Chapter Twenty-Four
In which Alexsey thinks Liria handled her attempted murder very well.
Alexsey…
Despite the fact that I'm fucking furious at Liria for wandering off without her personal security, she's handling her attempted murder very well.
Tolya and I are going over the signs in the hallway, figuring out what happened once that bastard pulled her into the alcove. She'd fought. Hard.
"Look at that," Tolya says, gracefully hitching up his expensive trousers to keep them from dragging in the blood as he crouches near the body. "He had her around the throat; you saw those ligature marks."
"Do not fucking speak so casually about Liria's attack," I grind out. "This is my wife you're talking about."
He looks up, brow arched and sees my expression.
"No disrespect intended, boss. I was saying that she fought smart, elbow to the throat.
She leveraged his heavier weight against him, twisting and turning to keep out of range.
" Kicking the body over, he nudges the chin up with the toe of his dress shoe.
"See this? She used her lower height and surged up from below him to drive her head into his throat. I think she broke his jaw."
Running my hands through my hair, I try to push back the flood of emotion. "I'm taking Liria home. Message me the minute you learn anything about this bastard. I want to know who hired him and who I'm going to kill."
"Will do." He gives me a sympathetic smile. "Scary as fuck, eh?"
I don't know how to answer that.
Caroline has already made herself and Liria comfortable in the back seat in a way that effectively blocks me from getting near my wife. I sigh and settle in, fingers irritably tapping the armrest for the trip back home.
As I'd known he would be, Roan is waiting for us when we pull up to the loft. Not waiting in his car with a coffee like a normal person, he's pacing up and down the street.
"Look at his expression," Caroline says.
"Oh, yeah," Liria agrees, gloomy. "Roan is pissed."
She had handled this whole ordeal with dignity, I'm proud of her. But when the door opens, she spills out of the SUV and into his arms, sobbing instantly.
"Kenge e vogel, little song," he sighs. "You did well. I'm proud of you." He and Caroline - again - create a human barricade around my wife and hurry her through the front door.
"Do you want to go to your bedroom or sit in the living room for a moment?" Roan asks. His tone is turning back into the dry one I've always heard from him, even though he's still clearly concerned. "I would hate to see your blood all over this expensive leather couch."
"I'll get a towel," I snap. "She can sit anywhere that is comfortable.
" I ignore Caroline's smirk - that woman is draining the last of my hospitable feelings - and fetch a pile of towels from the downstairs bathroom and a large package of sterile wipes for cleaning off the blood.
We order these by the case from a manufacturer in Moscow.
I've suggested more than once to Dmitri that we should buy the company.
Liria stubbornly refuses to take her hand off the bandage until I've draped towels around her to keep her blood off the furniture. I want to throw the goddamn towels in the air and shout at her. That the couch doesn't matter. I can buy a hundred couches.
A hundred couches and only one Liria. My conscience, the asshole, takes this moment to resurface.
"Move." They all look up at me, Caroline's hand poised over Liria's shoulder with a sterile wipe. "I'll do it."
Interestingly, it's Roan who moves, rising from the couch. "I'd like to speak with Danyl and get a report," he says quietly. "Before you shoot him in the face."
"No one's shooting Danyl!" Liria struggles to sit up a little. "Didn't you hear me? It's not his fault, I'm the one who wandered away and anyway, he raised the alarm in time for you to save me."
"I went over the scene of the attack," I try to smile reassuringly at her, based on her expression, it's maybe fifty percent successful. "You were doing an excellent job of saving yourself. Well done."
The smile that spreads across her face is a sunrise. An incandescent moment of happiness at my praise before she drops her head again. "Thank you. Don't shoot Danyl."
Seating myself carefully so I don't jostle her, I carefully wipe the blood that's poured down her chest from the neck wound. Her dress is still wet.
"Je ne rregull me te?" Roan asks Liria, and she nods. Searching my limited vocabulary, I think he asked her if it was all right to leave her with me.
Fuck! She's my wife!
Liria slowly explains what happened when the man jumped her, we listen quietly, even normally chatty Caroline.
"You're very brave," I lean in, gently smoothing Liria's bandage. "I'm proud of you." Her pupils flare and there's a little hitch in her breath.
Ah. She likes the praise, soaks it up like sunshine. I doubt she's gotten any from her bastard father.
By the time she's cleaned up, her eyelids are drooping, and I raise my voice to halt everyone's conversations. "I'm taking my wife up to bed. Roan, you and Danyl can discuss rotations, I want two men on Liria at all times now. Caroline, my driver will take you back to the hotel."
"No! I can stay with Liria tonight," Caroline protests. "She might need me."
It's Roan who shuts her down. "Miss Caroline, I believe it would be better for her husband to care for her tonight."
She's not happy, but she nods reluctantly when Liria says, "You need sleep, too. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you, twin."
The front door shuts behind them as I carry my wife up the stairs.
"I can walk," she mumbles. "The cut's on my neck. My feet are fine."
"Humor me." She's warm, and I don't think she's noticed that her head is drooping on my shoulder.
When I stride past her bedroom, she stiffens. "Hey, my room-"
"I'm watching over you tonight," I interrupt her. "I promise my bed is more comfortable than yours." She's not entirely buying it, but she lets me carry her into the master suite and put her on my bed. It's an old one, an antique from St. Petersburg, a solidly built four poster.
Pulling one of my softest old t-shirts from a drawer, I show it to her. "Let's get that dress off you."
Her hands go to the zipper first. "I can do it," she says stubbornly. I didn't want to take her into the bathroom, where she'd see just how much blood is on the dress. I'll be burning it in the backyard.
"I must apologize to you," I say, holding up the t-shirt so she can slip her arms into the sleeves. "When I was shouting at you in the manager's office, I realized I was…"
For fuck's sake! Just say it, you zasranets, you asshole!
Shut the hell up, conscience.
"I was scared," I force it out. "I thought I'd added enough security to make you invulnerable and yet it took only a moment of oversight to nearly lose you. It was fear, and then I was furious."
"So, you weren't yelling at me because I'd done something stupid and careless?" She's so small, lying in my bed, surrounded by pillows.
"No," I say it forcefully, a bit too much because she pulls back. I smooth the t-shirt over her legs and draw up the silk comforter. "You are important…"
Say she's important to you. Iisus Khristos, do I have to do all the work here?
"You're important," I continue. "I am sorry that my first response was to shout at you. To be honest, I'm sorry that your first response was to seek comfort from Roan, and not me." I didn't plan to say that last part.
"I've known him for ten years," she says, lightly touching the bandage on her neck. "Roan loves me-" she stops short and reframes. "He's like my super bitchy uncle who would carve the still-beating heart out of the one who hurt me."
"Those are good people to have," I smile.
I'm fighting my jealousy, bitter that I am not the person she speaks of like that.
But while I've had a huge family to shower love on me - whether I wanted it or not - Liria has had only her mother and one cousin to really care.
"It's time to sleep. Do you need a glass of water? "
"I'm okay," she sighs, sinking into the cloud of pillows. "You're right. This bed is too good for this world. None of us deserve it."
That surprises me into a chuckle and I lean over to turn off the lamp on the table next to her.
"Alexsey?"
"Yes?"
"If the person who was trying to kill me was from…" She opens her silvery eyes, bright and troubled. "If it was one of your clients who wanted me dead, would you…"
Frowning, I smooth her hair back. "Would I what?"
She closes her eyes again. "Never mind. Goodnight."
I sit in the armchair I'd pulled from the grouping in front of the windows, an untouched drink in my hand, watching my wife sleep.
"What aren't you telling me, Malen'kaya lyubov'?"
***
Malen'kaya lyubov' - Russian for Little love