28. Igor
28
IGOR
“ A re you sure she’s okay to go home?” I ask the doctor, my voice sharper than intended. I can’t help it—this doesn’t feel like enough. “Shouldn’t we do another round of tests before letting her leave?”
The man shakes his head, calm and composed in a way that grates on me. “There is nothing else to do,” he says, his tone patient but firm. “What she really needs is rest. Her injuries weren’t severe, just painful. She’ll recover faster at home, in a comfortable bed, surrounded by people who care about her—not in a hospital where everything feels cold and foreign.”
I nod curtly, even though it doesn’t sit right. “Thank you, Doctor,” I mutter, already moving toward Katya’s side.
She looks small, fragile. Two things Katya Volkova has never been.
“Here we go, volchitsa, ” I say softly, crouching beside her. “Let’s get you dressed, and then Konstantin will take us home.”
She nods, but the motion is weak, and when she tries to get out of the bed, a flinch ripples through her frame. I’m there in an instant, my hands steadying her as she shifts her weight. I lift her gently, careful not to cause her any additional pain, and settle her into the wheelchair.
The sight of her like this—bandaged, pale, hurting—sends a fresh wave of rage coursing through me. My jaw tightens as I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her lap, tucking it around her to keep her warm.
Turning to the nurse, I focus on the next task. “How many painkillers can she take?”
She explains the brand and dosage details and then says, “Make sure she gets plenty of rest, and bring her in for another checkup in two weeks.”
She hands me a folder with Katya’s discharge papers. I take it without a word, tucking it under my arm as I wheel Katya out of the room.
When we pass through the hospital’s double doors, Konstantin is already there, waiting for us. His dark eyes scan Katya from head to toe, lingering on the bandages peeking out from under the jacket. There’s a flicker of restrained anger in his gaze. But his face remains impassive.
“Car’s ready,” he says with a nod, stepping aside to let us pass.
The ride home is quiet.
The silence feels heavy and loaded, pressing down on all of us. There are so many things I want to say, so many things I need to say. But now isn’t the time. Everything about this moment feels fragile, delicate, like a thin sheet of ice that could crack under too much weight.
“Sofiya and Damien?” Katya asks, breaking the silence, her voice barely above a whisper.
“They’re at my parents’ house with Aleks,” I say. “We’re still staying there. For the time being.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she stares out the window, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of the jacket covering her lap.
“We’re safe there, yes?”
I glance at her, inhaling sharply. “I promise.”
She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she nods, but the tension in her body is still palpable.
Her hand keeps twisting the edge of the jacket, her bandaged fingers pulling at the seams. The urge to touch her, to ground her, becomes unbearable. I reach over, covering her hand with mine, my palm enveloping her small, delicate wrist.
“Everything will be alright,” I vow, even though helplessness burns like fire in my chest.
She doesn’t respond, but the stiffness in her body softens ever so slightly. Her shoulders relax, and the harsh lines around her mouth ease.
But seeing her worn down and bruised makes something primal and feral boil to the surface. I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding together as my mind conjures images of the men who did this to her. I imagine their faces twisted in pain, their blood staining my hands as I make them suffer for every mark they left on her skin.
The SUV idles in the driveway for a moment before Konstantin steps out and opens the door. His face is a mask, cold and professional, but I know him too well to miss the fire burning beneath it. He’s just as angry as I am, and I know he’s already prepared to do whatever it takes to find those bastards.
“Lean on me,” I say softly, helping Katya out of the car.
We move slowly toward the house, her steps unsteady as I guide her inside. Her hand rests lightly on my arm, her touch featherlight, and it takes everything in me not to scoop her up and carry her the rest of the way.
When we reach my bedroom, I help her sit on the edge of the bed, drawing the curtains closed to dim the harsh light.
“I should go to my room,” she murmurs, her gaze skittering away from mine.
“No,” I say firmly, crossing my arms. “You’re staying with me.”
“Igor—”
I cut her off, my voice soft but resolute. “Let me take care of you.”
She bites the inside of her lip, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She looks away, and for a moment, the silence stretches between us.
“Would you like to see Sofiya?” I ask gently, breaking the tension.
Her gaze snaps back to mine, her expression softening. “I… yeah. Please.”
I nod, pulling out my phone to text Aleks. Once the message is sent, I turn back to Katya, watching as she pulls the blanket tighter around herself.
“You’re too skinny,” I mutter, crossing the room to grab another blanket. “You need to eat.”
She sighs, her lips curving into a weak smile. “Not everyone can be as massive as you, Igor.”
I chuckle softly, unfolding the blanket and draping it around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s lie down.”
She crawls under the covers, and her scent reaches me—earthy, warm and familiar, like home.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask, slipping my arm beneath her head.
“Mm-hm,” she mumbles, her voice already thick with exhaustion.
I settle beside her, our foreheads brushing as I close my eyes. For the first time in hours, there’s a sense of peace between us. The world outside is still chaotic, still dangerous, but here, in this moment, it’s just us.
A gentle knock interrupts the quiet, and I sit up to see Sofiya and Damien peeking into the room. Their faces light up when they see Katya, and they climb onto the bed. Sofiya signs something, and Katya’s tears spill over as she nods and pulls her daughter into a tight hug.
Damien moves toward me, and I wrap him in my arms, holding him close as I glance around the room. For all its imperfections, this is what family looks like. Messy, complicated, but worth everything.
I meet Aleks’s gaze in the doorway, his brows furrowed as he nods toward the hallway.
“I’ll be right there,” I mouth, gently kissing Sofiya and Damien before slipping out of the bed.
“Stay here,” I tell the kids softly. “Keep her company—but be careful.”
The children settle around Katya, Sofiya clinging to her side while Damien stretches across the other, his arm protectively draped over her. They fit together like puzzle pieces—quiet and trusting.
I leave them in the room, shutting the door softly behind me. When I turn, Aleks is waiting in the hallway, his arms crossed and his expression tight with worry.
“Let’s talk,” I growl, brushing past him and heading toward my father’s office. It’s a quiet space, empty now that my parents are out. I need the privacy. There’s too much happening to risk anyone overhearing.
“How’s Katya doing?” Aleks asks, his footsteps echoing mine as he follows me down the hall.
“Better now,” I reply curtly, pushing open the heavy door and striding inside. I take the seat behind the desk, gesturing for him to sit across from me. As soon as he does, I add, “She got quite a scare.”
Aleks exhales deeply, leaning forward in his chair. “We’ve reached out to our contacts in the police,” he says. “They’re working on pulling the CCTV footage from Midtown. They’ll send it as soon as they have it.”
“It was them,” I say, my voice low and cold, my hands gripping the edges of the desk.
Aleks frowns. “You already know who did it?”
“Not exactly.” I lean back, running a hand over my face, frustration simmering beneath my skin. “But it’s connected. Whoever left those bloody packages on my doorstep—they’re the ones behind this. Katya said something about it being a warning. Whoever it is, they’ve crossed the line.”
“Makes sense,” Aleks mutters, scratching the back of his neck. His expression darkens, his jaw tightening as he processes the implications.
“Did you find anything useful in the file Olenko gave me?” I ask, shifting the conversation to something actionable.
Aleks hesitates, his hand still lingering at the back of his neck. The delay irritates me, but I stay quiet, giving him space to answer.
“It could be nothing,” Aleks says, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe that. He pauses, then adds, “The file had a few entries about the Gargarins.”
My head snaps up at the name. The Gargarins. Damien’s mother’s family. Hearing it now feels like a shot of ice water to my veins.
“Which one?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend.
“Yakov,” Aleks answers, his tone careful, knowing exactly what that name means to me.
“What about him?”
“There are rumors he’s recovered,” Aleks says, watching me closely. “Some people claim they’ve seen him walk again.”
I blink, stunned for a moment. Yakov fucking Gargarin. A man I thought was as good as dead.
“Seriously? Yakov?” I shake my head, the disbelief turning quickly into anger. “If he’s back in the game, this whole thing could be his doing. He has the resources, the connections—and the grudge.”
“He could be the one who made the shipment disappear,” Aleks agrees, his voice grim.
My mind races, piecing together the fragments of information we have. Yakov Gargarin. The bloody packages. The attack on Katya. It’s all connected.
“What do you want me to do?” Aleks asks, breaking the silence.
“Keep Timur in the loop,” I order. “He’s the only one who can keep Montoya happy. The Colombians are already on edge, and if we don’t find that shipment soon, they’ll come after us with everything they’ve got. We need to buy time.”
Aleks nods, his expression serious.
“Find out everything you can,” I continue. “Dig deeper into the Gargarins. I don’t want rumors or speculation—I need hard evidence. Names, dates, locations. Bring me something I can use.”
“And what about Katya’s attackers?” Aleks asks, his tone quieter, but no less intense.
“The attack is connected to the shipment,” I say firmly. “Whoever’s behind this thinks they can rattle us. They’ll regret it.” My voice drops, cold and final. “When we find them, I’ll make sure they understand what happens to anyone who dares touch what’s mine. Katya’s attackers won’t just disappear—I’ll make an example out of them.”
Aleks holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. “Consider it done,” he says, rising from his seat.
I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and for a moment, the office feels suffocatingly quiet.
My mind churns with plans and contingencies, but the image of Katya—battered, pale, her body trembling as she tried to hide her pain—keeps breaking through. Every time I think of the bruises on her skin, the rage flares up again, white-hot and consuming.
Whoever is behind this—they think they’ve sent a message? They think they’ve warned me?
They have no idea what’s coming for them.
I rise from the desk, pacing to the window and staring out at the quiet street. My reflection stares back at me in the glass—hard, determined, merciless.
Katya. Sofiya. Damien. My family.
They’ll never feel fear again, not as long as I draw breath. Whoever threatens them, whoever dares to lay a hand on them, will learn the true meaning of retribution.
And I’ll deliver it personally.