authority couldn't be challenged.
I glanced at Genevie on the bed. Her eyes were desperate and hollow, like she'd die any second. No. I owed her enough already. I couldn't send her back to an abuser like Julian.
I knew Olga's temper. She meant it. Unless I gave her a reason she couldn't refute, I couldn't change her mind.
"She's carrying my child!"
I shouted it.
The air froze.
Olga's eyes went wide, mouth open, like she couldn't believe her ears. Even Genevie on the bed froze, stopped crying, and stared at me in shock.
"What did you say?" Olga's voice trembled.
For a second, I regretted it. But I'd lied. Now I had to see it through.
I took a deep breath, my expression cold and resolute. "I said, the baby Genevie's carrying is mine."
Olga valued bloodlines above all else. Even if she hated Genevie, she'd never let Orlov blood wander outside the family.
"You bastard..." Olga raised her cane and cracked it hard across my shin.
I didn't dodge. Took it.
"Good. Very good." Olga laughed bitterly. "Kirill, you've really outdone yourself."
Then—soft footsteps from the doorway.
My heart seized. A cold dread washed over me.
I turned slowly.
The door stood open.
Harper stood there, drenched. That expensive camel coat had turned dark brown, hanging heavy. Rain streamed down her tangled hair, tracing her pale face, dripping from her chin.
Those eyes—usually warm and gentle—were hollow.
She'd heard.
Our eyes met.
In that instant, all my resolve crumbled. I wanted to explain. Tell her I was just trying to save someone. That I only said it so Genevie wouldn't be thrown out to die.
But then—a soft groan from behind me.
"Kirill, my stomach hurts..."
Genevie's voice was a noose around my neck. The explanation I'd almost spoken died in my throat.
What was I doing? How could I hurt Genevie again? She'd been through enough. She had no one. Only me.
And Harper... she was tough as weeds. The kindest girl I'd ever met. She'd understand.
Just get through tonight. Just settle Genevie somewhere safe, make sure Julian couldn't touch her, and then I'd explain everything to Harper. I'd tell her it was just temporary.
Yes. Harper was stronger than Genevie. Harper could handle this.
So I stopped.
Dropped my gaze. Couldn't look at Harper anymore.