53. Sophie
53
SOPHIE
“ N o!” I scream, rushing to Maxim’s side as he crashes to the ground.
Blood is everywhere—too much, soaking through his shirt, spreading in a crimson pool beneath him. My heart pounds in my ears, the sight paralyzing me for a moment.
Nikolai is already there, his hands moving quickly to assess the damage. “Gunshot,” he mutters, his voice tight with urgency. “Lower abdomen.”
I snap out of my daze, dropping to my knees beside him. “What do we do? What can I—” My voice breaks, and I force myself to take a deep breath. I can’t lose it. Not now.
Amber appears beside me, her face ashen but determined. “Hold him still,” she says, grabbing Maxim’s hand. “You need to keep pressure on the wound.”
I press my hands against the blood-soaked fabric, trying not to think about how much he’s already lost. His skin is cold, clammy under my touch.
“Maxim,” I whisper, leaning close to his face. “Stay with me, okay? Don’t you dare give up.”
His eyes flicker open, the usual fire in them dim but still there. “Sophie,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine!” I snap, my voice trembling. “You’re bleeding out, you idiot. Stop trying to act tough.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and it makes my chest tighten even more. How can he be smiling right now? “Didn’t think.. you cared,” he murmurs, his words slurred.
“Of course I care!” I bark, pressing harder on the wound. He lets out a low groan, and guilt stabs through me, but I don’t let up. “You’re not allowed to die, Maxim. Do you hear me? You’re not leaving me like this.”
Nikolai pulls out his phone, barking orders to someone on the other end. “Get an ambulance here now.”
Grandma leans over Maxim, stroking his hair in a way that’s oddly maternal. “You’re going to be fine,” she says softly, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “You’ve been through worse, right?”
Maxim doesn’t answer. His eyes are fluttering shut, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
“No!” I shout, shaking him slightly. “Maxim, stay awake! Look at me.”
His eyes flicker open again, locking on mine. “Always giving me orders,” he mutters, and this time, his smile is a little more pronounced. “So bossy.”
“Damn right I’m bossy,” I say, forcing a laugh that feels more like a sob. “And you’re going to listen to me for once. You don’t get to quit.”
The sound of sirens in the distance makes my shoulders sag with relief. “They’re coming,” I tell him, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Just hang on a little longer, okay? Help is here.”
“Sophie,” he whispers, his voice so faint I have to lean closer to hear him. “Go. Be free. Let me die. I changed my Will. You get everything.”
“You don’t get to die,” I reply, my voice breaking. “I won’t let you, Maxim.”
Paramedics appear, a flurry of motion and commands. I step back reluctantly, letting them take over, my hands slick with his blood. Grandma grabs my arm, steadying me as my knees threaten to give out.
As they lift him onto the stretcher, his eyes find mine one last time before they close again.
“Stay with him,” Grandma says, giving my arm a squeeze. “He needs you now more than ever.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
I climb into the ambulance, clutching his hand as they work to save him.
The paramedics work swiftly, their hands moving in a practiced rhythm as they stabilize him. The beeping of monitors and the hiss of oxygen fills the small space, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
I sit beside him, gripping his hand so tightly my knuckles ache. His skin is clammy, his fingers barely responding to mine, but I refuse to let go.
“Keep talking to him,” one of the paramedics says without looking up. “He needs to hear you.”
My throat feels like sandpaper, but I force the words out. “Maxim,” I whisper, leaning close to his ear. “You’re going to be fine. You’re too stubborn to die. You have an empire to run, people to terrify, peanut butter to hoard.”
His lips twitch, a faint ghost of a smile that makes my heart squeeze painfully. “Peanut butter,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
“That’s right,” I say, blinking back tears. “And you still haven’t taught me how to make that ridiculously complicated espresso you like.”
His hand tightens weakly around mine, and for a moment, it’s enough. But then his eyes close again, his breathing shallow, and panic grips me like a vice.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” I demand, my voice sharp with fear.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” the paramedic says calmly. “We’re doing everything we can. Just keep talking to him.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing for something—anything—to say. And then the words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I’m pregnant.”