Chapter 22 Aleksander
ALEKSANDER
The nurse finally steps out, a clipboard in hand and a tired smile on her face. “She’s stable now. The fluids helped a lot—her fever’s coming down.”
Relief hits me hard enough to make me dizzy. I thank her, barely managing the words, and step into the room to see Lily curled up beneath the blanket, cheeks flushed but peaceful. Nikolai enters the room behind me, standing still for a moment, watching her breathe.
I ruffle Lily’s hair, lean down, and kiss her forehead. “You scared me, little fox,” I murmur. She doesn’t wake, but her fingers curl around mine.
Bella should have been back by now.
I check my phone. Five minutes, ten, fifteen—longer than anyone takes for a bathroom break. A cold feeling crawls up my spine.
I look at Nikolai. “Stay with her. Don’t let anyone in unless you know them. Not even the staff unless they show ID.”
He nods, sensing something in my tone. “Understood.”
The hallway outside is quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I make my way toward the bathrooms, moving faster with every step, pushing past a couple of nurses who don’t look twice at me.
I try the women’s bathroom door—locked. I knock. “Bella?” No answer. I push, it gives way with a low groan.
Inside, the light is still on. The air feels…
wrong. The trash can is knocked over, paper towels scattered across the tile.
There’s a streak on the floor that looks suspicious—something dragged or spilled, maybe blood, maybe not.
I spot Bella’s hair tie by the sink, stretched and broken. Panic claws at my throat.
“Bella?” My voice echoes in the empty room. No response.
I turn in a slow circle, searching for any sign of her, heart pounding. She’s gone. She’s really gone.
But she didn’t go willingly. That much is clear.
My hands clench into fists. For a second, I let myself feel the fear, the old helplessness, the rage. Then I force it all down, focusing on what matters.
I don’t waste time calling security—I storm down the corridor, past startled nurses and orderlies, until I find the hospital’s security office tucked beside the elevators. The guard inside barely has time to look up before I’m at his desk.
“I need to see the security footage for the last thirty minutes—bathroom hallway, emergency exit,” I tell him. He hesitates, opens his mouth to protest. “Now. Or you’ll answer for more than a data breach. Move.”
His hands shake as he pulls up the feeds, screens flickering with silent footage. I pace behind him, barely breathing, jaw clenched tight.
“There,” I bark, pointing at the hallway camera outside the women’s bathroom. The timestamp matches when Bella left me. For a few minutes, nothing—just people walking by. Then I see a woman step out from the bathroom.
Her face is perfectly calm, perfectly forgettable.
But she’s not alone.
Behind her, in a wheelchair, is a woman slumped over, a surgical mask pulled up over her mouth, hair covering her face. Too still. Too limp. The flight attendant glances both ways, then calmly wheels her straight past the nurses’ station.
My blood runs cold.
“Zoom in,” I say. The guard does.
My heart stops for a second.
It’s Elena Morozova.
The flight attendant.
“What the fuck,” I say.
I thought maybe she was running, or maybe she was already dead, another casualty in this mess. But there she is. Calm. Unhurried. Not a mark on her.
She wheels Bella out of the bathroom like it’s nothing, smooth and practiced, a mask over Bella’s face, her own eyes glancing up just once.
The guard keeps talking, but I don’t hear him. My fists are clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms.
Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm out of the security office, pushing through startled nurses, past the hum of late-night hospital chaos. Every part of me is focused, running hot with rage and cold with dread.
I head straight for the emergency exit, the one I watched Elena vanish through. I take the corner fast, nearly slipping on the tile, adrenaline making my vision tunnel. Every instinct screams at me to hurry, to not let her get further away.
The door slams against the wall as I throw it open, the metal shuddering. I burst into the stairwell, boots pounding down the concrete steps two at a time.
I shove open the emergency exit, the door banging against the wall with a hollow clang. Cold night air rushes in, stinging my face and clearing my head. I take the steps two at a time and burst out into the parking lot, heart pounding, scanning the rows of cars and the shadowed edges of the lot.
No wheelchair. No trace of Elena. No sign of Bella.
My breath fogs in the air as I stand there, fists clenched, fighting the urge to scream. For a second, all I hear is the hum of streetlights, the distant sound of a siren, the dull throb of blood in my ears.
I start moving, eyes searching for anything—a dropped scarf, a tire mark, a van door closing. I look under every floodlight, check behind the dumpsters, circle the perimeter, ignoring the bite of the wind and the ache in my legs.
But the lot is empty. She’s gone.
Bella is gone.
I press my hands to my head, forcing myself to think, to breathe.
The scream rips through the night—sharp, terrified, unmistakably Bella’s.
A split second later, a gunshot cracks through the parking lot, echoing off metal and concrete.
My instincts take over. I’m running before I even know it, my hand already on my gun, the world narrowing to the sound of my feet pounding the pavement and the wild, desperate hope burning in my chest.
There’s movement ahead—a shadow slipping away between two cars, limping, clutching their side. I barely register them, because all I see is the crumpled shape on the ground, hair spilled across the asphalt, blood pooling dark beneath her.
“Bella!”
My heart drops out of my chest as I drop to my knees beside her, the gun forgotten in my fist. I reach for her, voice cracking, hands trembling. “Bella, stay with me—please, stay with me—”
There’s blood everywhere, soaking into her clothes, her skin. My chest is tight, breath coming too fast. I can’t lose her. I can’t. I don’t care if it’s reckless or pathetic—I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking. “I love you. I love you, do you hear me? You can’t leave me. I can’t—”
Then her lashes flutter. Her hand twitches in mine, and she stirs, just barely, just enough for hope to tear through me.
She blinks, eyes unfocused, lips barely moving. “That’s…not my blood,” she whispers, voice ragged but alive.
For a second, all I can do is stare at her, not believing. She shifts, grimacing, and I see her hand come up, smeared red, gripping something—a knife. The blade glints in the lamplight, sticky with someone else’s blood.
Bella blinks, then lifts her hand. “Think I got her,” she manages, the barest ghost of a grin on her lips.
I stare at her, heart pounding. Pride, love, and utter awe flood through me. I can’t help it—I stroke her hair, cupping her face with trembling hands. “That’s my girl,” I breathe, eyes burning.
I gather her up in my arms, barely feeling her weight, adrenaline still buzzing through every vein. “Hold on,” I whisper, tucking her head against my chest. She clings to me, breath hitching, her fingers curled tight in my shirt.
The doors fly open as I storm back inside with Bella tucked under my arm, gun shoved deep in my jacket, all eyes snapping to us as we rush through the fluorescent glare of the hallway. A nurse gasps, dropping her clipboard.
“She’s hurt!” I shout. “I need help, now!”
A wave of urgency ripples through the ER. Staff swarm us, rolling out a stretcher. I lay Bella down, brushing hair off her forehead, refusing to let go of her hand. “Stay with me,” I murmur, locking eyes with her. “Don’t let go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
A doctor appears, snapping out orders, nurses peeling Bella’s bloodied clothes away to check for wounds.
The room is quiet now, hospital lights low, machines humming in gentle rhythm.
Bella sleeps in the bed, her face turned toward me, a faint frown still etched between her brows even in rest. I haven’t moved from this chair since they finished with her—every time she shifts or sighs, I’m instantly alert.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest, grateful for every breath.
Nikolai comes in, and when I don’t say anything for a long time, he clears his throat impatiently.
“Elena is gone,” he says. “No sign of her anywhere in the building or on the street. She’s good.”
The thought stings more than I want to admit.
“I always thought she was just a pawn in someone else’s game,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean.
I look down at Bella, my thumb stroking her knuckles, needing the contact.
“But obviously something else is at play. Something bigger. Something I’m not seeing yet. ”
Nikolai nods, his face set in hard lines. “We’ll find out. We’ll get ahead of it.”
I wish I could believe him.
The hallway is quieter now, the chaos of the night receding into low voices and the distant beep of monitors.
I leave Bella’s room, pausing for a moment to watch her sleep—peaceful at last, color returning to her cheeks.
Nikolai nods at me from his post by the door, silent understanding in his eyes.
I walk toward Lily’s room, rubbing a hand over my face, exhaustion pressing hard at my temples.
The sharp click of shoes on linoleum makes me glance up.
A man comes around the corner, head down, shoulders hunched as if trying not to draw attention.
We almost collide. He looks up, startled, and murmurs, “Sorry.”
He steps aside, but not before I see the mark on his wrist, half-hidden by his sleeve—a tattoo, simple and unmistakable. My mother’s sigil.
Everything inside me freezes.
He’s one of Irina’s.
The man keeps walking, slipping past two orderlies, heading for the far end of the hallway.