Chapter 30 Sima
SIMA
The moment I see him standing in the doorway, alive, my whole body goes weak.
He’s okay. He’s safe.
Relief rushes through me so fast it makes me dizzy. I want to rush at him and feel his warmth under my hands. But I know my legs wouldn’t hold me up. Right now, they feel like jelly.
So I stay where I am.
There’s so much I want to say.
Thank God you’re okay.
I thought I lost you. Don’t ever scare me like that again.
I love you so much, Petyr. Please, don’t leave us.
Don’t ever, ever leave us.
But he speaks first. “Sima.” He sounds heartbroken. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
My arms clutch around my belly reflexively. It sounds so wrong—his voice filled with pain.
“I didn’t know it was him,” he adds. “Not until it was over.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Frankly, I’m not sure I’d care, if it weren’t for the heaviness in his eyes.
What does that mean? What didn’t he know?
He walks closer, slow and careful, and sits down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight.
My hand moves on its own and reaches out to him. I don’t care about the blood on his clothes or the smell of smoke on his skin. I just need to touch him, to know he’s real.
He catches my hand and squeezes gently.
“You’re hurt.” My eyes zero in on the bloodstain on his shirt.
“It’s not mine,” he says, but I know he’s lying. Maybe most of that blood isn’t his, but I could see his posture as he walked in. His left arm is stiff, limp, like he can’t feel it. Impossible to know if that’s from some injury or if the Bratva doctors shot him full of something to numb the pain.
Still, if that’s the only wound he took home tonight, I’m glad it wasn’t worse. I was ready to welcome him back in a casket.
“I’m fine,” he assures me. “Tonight was just a fucking mess. An associate took a bullet to the shoulder, but he’ll live.”
I nod, but then I can’t help it anymore—I throw myself forward and wrap my arms around him. Wrapped. The sob comes out before I can stop it.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper against his chest. “I woke up and heard them talking downstairs. Someone said there was a chest wound, and no one would tell me anything. Luka just kept telling me to go back to my room.”
I never thought I’d get where Petyr was coming from when he locked me up, but tonight, I do. Because the urge to keep him safe behind these four walls forever is stronger than anything.
He leans back, one hand on the back of my head, the other against my back. “Hey,” he says quietly, frowning down at me. “I’m fine. I promise.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “You’re sure?”
He nods once. “I’m sure.”
“Your shoulder?”
He glances at it, defeated. “Flesh wound. Nothing serious.”
The fear still clings to me, but his voice starts to pull me out of it. I let my forehead rest against his good shoulder. The tears won’t stop, but I don’t care. I don’t have the strength to keep pretending I’m not scared.
For the first time since I woke up, I can breathe again.
It takes me a while to stop crying. Petyr’s hand stays on my back, but his body feels tense beneath my palms. I can tell he’s holding something in.
Eventually, he lets it out. “Sima, we need to talk.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “About what?”
“Feliks.”
The name makes me freeze. I stare at Petyr, wait for him to say something. Explain how my brother fits into this horrible night. I’m too scared to ask.
“I didn’t know,” he repeats. “We got shot at, Misha and I. Outside of the club. I returned fire. When it was over… That’s when I saw who did it. Who I shot.”
I don’t speak. I just sit there, my mind blank, my heart too tired to react.
Feliks. My brother. Gone, just like Anatoli.
Petyr keeps talking. The words tumble out like he’s trying to fill the silence. It’s as close to panicked as I’ve ever seen him.
“It was self-defense,” he whispers. “He came for me. I swear I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Sima. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Slowly, the pieces start to fit together. What he said earlier, the look in his eyes when he came in. It all makes sense now.
My thoughts drift back to Feliks. To when we were kids. Felya, as we called him when we were small.
Anatoli was always cruel. Cold. He learned it from our father, who thought fear was a form of strength.
Feliks wasn’t like that at first. He used to laugh with me. To bring back candy for Maksim and me after a long mission out of the house.
But he followed Anatoli everywhere and watched everything he did. He was the middle son, and to him, that meant struggling not to fade into the background. Father’s gaze was always on Anatoli, sometimes on Maksim, but it was rarely ever on him.
The older he got, the more Feliks copied him. The kindness faded. The laughter stopped. He started hitting when Anatoli hit. He learned to sneer, to threaten. To use fear the way our father did.
I used to think he was pretending. That one day he’d stop. He’d look at me and remember who he was.
But he never did. Every ounce of goodness was crushed out of him until nothing was left.
He just wanted our father’s approval. He craved Anatoli’s respect. And so he became exactly what they wanted him to be.
I take a long breath and look at Petyr. He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. His eyes are full of guilt, but there’s nothing for me to give him except the truth.
“I’m glad you protected yourself,” I say quietly. “Felya… I wish he’d made better choices, too. But he grew up to be cruel, just like Anatoli.” I swallow hard. “They were dangerous. And they both wanted to please my father more than they wanted to be human.”
Petyr doesn’t speak. He just nods, eyes dark, jaw set.
I can’t even summon the proper emotions. My family, its ghosts—I’ve left it all in the past. They were already dead to me.
All I can do is pray they find peace wherever they are now.
“Thank you for telling me.” I touch his cheek. His stubble tickles my fingertips. “It means more than you know.”
Petyr looks at me like he’s searching for something. Forgiveness, maybe, or comfort.
I don’t know what he finds. Both, most likely.
Because he doesn’t need to ask—I already forgive him.
I wanted him to be safe more than I wanted Feliks to live, and I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad things went this way.
If it was a choice between the brother I once knew and the man I love, I would choose Petyr every time.
When he leans in, I meet him halfway. His lips brush mine softly, careful and hesitant. The kiss is light. Almost cautious.
He pulls back, his voice low. “You should rest.”
I shake my head. “So should you.” My eyes drop to his shoulder. “Does it really not hurt?”
He exhales through his nose, half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not really comforting,” I say. The corner of my mouth twitches. “You should work on your bedside manner.”
His mouth curves just enough to count as a smile. “You offering to take over?”
“Maybe,” I tease softly. “But you’d have to let me boss you around.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not sure I’d survive that.”
“Pretty sure you would.” I reach up and touch his jaw. There’s a trace of blood on his cheekbone. Misha’s, possibly, or perhaps Feliks’s. “You’ve survived worse, remember?”
His hand covers mine. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I don’t want you worrying over me.”
“Too late,” I say. “You scared me half to death. I almost thought I was gonna have to paint a whole nursery by myself.”
He shakes his head. Finally, a smile breaks through. “I’d never let that happen.”
“Right. You’d have left it in your will. One last order for Luka to grumble through.”
“I’m not leaving a will.” His hand squeezes mine. “Because I’m not leaving you. Period.”
The next kiss is deeper, slower. He meets me halfway, his breath warm against my lips. The tension in his shoulders eases as his mouth moves with mine, and for the first time in hours, I feel warmth instead of fear.
He tastes like gunpowder, but I don’t care. I reach for him and help him peel away the clothes that cling to his skin. My palms trace the heat of his body, the rough lines of muscle.
“Careful,” I whisper when his wince betrays the pull of his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be healing.”
He gives a rough laugh. “You make that hard.”
“Good,.”
His movements grow more deliberate, hungrier. He pushes me gently back against the bed. His hands frame my face before sliding down my sides.
He settles between my legs, his gaze fixed on mine. I can see everything in it: exhaustion, regret. But most of all, desire.
It’s such a rare thing for us—taking our time. Exploring without rush. Usually, we’re too fired up to slow down like this. To uncover each corner, kiss every inch without that burning hunger coiled tight inside us.
But soon, the hunger comes anyway. It’s inevitable. With Petyr’s body on top of mine, I will always feel like I’m starving.
Finally naked, he parts my thighs and rocks his hips forward.
I gasp softly. My fingers clutch at his back, away from his wound, past his shoulder blades. The head brushes between my folds, finds me wet and wanting.
He presses deeper, slow and steady. I feel every inch of him stretching me. As he drives into me, Petyr’s eyes never leave mine.
I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair. My heart swells with the rush of love and relief. For the first time since the night began, it feels like we’re both still here.
Still alive.
Still each other’s.
The pace picks up, slow but sure. His rhythm deepens, and the warmth between us builds until it feels like everything else in the world fades out.
The sound of our breathing fills the space. The sheets shift beneath us as he moves, steady, deliberate. His thrusts pull soft sounds from my lips. Every breath feels heavier, closer.
I feel full in every way. So completely, utterly full of him. My body aches for him, but so does my heart. Right now, I’m not sure which one is pulsing louder.
“I love you,” I whisper.
It isn’t planned. It’s just the truth.
His gaze softens, his breath rough in my ear. “Me, too, lisichka. Me too.”
With that, the pressure that’s been building finally snaps. My body tightens around him, and I come quietly, the sound muffled by his mouth as he kisses me through it. It’s never been like this—so intense, yet so gentle.
He keeps moving until he follows me over the edge. I can feel him spill deep inside me. Both of us are breathing hard as we ease back down, our foreheads pressed together, bodies still electric with pleasure.
Then he rolls onto his side and pulls me with him.
His arm wraps around me, and I curl up close to him, ear pressed against his chest. The thud of his heart grounds me.
I close my eyes and breathe him in.
He’s alive. He’s here.
That’s all that matters.