15. Cora
15
CORA
T he hotel room is a palace compared to the filth Darren kept me in. Ivan booked us in under fake names, tipping the guy on the desk to make sure no questions are asked.
I sit on the edge of the massive bed, trying to hold myself together. Ivan’s stripped off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and is systematically laying out first aid supplies on the table near the minibar.
I should say something. Thank him, maybe. But the words feel too small.
Instead, I watch him. Watch the tightness in his shoulders, the muscle that jumps in his jaw every time he glances at me. He hasn’t spoken much since he tore me out of Darren’s grasp.
He kneels in front of me, pulling the first aid kit closer. "You’re hurt. Let me take care of you."
“I thought you’d called a doctor.”
“This’ll do until he gets here. Son of a bitch better be quick or I’ll break his fucking neck.”
His touch is surprisingly gentle as he dabs antiseptic over the raw scrapes along my wrist. I hiss through my teeth, but he doesn’t let me pull away.
"I know," he murmurs, his thumb stroking absently over my pulse point. "I’ll be careful."
When he presses an ice pack against my ribs, I flinch. He stills. Then his voice drops into something dangerous, something dark.
“I’ll kill him for this."
He exhales sharply through his nose, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he tightens his grip on the ice pack. But then, just as quickly, the storm in him settles. He adjusts the pack carefully, his fingers brushing against my side, his touch achingly gentle.
"The doctor’s is on his way. Just try to relax until he gets here. Want to watch some TV?"
I want to tell him it’s impossible. That I don’t know how to relax.
My fingers curl into the sheets beneath me, my pulse hammering against my ribs. The fear I’ve been shoving down all night rises, sharp and overwhelming.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking until his hand slides over mine, stilling me. “What is it?”
"I’m worried about the baby, Ivan."
My throat tightens as I force myself to look up at him. His expression is unreadable at first—a storm of something too deep, too dangerous to name.
“Me too.”
He lifts his gaze to mine, something unrelenting burning behind his eyes.
His grip tightens.
"I will never let you get hurt again." The words are low, deliberate, absolute. "And I will never let anyone hurt our child."
The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
He combs his fingers through my hair.
I don’t stop him.
“You’re good at this protection thing,” I say, touching his arm. “The killing, I get, but the protection? Where’d you learn it?”
He replies in a rough voice. The words feel dragged from him. "My mother died protecting me."
My chest tightens. I don’t move, afraid that if I do, he’ll clam up again. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.
"I was five," he continues, voice flat. "My father was old school. He thought emotions were weaknesses, that love was something to be beaten out of you if you wanted to reach the top. My mother…"
He exhales, shaking his head. "She tried to protect me from him. So he killed her. I couldn’t stop him. He made me watch. Told me no one could protect me but me. Slapped me so I fell over. I fell into her blood."
I tilt my head back, searching his face, but he isn’t looking at me. His gaze is locked on some invisible past, something far away, but the tension in his jaw tells me he’s there, still bleeding from wounds that never closed. “I should have stopped him. Should have run when she suggested it.”
"You were just a kid," I whisper.
His hand stills in my hair.
"It doesn’t matter. The world doesn’t care how young you are." His voice drops lower, something dark curling beneath it. "I vowed I’d never be like him, never kill out of insecurity."
I understand that better than anyone.
For a long moment, we don’t speak. The weight of his confession lingers, heavy between us.
I drop my gaze, focusing on the sheets twisted in my hands. "You want to know what I used to dream about while I was on the streets?”
“What?”
“I used to dream about having a family." I touch my stomach. “One where I could make my children feel safe, where no one could hurt us.”
Silence.
When I look up, Ivan is watching me.
Not with pity. Not with softness.
But with something raw. Dark. Possessive.
Then, his grip on my hand tightens, firm and grounding.
"Then we make sure our child never knows anything else."
He shifts, his tenderness replaced by cold, calculating precision as he glances at the time.
"How did Darren get to you?" His voice is steel now, his hand still locked with mine. “I left a note, told you to stay put.”
"I got a text from your phone. I thought…" I hesitate, shaking my head. "I thought it was you. Said the penthouse had been compromised and you were sending a cab to collect me."
His entire body goes rigid.
"They used my fingerprint." His voice is sharp with fury, but not at me—at himself. “Unlocked it while I was unconscious. Clever.”
His jaw clenches, his grip tightening against my fingers before he suddenly wrenches his hand away, shoving up from the bed.
His knuckles crack as he fists his hands at his sides. "I should have seen that coming. Next time, I’ll use a code. If a message is bullshit I’ll call you kitty kat. Got it?"
“Kitty kat. Got it. You know this isn’t your fault, don’t you?”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "It doesn’t matter." His voice is all steel now, all dominance. "What matters is making Darren pay for hurting you."
I nod. "And how do we do that?"
"I don’t know yet." His eyes flick to mine. "Any ideas?”
I sit up straight. “You said the flash drive gave away its location, right?”
“Right. So?”
“So you choose the right moment to send that signal again. Draw him into a trap.”
He smiles. “I like it.” He kisses me. “You’re not dumb.”
“Sure I am, I married you, didn’t I?”
He kisses me again. “Dumbest thing you ever did.”
A sharp knock at the door interrupts us.
Ivan moves instantly, his body coiling, sensing danger. He’s already pulling a gun from his waistband as he strides toward the door, his steps measured, silent and deadly.
He glances back at me, his eyes like ice. A warning. Stay put.
I lift a brow but say nothing. I trust him to handle whatever’s coming.
The door cracks open an inch. Ivan doesn’t relax.
"Maxim," Ivan growls.
A man similar to Ivan steps inside, his face scarred. “Brought the doc with me,” Maxim says.
Behind him is a man in his sixties, his gray hair sticking up wildly like he’s been electrocuted, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
His white button-down is wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to expose a watch that looks more expensive than the entire hotel suite. His eyes scan the room with the detached amusement of someone who’s seen far worse.
"You’re the patient?" he asks, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Ivan catches his wrist mid-motion, stopping him.
"Not in here," Ivan says flatly.
The doctor exhales through his nose but shrugs. "You got a problem with me smoking? Got me out of bed in the middle of the night but now you’re making demands."
“Not in here. Put it out or I will.”
Maxim rolls his eyes. "Cora, meet Dr. Roth. He’s discreet. Mostly. And he doesn’t ask questions. Roth, you can go without nicotine for ten minutes, can’t you?"
Dr. Roth sniffs. "Fine." He squints at me. "You gonna make this easy, or do I have to wrestle you to the ground?"
Ivan’s hand tightens on my shoulder before I can answer. His grip is possessive.
"You will not touch her." Ivan’s voice is low, cold, terrifyingly calm.
Dr. Roth sighs dramatically. "Christ. You bratva boys never lighten up. How am I going to treat her without touching her, you psychopath?"
I can’t help it—I laugh.
Ivan’s glare snaps to me. "What’s funny?"
I shake my head. "Nothing.”
Dr. Roth smirks. "C’mon, princess. Let’s see how bad he let you get hurt."
Ivan makes a sound low in his throat, a dangerous warning, but I nudge his hand off my shoulder before he starts growling at the doctor like a rabid wolf.
"Relax, Ivan. I’m not going anywhere."
He doesn’t relax. Not even a little.
Instead, he stays right there, unmoving, looming like a damn sentry while Dr. Roth checks me over.
"Jesus, possessive much?" Dr. Roth mutters as he examines me, Ivan hovering at his shoulder.
"Watch it," Ivan growls.
The doctor ignores him.
"Bruising looks nasty, but nothing broken," Dr. Roth announces. "You’ll live. But…" He glances at me, then at Ivan. "That’s not what you’re worried about, right?"
Ivan goes rigid. Like a beast ready to lunge. “Well?”
"Hard to tell right now. You can take another test but I’ll need you in the clinic to get a proper look. Not a lot of ultrasound equipment in hotel rooms."
Dr. Roth pats my knee, ignoring the murderous look Ivan levels at him. "You’ll need check-ups, just to be sure everything is fine. But as long as you don’t do anything stupid—like shacking up with him—you should be okay." He turns to Ivan. “Do a better job of keeping her safe next time.”
Ivan bristles. "You want to walk out of here on two broken legs?"
Dr. Roth watches him for a long moment, then smirks. "Who’d turn up this late at night to solve all your problems?"
He turns to Ivan, looking him over before stitching him back together.
He shoves his medical bag shut twenty minutes later. "That’ll be ten grand."
I blink. "Seriously?"
He winks at me. "You’re getting the friends and family discount. Normally, I charge double for working this late."
Ivan doesn’t even flinch. He pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket and tosses it onto the table. The money barely lands before he turns back to me, his full attention locking onto me like I’m the only thing in the room.
And then—before I can process it—he bends down and presses a kiss to my forehead.
I forget how to breathe.
Before I can say anything, Dr. Roth mutters, "Yeah, yeah. Love is grand. Now, if we’re done with the brooding declarations, I have a poker game to get to. Goodnight gentlemen."
Ivan doesn’t even acknowledge him. He’s still looking at me, still waiting for something.
I finally exhale and nod. "Okay."
His fingers brush against mine before he pulls away, his warmth disappearing. “What now?” I ask.
Maxim pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Ivan.
"This is the address of our best tech guy," he says. "Waiting for us to bring the flash drive.”
Ivan nods my way. “You ready?”
I nod back. “Let’s go.”