Chapter Six
Dmitri
The first thing I feel is pain.
A dull, pulsing ache deep in my side that drags me up from the dark.
The world comes into focus slowly. I hear the faint hums and beeps on the machines, and the unfamiliar scent of antiseptic fills my nostrils.
I blink hard, forcing my eyes open. My vision is blurry, but only until my eyes land on Mireille.
She’s curled in a chair beside the bed, her head resting on her arms, hair spilling across the blanket. She’s asleep, but it’s the kind of restless sleep that only comes after too many nights without it.
For a long moment, I just watch her breathe.
Then another voice cuts through the quiet. “You look like hell.”
I turn my head too fast, and the pain spikes, sharp enough to make me grit my teeth.
Alexei is sitting in the corner, jacket draped over one arm of the chair, eyes fixed on me.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, brother,” he says quietly. His eyes soften for a second, and I actually catch a glimpse of his worry and relief.
I clear my throat, ignoring the tightness in my chest. “How long was I out for?”
“Two days. The surgery went well. You lost a lot of blood.”
I glance down at the bandages across my abdomen, the IV taped to my hand. “Feels like it.”
Alexei stands from his seat and moves closer to my bedside. “You stopped a bullet, brother. I’d say you’ve earned some rest.”
“Rest later,” I mutter. “What happened after?”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sergei’s dead. Viktor shot him. You saved Turner’s life. And Mireille wouldn’t leave your side after you went down.”
That last part hits something deep in me. I glance at her again. She’s still asleep, but even from here, I can see the tear tracks that have since dried on her cheeks.
“What about Nowak?” I ask.
Alexei’s mouth tightens. “Viktor’s taking care of it as we speak.”
Of course he is.
People underestimate Viktor. They see the jokes, the easy charm, and assume he’s the least dangerous of us.
They’re wrong. He’s the one who manages our finances, who knows where every dollar goes, and who owes what to whom.
That kind of knowledge is its own weapon.
And when Alexei needs something handled quietly, permanently—Viktor doesn’t hesitate.
If Alexei gave the order, and Viktor is on it, Nowak’s already a ghost.
I close my eyes for a moment. “He’s wanted to handle something like this for years.”
Alexei’s tone shifts—dry, but faintly amused. “You should’ve seen his face when I said yes. He smiled. Actually smiled.”
“Then it’s done.”
Alexei doesn’t answer, and that silence tells me everything.
I open my eyes again, meeting his gaze. “What about Sergei’s story?”
His expression hardens. “You mean his claim that he was our brother?”
“Yeah.”
He exhales slowly and takes the seat beside my bed. “It’s possible. The timeline fits. Father knew his mother before he married ours. But he never said anything. Never saw Yuri treat Sergei any differently than anyone else under him.”
I study him quietly. “You’ve already checked.”
“Of course.” His jaw flexes. “Background shows Sergei was in the foster system from age five. His mother disappeared—no trace, no report, nothing. That’s around the time Father married Mother.”
He pauses, his gaze distant for a moment. “It would be like our father to make someone disappear if it suited him. But whether he killed her, or whether Sergei just built that story to survive…I don’t know.”
I let out a breath, slow and rough. “You’re running a DNA test?”
He nods. “Should have results in a few weeks.”
Silence stretches between us. The kind that hums with too many memories.
Alexei looks down at the floor, voice low. “He wasn’t just an employee to me, Dimitri. He was… close. I trusted him. And that’s on me.”
I shift my hand slightly, pain tugging at the movement. “He made his choice.”
“So did we,” Alexei says quietly.
He looks at Mireille, still asleep beside me, and his voice softens just a little. “You should know—she never left. Sat there for two days straight. Refused to go home, refused to eat in the cafeteria, refused everything. The nurses finally stopped trying.”
That pulls a faint smile from me. “Sounds like her.”
“She loves you,” he says simply. “And you’re lucky. Not many people would choose to stay in a world like ours.”
I stare at her, my chest tightening. “Yeah. I know.”
Alexei stands, straightening his jacket. “Rest. Viktor will call when it’s done.”
“Alexei.”
He pauses at the door.
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods once, his expression unreadable. “Don’t make a habit of getting shot. I’m not sure I’d survive having to explain it to Mireille.” A ghost of a smile lifts his lips.
He’s almost through the door when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, frowns, then looks back at me. “Viktor,” he says simply. “I’ll take this outside.”
The door clicks softly behind him.
A few minutes later, Mireille stirs. She lifts her head slowly, blinking against the light. For a second, she looks confused, then her gaze finds mine.
“Dmitri…” Her voice cracks on my name.
I manage a faint smile. “Hey.”
She’s up and out of the chair before I can say anything else, tears already spilling down her cheeks as she leans over me. “You’re awake. Oh my God, you’re awake.”
I reach for her hand, my voice raspy. “I told you I’d come back.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, wiping at her face. “You almost didn’t.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
That earns me a watery smile, but when she looks at the bandages peeking out from beneath the blanket, her expression crumples again. “You shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve—”
“Died?” I finish softly. “Maybe. But I wasn’t letting him hurt you. Or your father.”
She shakes her head, tears falling faster. “You’re impossible.”
I grin faintly. “You love that about me.”
“I do.” She presses her forehead to mine. “God, I do.”
I shift slightly, ignoring the pull of pain in my side, and tug her closer until she’s half lying against me. “Come here,” I whisper.
She hesitates. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I already hurt,” I murmur. “This helps.”
That makes her laugh, a sound that feels like air after drowning.
She climbs carefully onto the bed, curling against me.
My arm slips around her waist, and for a moment, it feels like everything outside this room stops existing.
We stay like that until her breathing steadies, her tears drying against my skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers finally. “For not trusting you. For what I thought when I heard you talking to your brothers.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“I overheard you talking about me with your brothers, and I just…” she trails off with a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping as she drops her gaze guiltily. “I can't believe I thought the worst of you.”
I tilt her chin up until our eyes meet. “What you heard was true—at least, it was true when I first approached you. The plan was always to use you to get to your father. But somewhere along the way, you became more important than any plan.”
Her eyes search mine, glistening with fresh tears.
“I’m not a good man, Mireille,” I continue quietly. “I’ve done things that would make you look at me differently if you knew. But loving you—that’s the most honest thing I’ve ever done.”
She lets out a shaky breath, then raises her hand to my face and caresses my jaw, her fingers trembling slightly. “I thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “You never will.”
She kisses me then, her lips sliding gently against mine. I angle my head and deepen the kiss, trying hard to control the rush of emotions coursing through me.
I almost never got to do this again…
When we finally pull apart, Mireille rests her head against my chest again. “I love you. Dmitri.”
My chest soars with a sudden surge of happiness. It feels like my heart might burst open at any moment, and I suddenly want to roar in victory.
Instead, I press a kiss to her temple and pull her closer. “I love you, too, moya kukolka.”