Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
T he knock on my apartment door isn’t just loud—it’s furious. Four sharp, deliberate bangs, like someone’s trying to punch a hole through the steel. It tears through the quiet, jarring and wrong.
My eyes snap open as the sound comes again, urgent and angrier. I groan and roll over, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. Six a.m. No calls. No messages. No good reason for anyone to be here. Haldon and Roman would’ve called first—hell, even my sister knows better than to show up unannounced.
So whoever’s at my door better be dying.
Light filters through the blinds in long, golden slats, warming the room with the kind of calm that doesn’t belong anymore. I haven’t slept. Not really. My muscles ache from a night of tossing in bed, and there’s a weight in my chest I can’t explain.
Something’s wrong.
Tugging on my sweatpants, I shove my Glock into the waistband, making my way through the apartment barefoot. The air feels heavier with every step, apprehension making me pause as I reach the door.
Another knock, slower this time. It’s off-balance, like they’re running out of strength.
I scrub a hand through my hair and unlock the door, my other hand hovering near my gun. I brace myself for the worst—but even then, I’m not ready for this.
Milo .
His name hits my brain like a brick, my heart racing as my gaze locks onto him.
“What the fuck happened to you?” I growl. I wish I could say it was meant to come out softer than that, but the truth is, I’m still pissed about the situation we’re in.
“I had… nowhere…else… to go,” he says, voice cracked and thin. He’s barely standing, body slumped against the frame, one hand by his side, dripping with blood while the other clutches his stomach. His face is swollen and broken—one eye barely open, his skin pale beneath the bruises and the dried crimson streaks.
I stare. My mind blanks. Just static, and the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I don’t move. I should. I should reach out, pull him in, do something. But I’m stuck in place, frozen by the sight of him like I’ve been sucker-punched. This isn’t the Milo I know. Not the one who pushes my boundaries, teases me until I fuck him senseless, or makes everything around us feel lighter.
This Milo looks like he crawled out of hell.
And somehow, he still found his way to me.
“Jesus Christ, Milo.” I finally huff, stepping aside.
But Milo doesn’t move. His eyes close as he takes a deep breath, like he’s willing himself to take the first step, only he doesn’t. His body moves, but his feet don’t, and in a matter of seconds he’s falling forward.
I lunge toward him, catching him under the arms before he can hit the floor. “Fuck!” I grunt as his weight collapses onto me. He’s heavier than he looks. Or maybe I’m just not ready for it—my body is still half-asleep, adrenaline not quite caught up to the moment.
I grip him tighter, willing myself not to slip as I drag him over the threshold. Kicking the door shut behind me with my heel, I drag him across the floor towards the couch. Thank fuck for my open floorplan. It only takes a few steps to get him to the living room, and then I’m heaving him onto the cushions, his body making a soft thump as he lands. My Glock clatters to the floor, but I’m too focused on the man in front of me.
“Jesus, Milo,” I mutter again, this time quieter. The anger’s still there, simmering under the fear.
His head rolls to the side, breathing ragged while blood seeps through his shirt. My fingers twitch like I don’t know what to do with them— press down on the wound? No, there’s too many of them. Get water? He’s barely awake. Tear everything apart until I feel useful? That’s the most likely option.
Without thinking, I race towards my bedroom, snatching my phone off the bed where I left it. My fingers type out Haven’s name before I can second guess it, hitting dial and taking a heavy breath.
She answers after two rings, her voice thick with sleep. “Who died?” she groans.
I ignore her attempt at humour. It’s too early in the morning, and given Milo’s current state, the answer to that question could very well be him.
“I need you here,” I clip. “Now.” She’s the only person I can trust right now— I can’t take him to the hospital, and I can’t let my parents find out about this. There’ll be too many questions, and I’m not ready for those.
There’s a pause, long and hesitant before she answers. “What happened?”
“Milo’s here. He’s—he’s in a bad way.”
“Is he breathing still?”
Marching towards Milo, I drop to his side and lift my hand to his mouth. The faintest of breaths tickles the back of my palm. “Barely.” My voice cracks, just for a second. I clench my jaw, hard enough to hurt.
“Okay. I’m coming,” she replies immediately. “I’ll be there in ten.”
I hang up without another word, dropping the phone onto the table as I lean against the couch. Milo’s head lolls toward me, lips parted like he wants to say something, but the effort costs too much. I press two fingers to his throat—pulse there, weak and thready. His chest rises, shallow. Every breath sounds like it’s scraping over broken glass, and I have no doubt it feels like that for him, too.
I reach for his bloodied shirt, fingers trembling as I pull it up just enough to see the damage. “Shit.”
I count eight stab wounds, each one edged with dried blood. Bruises in every shade of hell decorate his skin and as I move my gaze to the rest of him. His hand is sliced up, bad.
I swallow bile as I lift his hand to inspect further. It all looks superficial, but only time—or Haven—will tell how much lasting damage there is.
He groans softly, a weak flicker of sound that shoots straight through me. It allows a single thread of hope for me to cling onto. I forget about the betrayal, or the fact he’s my enemy whichever way you look at it. All I can think about is how long he’s been like this, and if he’ll even make it.
“Do you…still… hate me?” he rasps.
Fuck. My eyes sting with the threat of tears. Tears I’ve never fucking shed for anyone. Ever. “If you think I ever did, then you’re not the guy I thought you were.”
A little chuckle chokes him as a drop of blood trickles from the corner of his lip. Even through the evident pain, he still manages to laugh. “Fuck you.”
* * *
“W anna talk about it?”
I look up to see my sister standing in front of me with a glass of water—which is the last thing I want to fucking drink right now. Milo is currently passed out in my bed while being patched up by Haven, and I have no idea how long it’ll take him to wake up.
Taking the water—even though the thought of drinking it makes me feel sick—I shake my head.
Lani huffs, coming to sit beside me on the couch. “So, you’re not going to tell me why someone from the Bratva is currently being stitched up by Haven?”
I turn my head to glare at her. As much as I love my sister, sometimes she doesn’t know when to shut up. We’re twins, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her all of the time, and right now, she’s pulling at my last nerve.
“I know we’ve had our differences, Vee, but you can talk to me.” She takes my hand that’s gripping my knee and squeezes it. I take comfort in the small gesture because we don’t share these moments as much anymore. Sometimes you forget that relationships like ours are rare and this small reminder is what I needed all along.
“I think by now you’ve pieced together what’s been going on,” I mutter.
A smile lights up her face. Despite the circumstances, she seems to take this moment to revel in my words. “A little,” she teases. “But it’d be nice to know you’ve found someone who?—”
“I haven’t found shit,” I snap, snatching my hand away. I already know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.
“Vee,” she sighs as I push up off the couch and make my way to the kitchen. I need something stronger than water if she wants to talk to me about this. “I know you well enough to see what this is.”
I head towards the corner cabinet, reaching up to the top shelf to pull out a bottle of bourbon. Twisting the cap, I head back towards my sister, tossing the cap over my shoulder. I don’t bother with a glass or care that it’s ten in the morning. Somewhere in the world it’s appropriate to be drinking right now, and I’m fine with that.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” I say, dropping onto the couch opposite her. The very couch Milo was bleeding all over a few hours ago . I take the first gulp of liquor, biting back the burn that travels down my throat and settles in my stomach. The first swallow is always the harshest. But it prepares you for what’s to come. Ironic, really.
Lani shakes her head at me. “You don’t have to tell me shit, but at least be honest with yourself.”
I stare back at her, each syllable of her words pounding at my chest. I don’t even know why the fuck she’s here. I didn’t ask her to come, I asked for Haven. I asked for her help, and she brought my sister along for… what? The ride? Company?
Lani leans back into the cushions, glaring at me for the longest moment while I sink back more of the whiskey. I wouldn’t change my sister for the world. She’s fiercely supportive, stubborn yet forgiving and she’ll defend you within an inch of her life. But some conversations are better left unspoken. For a while, I start to think she’s done with this discussion, but then she opens her mouth again. “Why is Milo here, Vee?”
My gaze drops to the couch, crimson droplets staining the brown leather. I let my fingers run over the marks, like they somehow connect me with the man in the other room. I think back to when I opened the door. It feels like only a few minutes ago that he collapsed into my arms, telling me he had nowhere else to go.
“I think he’s hiding from the Russians,” I respond, my voice low and full of hate. “He came here because he had nowhere else to go.”
“He trusts you enough to keep him safe,” she states.
I lift my gaze to hers, her lips stretched into a soft smile. She’s right. Milo came here despite me breaking things off. Despite all the shit that’s happened. He came here because he needed help, and the only person he could turn to was me.
“Do you remember how much I hated Roman?”
I take another swig from the bottle, blinking back at her.
“Roman was always it for me,” she continues, making me scoff.
“Yeah, and you fought it every step of the way.”
She raises a brow at me.
“Fuck,” I grunt. How can she be so right when she knows so fucking little about my situation?
“Yep!” She laughs. “Listen, I’m not saying you love the guy, but he came here for a reason. If you don’t give him a chance, you’ll never know if he’s your forever.
“Alright,” I bark, shooting up from the couch. “We’re done here!”
“Vee!” She chuckles, pushing up from her position and crossing the living room. “You obviously care about him, so what’s so bad that you can’t give him a chance?”
“He’s fucking FBI, Lani. That’s why!” I hiss out. “He could fuck us all over with a snap of his fingers.”
She crosses her arms and glares back at me. “I don’t really think he’s in any position to be snapping fingers, Vee. The guy was bleeding out, and the first place he comes to is here. That says something about him.”
My mind still reels over what we found at the docks last night. I still can’t get past the betrayal, yet seeing him this morning changed everything for me. I won’t deny that being with Milo comes with risks, but trusting him is an obstacle I’m not sure I can get over.
Without warning, my sister takes the bottle from me and places it on the coffee table behind her. Turning, she wraps her arms around my waist and mine automatically do the same. For all the push and pull between us, having her as my twin is definitely something I take for granted. She knows me too well to lie to her, and even if we do keep secrets from each other, they’ll always come to light one way or another.
Speaking of secrets. “Does Genovese know you’re here?”
“Pfft,” Lani slaps my chest with her palm. “Ro doesn’t have to know every single thing I do.”
I roll my eyes at her, earning myself another swat. Having my best friend and sister hooking up isn’t exactly a walk in the park. They rattle each other’s cages so much that they both belong in zoos sometimes. But knowing they have each other’s backs gives me relief.
“Plus, I love to piss the fucker off.”