Chapter Twenty
In which there is gray sweatpants porn and BLTs.
Ava…
"As my son Roman would say…" Ella strips off her surgical gloves. "You have a grin on your face that you couldn't wipe off with a shovel."
"It was so satisfying," I say happily. "I shouldn't be smiling about emergency surgery, but the fact that it turned out so well!
And this new experimental mesh you're trying, I can see how much internal damage you can prevent.
And the way it's going to heal up the speeding process and reduce the risk of infection? It's amazing."
"It's nice having someone to share the excitement with," she says. "Maksim and my sons are supportive, of course, but there's nothing like having another medical professional share the progress."
I suspect she's just being gracious, since there's two more doctors who come in on an as-needed basis and I'm sure they're all invested in these new techniques. Still…
"Well, I'm honored that you shared it with me," I say sincerely. "It's so nice to be excited about the process again, instead of exhausted."
Ella rolls her eyes, tucking her hands in her scrub pockets as we walk down the hall.
"That's the part I have never understood.
How do they think that the interns and residents will magically function if they're putting in 72-hour rotations until they're barely conscious, much less able to focus?
It's the spite-based nature of doctors who had to endure the same thing.
So of course, they have to pass on the misery. "
"Thank you for that progressive opinion!" I say gratefully, because frankly, the other residents and I have discussed this many, many times.
"Has Dmitri taken you out for target practice and some self-defense lessons yet?" Ella asks.
I blink a little confused about the abrupt shift in conversation. "Uh, was he supposed to?"
"I realized when those idiots were able to tie me up so easily when they only had one silly gun, that I have not been practicing enough," she says crossly. "My god, that was mortifying! Maksim and I have had a few practice rounds and I feel much more confident again."
She's smiling with a dreamy, girlish grin and I have a feeling that practice was less focused on self-defense, but who am I to say anything?
"I didn't realize it was a requirement," I say. "I took self-defense lessons at the Y. I signed up after I got mugged on my second day in town. Now that is mortifying."
"You never should have been at the point that you would have needed to defend yourself. I know Father already reassigned your entire security team." Dmitri is standing at the end of the corridor and damn, he looks like the guy who will ruin you for all mankind and you will enjoy every minute of it.
"Privet, moy syn," Ella says fondly as he walks over to us, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "I was just talking to Ava here about self-defense."
He frowns. "That is a good point. Are you finished with my-" he pauses for a moment and then continues smoothly, "-with Ava for the day?"
Ella raises an elegant brow at him, but says, "Oh yes. It was wonderful to have her assist on the surgeries today. Two of them," she says sharply, "both abdominal wounds."
"Things have stepped up with the Morales Cartel," he says softly and she nods with a frown. "I'm having a meeting with Father and Uncle Yuri tomorrow."
"All right," she says. "Please be safe." Turning, she gives me a warm smile, "I'll see you tomorrow.
We have a laparoscopy to clear out some scar tissue, plus an exploratory surgery to see if the patient is a good candidate for an artificial disk replacement.
" Ella strides down the corridor, humming.
"Your mother is an amazing mentor. She's so encouraging and it's a fascinating technique to learn. I can't tell you how it feels to be at the beginning of something new and miraculous."
He's looking down at me with a smile that's kind but his eyes… They're intense, searching my face in a way that I don't understand. "I'm glad," he says. "I'll take you home. You can relax for a moment and then we'll work on some self-defense moves."
"No, really," I protest. "My friend Priya and I took self-defense classes together. Miss Monica was our teacher; she was very encouraging. Well, with Priya, at least, since she had me down on the mat five times for every time I got the jump on her," I say sourly.
"You miss Priya." It's not a question, he understands. "Has she had any information or updates from the hospital?"
"No," I say, frowning as he opens the SUV door for me.
"Whatever you said to HR made them certainly keep quiet about me.
" Dmitri attempts an innocent smile that is not at all successful.
"Priya did say that there haven't been any reports of staff missing, no odd disappearances.
" I give a humorless laugh. "Aside from mine.
Which makes me think that in a crowded city, maybe all it takes is a letter of resignation and no one questions why you're just… gone."
I look out the window, trying to hide the unwelcome surge of tears. I thought I'd built a life here, made friends. But it feels like I disappeared without a ripple. My mind starts racing, cycling. Have I really not made enough of a difference to matter? Is my mark on the world so easy to wipe away?
That's why the traffickers took you. The ugly little voice sounds just like my father's. No one would miss you.
"Did Priya say anything about-"
"I don't know-"
Dmitri smiles. "You first."
"It doesn't- it's not important." I rub my forehead.
Are you a fucking idiot? Pay attention! Dad's voice is still remarkably clear.
"...if Priya had heard anything about-" He breaks off, studying my face. "You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine." I chase my thoughts as they run around me in a circle like a yappy little dog. "You were asking if…?"
"You'll eat first," he says firmly. "We can talk after." I'm so grateful for the quiet that I could cry.
***
Dmitri is having none of my assurances that I was fine, just fine. When we return to the penthouse, he sends me to the shower, leaving a sports bra and leggings on my bed.
"Bossy," I mumble, but I pull them on anyway.
When I head out to the kitchen, he's dressed in a t-shirt, thin from dozens of washings stretched tight against his broad chest and gray sweatpants.
I wish I could stealthily take a picture of his ass in those pants to send to Priya because we are both big fans of gray sweatpants porn.
Then, just to prove he's the most perfect man in North America, Dmitri serves me a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich for lunch.
"Dear god, this sandwich is art!" I moan, chewing blissfully.
"The perfect ratio of crispy bacon to tomato.
The bread toasted for the right crunch. You are possibly my favorite human being right now. "
He's leaning back in his chair, one thick finger running over his lips, having abandoned his lunch to watch me eat.
I look at my sandwich, tucking in a strip of bacon trying to break free. "How did you know I liked BLTs?"
"Who doesn't like BLTs?" Dmitri retorts, taking a bite of his.
"A communist," I say gravely. "Only a communist would hate- Wait. Is that insulting? The communist mention? Were your people in Mother Russia communists?"
It's at this point when I'm stressed and my ADHD has scattered my thoughts enough that people usually question how I was bright enough to get into medical school, but he chuckles.
"My people were always businessmen. Far less interested in the concept of share and share alike.
Until my father took over as Pakhan, I doubt the concept of a charitable donation had ever been floated within the Morozov Bratva. "
"Well, I know Bellevue Hospital is certainly grateful you changed your philanthropic stance," I say.
"I looked up the ten million dollar donation you made, by the way.
Your family funded the new high-risk maternal clinic.
That's just so…" I put my hand over my heart.
"That kind of generosity certainly balances some karmic scales. "
"My soul is pitch black," he says. "There's no amount of money to redeem that.
My mother, though… Dmitri's smile lights up his handsome face.
"She was so happy when the clinic opened.
Something that wasn't emergency surgery, or sewing up bullet holes.
A place to bring life into the world, rather than taking it out. "
Stripped down from his expensive Gucci suits, lounging at the counter in sweats, Dmitri doesn't look sin-stained. He looks kind. A son genuinely pleased that he made his mother happy.
***
"You have a giant-ass sparring gym in your penthouse?
" Dmitri takes me down the hallway, past our bedrooms to yet another hall that ends at this gym, two walls of floor to ceiling glass looking out over the city with piles of mats, a speed bag, weight benches, and a treadmill.
The obscene price of New York square footage and he has a gym in his penthouse.
"I work out a lot when I can't sleep," he says, throwing a few more mats on the floor, spreading them out. "My brothers and I hold thinly disguised business meetings here where we work out our disagreements by beating the shit out of each other."
So, tender Dmitri who loves his mom has left the building.
"Uh-huh… remember that I'm not built like a tank like you Morozov men, okay?"
He doesn't laugh. He's all business now. "What did they teach you at your Y self-defense class?"
"Well, a lot about being aware of your surroundings," I say a little defensively. "Being assertive."
He looks at me for a long, uncomfortable minute.
"I'm sure that's helpful for normal street crime, but for a highly organized trafficking ring intent on recapturing you, I think we need to aim higher.
We'll start with a few moves that will work best for you," he says.
"A bite-sized thing like you isn't going to overpower anyone, so you need to learn how to make momentum work in your favor.
Let's start with the throat strike." Settling me on the mat, he goes through the moves with me, easily and infuriatingly pinning me down every time I think I've weaseled loose.
"Water." He hands me a bottle. "Finish it."
"Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?" Still, I gratefully gulp it down.
"Everyone has," he says. "We're going to work on getting past a move meant to take you down and using the energy to flip them instead. Your assailant is less likely to anticipate it. Speed is important, and that's one of your strengths."
"After the 'bite-sized' comment, that's gratifying to hear," I say dryly.
The summer sun is sending long shadows over the gym as we practice the same goddamn thing, over and over again. Dmitri barks things at me like, "Muscle memory!" and "Anticipating the charge!"
Every time my back hits the mat, I'm missing my time at the Y with Miss Monica more.
"You didn't look to your left again," Dmitri leans over me, hands on his hips. He's barely broken a sweat and I look like I spent the afternoon in a steam room.
Angrily scrambling back up, I take a step and wince.
"Did I hurt you?" He reaches out, concerned. I yank his arm forward and flip him over my back, exactly like he taught me, enjoying the satisfying whack! as his back meets the mat.
"You cunning little vixen!" Dmitri says approvingly, rising up on his elbows. "That convincing little limp? Nice. Now try it again."
We circle each other, hands out, eyes narrowed and something pulsing between us, something hot, heavier, and dark. When he charges me, he flips me easily, but I hook my leg around the back of his knee and he falls with me, rolling so that I land on top of him. My breath leaves me in a huge huff.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I thought I would make a better crash pad than I did."
His teeth are so even and white… There's a grin stretching across his handsome, stubbed face. His warm hand runs up my back before sliding down and cupping my ass.
"Is this okay?" he says, his voice a rasp.
My mouth opens and closes like a dollar store goldfish before I recover the use of speech.
"Yes."