Chapter Twenty
Alessia
Another night, another untouched meal. I pulled the shawl around my shoulders, already halfway to the door that would lead me out of Artur’s quarters. By the looks of it, he wasn’t coming home tonight.
As I reached the door, the handle twisted, and the door opened. I stepped back as Artur entered. Matvet followed behind him, quiet as ever. From where I stood, I could smell the alcohol on Artur, like whiskey left too long in an open glass. His shirt wasn’t fully buttoned, with its collar loose.
He walked right past me without looking at me, but he paused two steps away from me and turned. His look wasn’t confused or drunken; something cold fueled it.
“You’re done working here,” he said with the kind of voice that came right before a bullet lodged between someone’s eyes. He turned to Matvet. “Find someone else to work from tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Matvet said, and left like the well-trained shadow he was.
Artur didn’t spare me another glance. He took the stairs and went straight to his room.
The door slammed shut behind him with a sound that rattled the frame.
I stood there, blood rushing in my ears.
What the hell just happened? Knowing I needed to be close to him for my safety, I didn’t do anything that could anger him.
Without Artur, there was no protection. If Renat suspected Artur threw me out, he would do terrible things to me. I couldn’t leave. Swallowing the rising panic, I started for his room. I had to talk to him.
My hand hesitated once before I knocked on his door. He didn’t answer. I knocked again, harder this time. The door jerked open, and Artur stood in the doorway, his eyes burning through me. He looked like war wrapped in human skin.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I just want to talk.”
“Not interested.” He moved to close the door again. “I have no business with you.”
“No.” I shoved my hand out, catching the door’s edge. The impact sent a jolt of pain up my wrist, but I held the door firm. “Who will I be working for?”
He spun so fast I nearly stumbled backward.
His jaw flexed, fists balled like he was seconds from punching the wall.
But before the words could leave his mouth, he stilled, like his own body betrayed him.
His face twitched. One hand lifted to his temple, pressing in like he was fighting something sharp.
His eyes closed, and for a second, he swayed slightly enough that I saw it.
He turned back to me after recovering. “I told you to leave.”
“About the job.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he snapped, voice breaking through the air like a crack of a whip. His finger aimed at the door. “If I blink and you’re still in this room, I swear to God, I’ll—”
Artur staggered. Blood trickled down from his nose, trailing to the corner of his lip.
My eyes widened. “Sir… you’re bleeding.”
His breathing was off now. His balance shifted, like the ground under him tilted. I took a step toward him, but his voice stopped me.
“Don’t come closer.” His voice cracked, unable to mask the tremor underneath. But I took another step toward him. “I said, get out!”
The rapid rise and fall of his chest reminded me of those episodes I caught him experiencing. He was struggling. I knew the signs. And this wasn’t just a bad day.
“Sir?” I called.
My voice was tight with confusion, fear, and panic, but he didn’t answer me. He turned instead, almost staggering toward the bathroom door. His hand caught the edge of the frame just as his legs faltered.
His fingertips left a bloody trail wherever they landed.
Drops of red hit the tile beneath him. I rushed to him when his knee buckled.
He collapsed down hard on one knee, his breath tearing out of his lungs like the air had turned to fire.
His hands fumbled at his shirt, yanking at the fabric like it choked him.
My hand grazed his shoulder. “Let me help you.”
He reacted in a blink. With a vicious snarl, his arm shot out. He slammed my shoulder and shoved me backward with an unmeasured force. My body crashed into the wall. The breath whooshed out of me, a sting flaring in my shoulder and arm. I gasped, clutching the spot, but I didn’t stop.
Tears blurred my vision as I heaved myself upright. He was on both knees now, hunched forward, his fingers clawing at the buttons of his shirt. His skin had gone pale, and his lips tinged a sickly blue.
Sweat clung to his brow. Blood still trickled down his face. He looked like he was fighting death tooth and nail, but losing. I dropped to my knees in front of him, my chest heaving.
“Wait. I’m trying to help you.” My voice cracked from the panic lodged in my throat. “Let me help—”
My hands moved instinctively, wiping the blood from his lips and chin with my palm. He was fading, and looking at him with blurry eyes, a memory lodged in my head, clear as day. And I heard him say that his name was Rodion. Rodion Konstantinov.
His strength ebbed as he shifted until his back slid along the wall.
He slumped, legs stretched, and eyes dimming.
His breaths came out in shallow bursts. His head lolled slightly, and I could see he was about to lose consciousness.
I scrambled to the drawer where I’d seen the breather.
My hands fumbled as I opened one drawer and grabbed the breather mask.
I returned to him and pressed the mask to his face, but he caught my wrist with a surprising force for a dying man.
His eyes met mine. They were glassy now.
“Leave,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “Just leave, Alessia…”
“Rodion,” I choked. “I’m not leaving.”
His grip tightened. “Please,” he rasped. “Please, leave.”
Tears streamed down my face. I held the mask firm against his nose and mouth, my fingers trembling. His breaths were uneven, catching in his chest, but I refused to move. I pressed closer.
“Breathe,” I murmured. His hand was still tight on my wrist. I reached up with my free hand, wiping my tears as they fell. “I just want to help you.”
His eyes stayed locked on mine. And the air between us felt thick with fear, helplessness, fury, and vulnerability. I was shaking. Not just from fear anymore, but from how close I was to watching him die. How raw and human he suddenly looked. And I couldn’t bear it.
He inhaled slowly this time. And I stayed there, watching the man everyone feared slowly claw his way back from the brink, and praying to God he didn’t let go.
His fingers finally loosened around my wrist. They slipped away, ghosting my skin like an aftershock, and curled around the breather mask. He peeled it off as if that simple motion cost him more than he had to give.
I didn’t move as he dropped the mask with a thud, then got up and walked into the bathroom. I remained kneeling on the cold floor, my spine rigid and hands clenched tightly in my skirt. My heart thundered in my chest. I blinked, lowering my gaze to my palms.
Blood stained my skin. Red splotches trailed across the floor where he collapsed. I sniffled and pushed up from my knees. My legs were shaking.
The door to the bathroom clicked open, and Artur stepped out. I couldn’t face him.
“I… I’ll clean this,” I whispered, not waiting for a reply. I slipped past him, grabbed a towel from the rack, and headed to the sink.
First, I washed my hands, scrubbing until the water ran clear.
When I stepped out carrying the wet towel, he still stood where I left him.
Before I could drop to my knees to wipe the blood, Artur grabbed my shoulder and turned me to him.
My breath caught in my throat as he pulled me in, and my body slammed against his chest in one swift move.
His arms locked around me, and I stopped breathing. The towel slipped from my hand. The world paused. I didn’t know how to react. My arms were still stiff at my sides, every nerve in me alight. I felt his weight on me, not just his arms, but his exhaustion, the desperation threaded into his touch.
He didn’t speak, and neither did I. He held me like a man who’d escaped the abyss, terrified to let go.
I stayed still, wrapped in the arms of a man who tried to kick me out a few minutes ago. A man who had bled into my hands, collapsed and nearly passed out. Now, he held me like I was the only thing tethering him to this world.
Like a wave crashing back over me, I remembered how his breath faltered and blood soaked through my fingers.
That terrifying moment when I thought he might die.
My throat tightened, and my hands moved on their own.
I hesitated at first, then lifted to hold him just to be sure he was still here.
I let my hands hover, unsure, before letting them settle on his back.
The moment was ruined when I felt something unmistakable pressing firmly against my belly.
Just like that day in the gym, he was hard.
My stomach twisted, and I let my hands fall.
It was better to walk away, to leave him alone.
But before I could step back, his hand shifted, brushing along the curve of my neck.
I froze as his fingers drifted lower, stopping near the top button of my blouse.
A sudden alertness urged me to move, but the arm around my back held me in place.
I lifted my eyes to him, and the look he gave was a silent warning that I wasn’t going anywhere.
His arousal sent a jolt through me, but deep down, I knew he was dangerous and unpredictable.
He was the last person who should make me feel anything.
His fingers brushed the front of my blouse, and I sucked in a breath. He undid the button. I shook my head as tears burned at the edges of my vision. It wasn’t pain, but fear. He paused, his gaze flickering down to my blouse, which hung open to reveal my lace bra. His grip on my back loosened.
“You’re drunk,” I whispered, searching his face for any sign. Why was he doing this? “I should go.”