Chapter 2Damir
2
Damir
I lean against the doorway of Anton’s hospital room, watching her. Elena. She moves with quiet precision, focused, competent, and completely unaware that she’s caught my attention.
I first saw her two weeks ago, when Anton was admitted. She’d assisted the doctor overseeing Anton’s care, her name catching my ear when Anton inquired about her. Final-year med student. ER surgeon in the making. I acted like I didn’t care.
I do.
The hospital corridor bustles with activity around me, but she remains the focal point of my vision. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She checks Anton’s vitals with practiced efficiency, making notes on his chart. Her scrubs are a pale blue that somehow makes her skin glow under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Yesterday, I moved closer until we collided in the hospital café. Her coffee splashed across her scrubs, and she looked up at me with those wide brown eyes. For a moment, I wanted to pull her against me and taste those full lips that parted in surprise. Instead, I stepped back, apologized, and walked away.
A mistake. I rarely make those.
She turns now, checking something on the monitor beside Anton’s bed, completely absorbed in her work. I study the curve of her neck, the way her fingers move with precision over the equipment. There’s something captivating about watching someone who’s good at what they do.
When she finally turns and sees me, she startles. The clipboard in her hands nearly slips from her grasp, the plastic edge catching on her thumb before she recovers with a deft movement. Her fingertips whiten as she grips it tighter.
A slight flush blooms across her cheekbones, warming her complexion like sunrise on terracotta. Her throat works as she swallows.
“Goodness,” she says, smoothing her free hand down the front of her scrubs. The fabric rustles softly. Though her voice maintains its professional cadence, the slight tremor beneath her words betrays her. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She shifts her weight, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking faintly against the linoleum. The scent of antiseptic and something lighter—her shampoo, perhaps—drifts between us in the sterile hospital air.
“You were focused.” I push off from the doorframe and step into the room. The linoleum floor creaks slightly under my weight. “I’m Damir Antonov.”
Her eyes widen slightly. Interesting. Maybe she’s heard of me, or maybe it’s a more instinctive response, like when a rabbit scents a coyote and freezes. The survival instinct that never fails to recognize a predator.
“Elena Clarke,” she says, extending her hand. The fluorescent lights catch on her silver watch as she moves, a practical timepiece with a worn leather band. Her name fits her, elegant yet unpretentious.
I take it, noting how small it is compared to mine. Her palm disappears almost entirely within my grasp, though there’s nothing fragile in the way she holds herself. Her skin is warm, her grip firm despite the slight tremble I detect. When our hands touch, her pulse jumps, visible at the delicate skin of her wrist, a betrayal her composed expression nearly manages to hide.
“Dr. Clarke,” I say, releasing her hand after a moment longer than necessary. “We met yesterday though not formally. I’m the one who ruined your scrubs with coffee.”
She withdraws her hand quickly, breaking our connection. “I remember. The elevator too.” Her voice carries a hint of embarrassment as two bright spots of color appear on her cheeks.
“I owe you a coffee and a new set of scrubs,” I say, watching her face for a reaction.
“That’s not necessary.” Elena tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, the movement quick and unconscious. I follow the gesture, gaze lingering on the graceful curve where her neck meets her shoulder in a delicate slope disappearing beneath the collar of her lab coat.
“I insist.” I step closer, near enough to catch her scent, antiseptic soap mixed with something warmer and floral. Despite the narrowing space between us, she holds her ground. The wariness in her expression remains, but curiosity flickers there too, a question she doesn’t ask aloud. “It’s the least I can do.” My voice drops lower, meant for her ears alone. “After all, I ruined a perfectly good morning for you.”
Her smile tenses. “Maybe not a perfectly good morning.” She clamps her mouth tightly closed then, as if she’s revealed more than she had planned.
The room feels smaller with both of us in it. Anton watches our interaction with undisguised interest from his bed, but I ignore him. “How is our patient doing today?” I ask, nodding toward Anton.
She glances at her clipboard, professional mask sliding back into place. “His recovery is progressing well. The wound is healing nicely, and there’s no sign of infection. His physical therapy will start tomorrow.”
“Good to hear.” I move to stand beside her. “You seem very thorough.”
“I try to be.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, creating a fraction more distance between us. Her white sneaker squeaks against the linoleum floor. “Thoroughness saves lives in medicine.”
Her body language speaks volumes—the way her shoulders tense when I stand near, and how she clutches the clipboard against her chest like a shield. She’s uncomfortable with my proximity, that much is clear. Yet I notice how she sways slightly toward me when I speak, as if pulled by an invisible thread she’s fighting against.
“Do all your patients get this level of attention?” I ask, my voice low enough that Anton can’t hear from his bed.
She looks up at me, chin raised with professional pride. “Every single one though not all of them have armed guards outside their door.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She gives me a skeptical look. “Since Mr. Mikhailov was admitted, a man in a dark suit has been in this hallway, never farther than the waiting room. The face changes, but the dark suit, rigid posture, and carefully altered jacket hiding a side holster all stay the same.” After a pause, she says, “It doesn’t take a genius to discern you have a guard on my patient.”
“Just as a precaution.”
Her left brow slowly arches. “Right, in case the deer comes back to finish the job. It was a hunting accident, right?”
I almost laugh but choke it back. She’s far too perceptive, which should alarm me more than amuse me as it does. “Animals are intelligent.”
She makes a noncommittal sound as Anton speaks.
“According to Dr. Patel, Elena is the best student they’ve got,” Anton says from the bed. “She’s going to be a surgeon.”
She smiles at him, genuine warmth replacing her more aloof demeanor for a moment. “That’s the plan, if I can afford to finish my degree.” The comment seems to slip out unintentionally. She presses her lips together, as if regretting the admission.
“Financial troubles?” I ask.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her chin lifts slightly, pride evident in her posture.
I admire that. Too many people in this world look for handouts. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You seem resourceful.”
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, the room disappears. There’s something magnetic between us, a pull I haven’t experienced before. She feels it too. I can tell by the way her pupils dilate and how her breathing changes subtly.
The door opens, breaking the moment. A young man with sandy brown hair and an expensive watch pokes his head in. “Elena, Dr. Patel is looking for you. Something about the Abernathy case.”
She nods quickly, relief and disappointment warring in her expression. “I’ll be right there, Justin.” She turns to me with a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Nice to officially meet you, Mr. Antonov. Excuse me.”
She slips past me, brushing her arm against mine. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through my body. I watch her walk away, noting the graceful efficiency of her movements even in retreat.
“She’s good,” mutters Anton, shifting his injured arm after Elena leaves the room. “Pretty, too.”
I say nothing, my gaze still on the doorway through which she disappeared.
Anton exhales. “You’re thinking about her.”
I turn to face him, my expression neutral. “What makes you say that?”
“I know that look.” He adjusts himself against the pillows, wincing slightly. “You’ve had it since you first saw her.”
I move to the window, looking out at the city below. The hospital is on the tenth floor, offering a decent view of the skyline. “How’s the pain today?”
“Changing the subject won’t make me forget what I saw.” Anton’s voice carries a hint of amusement. “She’s different from your usual type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Exactly. You don’t do relationships. Never much before and not at all since Nikolai’s betrayal.”
The name sends ice through my veins. Nikolai. My former best friend. The man who put a bullet in Anton’s shoulder and nearly killed him. He sold me out and nearly got me arrested. He’s the man I plan to destroy.
I should be focusing on him and on dismantling his operation piece by piece until there’s nothing left. Instead, I’m distracted by a medical student with warm brown eyes and a stubborn streak.
“The doctor says you’ll make a full recovery,” I say, deliberately changing the subject.
Anton allows it this time. “Thanks to you getting me here so quickly, and thanks to Elena’s care.”
I turn back to face him. “Has she mentioned anything about financial problems before?”
“No.” Anton’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Just what she said.” I walk back to his bedside. “I want you to find out everything about her.”
“Already on it.” Anton smirks at my surprised expression. “I saw how you looked at her two weeks ago. I had one of our guys run a basic background check.”
I smile a little. “And?”
“Elena Clarke is twenty-five. Final-year medical student. Mother died when she was nineteen, and the father’s not in the picture. Hasn’t been since she was four. She was on track to graduate top of her class until recently. Seems she’s hit some financial trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Not sure yet, but she’s got less than forty-eight hours to come up with nearly twenty grand for tuition, or she’s out.”
I process this information, turning it over in my mind. “Interesting.”
“Damir.” Anton’s voice takes on a warning tone. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing yet.” I straighten my suit jacket. “Keep digging. I want to know everything—where she lives, who she spends time with, and what caused the financial problem.”
“You know getting involved with her is a bad idea. She’s clean and has no connections to our world. She’s studying to save lives, not take them.”
I give him a hard look. “I’m aware of that.”
“Are you? Because the last time I checked, we were in the middle of a war with Nikolai. He’s looking for any weakness he can exploit.”
“I don’t have weaknesses.”
Anton laughs, then grimaces as the movement pulls at his wound. “Everyone has weaknesses, brother. Even you.”
I check my watch. “I have a meeting. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Damir.” Anton’s voice stops me at the door. “Be careful. Not just with Nikolai, but with her. She’s not like us.”
I nod once and step into the hallway, scanning the corridor for any sign of Elena. She’s nowhere to be seen. Probably with her supervisor, discussing some patient.
As I walk toward the elevator, I consider what Anton said. He’s right that I should be focusing on Nikolai, on protecting what’s mine, and on revenge. I don’t get obsessed. I don’t get attached. That mistake almost got me killed.
But this woman? I can’t stop thinking about her.
The elevator doors open, and I step inside, pressing the button for the lobby. As the doors begin to close, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and blue scrubs turning the corner at the end of the hall. My finger hovers over the “door open” button for a fraction of a second before I let the doors slide shut.
I have an empire to run. A war to win. I don’t have time for distractions.
Yet as the elevator descends, thoughts of brown eyes and the scent of flowers fill my mind.