Chapter 4Damir
4
Damir
T he godawful antiseptic smell of the hospital room hits me as I push open the door to Anton’s private suite. My second-in-command looks better today—still pale, but the gray undertone to his skin has faded. The doctors say he’s lucky. The bullet missed his vital organs by centimeters.
Lucky isn’t the word I’d use. Nikolai meant to kill him. That he failed is a testament to Anton’s reflexes, not luck.
Anton sits propped against pillows, his left arm secured in a sling. His gray eyes track me as I cross the room, assessing my mood with the same precision he uses to gather intelligence. Nothing escapes his notice—it’s what makes him invaluable.
“You look like shit,” he says, his voice stronger than yesterday.
I drop into the chair beside his bed. “You’re one to talk.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. He adjusts his sling, wincing slightly. “I’ll be out by tomorrow.”
“I’ll make sure you have at-home care until you’re fully recovered.”
Anton sighs but doesn’t argue. We both know Nikolai isn’t finished. The bullet that put Anton in this bed was just the opening move in whatever game our former brother is playing.
“Elena’s been taking good care of me,” says Anton, watching my reaction carefully. “She’s going to be an excellent doctor.”
I keep my expression neutral. “She seems competent.”
“She’s more than competent. She’s brilliant.” Anton shifts against his pillows. “What’s your interest in her, Damir?”
“Professional curiosity.”
“Bullshit.”
I stand, smoothing my suit jacket. “Rest. I’ll have someone pick you up tomorrow.”
Anton watches me, his expression unreadable. “Be careful with her. She’s not like us.” He’s said it before but clearly feels strongly about this and protective about the doctor.
“No one is like us.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
I do know it. Elena Clarke is untouched by the darkness that defines my world. She’s worked hard for everything she has, and now, she’s about to lose it all because some worthless boyfriend stole from her.
“Damir, don’t drag her into this mess,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of concern. The muscles in his jaw work beneath his skin as he watches me.
“I’m not dragging her anywhere,” I say, my voice cold and precise. I straighten the cuff of my shirt, a small gesture of control. “I’m offering a solution to her problem.”
Anton shifts in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. He studies me for a long moment, reading between the lines like he’s always done. “And what do you get out of it?” His question hangs in the air between us, probing at motivations I’m not ready to examine.
I turn toward the door, my hand already on the polished handle. “Get some rest,” I say, effectively ending the conversation. The command carries no room for argument, even from him.
Outside Anton’s room, my driver, Viktor, waits for me, his massive frame making the hospital corridor seem smaller. The blaring fluorescent lights send harsh shadows across his scarred face as he falls into step beside me, his footsteps nearly silent despite his size.
“Nikolai’s in Moscow,” he says quietly, his voice barely carrying beyond the space between us. He glances at a passing nurse before continuing. “Our mole claims it’s for business, but we’ll keep tabs. Dimitrov has eyes on him at Sheremetyevo.” With my usual second out of commission, Viktor has stepped up to handle some of Anton’s tasks in addition to driving and being my personal bodyguard.
I nod, my expression revealing nothing. “How convenient for him.” The tile floor gleams under the harsh lighting as we walk toward the exit. We both know the truth. The coward left Philadelphia to distance himself from the federal investigation threatening to dismantle everything I’ve built over the last decade.
“Should we send someone?” he asks, holding the door open.
“No. Let him think we believe his little alibi. For now, we watch and wait.”
“Good.”
We exit through a side door, avoiding the main entrance where press might be lurking. The afternoon sun is bright, the air crisp with early autumn. My car waits at the curb, and Viktor moves ahead to open the door for me.
That’s when I see her.
Elena walks across the parking lot, still wearing scrubs. She moves with purpose, head down, lost in thought. She doesn’t notice the man following her until he grabs her arm.
I recognize him immediately as Justin, the second-ranked student in her class. I’ve seen him watching her during rounds, his gaze following her with both resentment and desire. Now he has her wrist in his grip, his face too close to hers.
“Let go of me,” says Elena, her voice carrying across the lot.
“Come on, Elena. One drink. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I said no.”
Justin’s grip tightens. “You think you’re too good for everyone, don’t you? Top of the class and Dr. Patel’s favorite.”
“This has nothing to do with?—”
“I know about your money problems,” he says, smirking. “Everyone does. Maybe I can help you out… for a little quid pro quo.”
Something cold and hard settles in my stomach. I move before I fully register the decision to do so.
“Boss…” Viktor begins, but I’m already crossing the lot.
Justin doesn’t see me coming. One second, he’s standing, gripping Elena’s wrist and smirking like he’s owed something. The next, he’s on the ground, spitting blood. My knuckles sting from the impact.
Elena gawks at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Fear and recognition flicker in her eyes. “Mr. Antonov,” she says, her voice steady despite her obvious shock.
Justin scrambles to his feet, trickling blood from his split lip. “What the fuck? Who the hell are you?”
I turn to him slowly. “Someone you don’t want to know.”
He looks between Elena and me, understanding dawning on his face. “Jesus, Clarke. You’re fucking this old guy? Is that how you’re planning to pay your tuition?”
I step toward him, and he backs away, hands raised.
“Okay, okay. She’s all yours, man.”
He retreats, throwing one last venomous look at Elena before hurrying away. I turn back to her, noting the flush of anger on her cheeks, and the way her bag has slipped off her shoulder in the scuffle.
That’s when I see the edge of an envelope sticking out of her bag. The university letterhead is visible, along with the bold red words: FINAL NOTICE.
My jaw tightens. Good. She knows she’s out of options now.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods, rubbing her wrist where Justin had grabbed her. “I’m fine. Thank you for... that.” She gestures vaguely in the direction Justin fled. “Though I could have handled it.”
“I’m sure you could have.”
She studies me, wariness in her eyes. “Why are you here? Are you following me?”
“I was visiting Anton.”
“Oh.” She shifts her weight. “How is he?”
“Better. He speaks highly of you.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just doing my job.”
I glance at the envelope in her bag. “Still having trouble with your tuition?”
Her eyes widen, then narrow. “I said no.”
“I can make this go away,” I say.
She stares at me, suspicion clear on her face. “What’s in it for you?”
“I told you my proposal yesterday.”
“A fake marriage.” She shakes her head. “Why would you need that? What’s the real reason?”
I consider lying, then decide against it. She’s too smart for that. “I’m involved in a federal investigation, and I need an ironclad alibi.”
“You want me to lie to federal agents?”
“I want you to be my wife. The rest takes care of itself.”
She doesn’t respond, but I see the moment she realizes she’s already mine. Her shoulders drop slightly, resignation settling over her features. I try not to glory in signs of surrender and endeavor to keep my expression neutral. “Here.” I pull out my business card, writing my personal number on the back. “Call me when you’ve made your decision.” I give it to her again, though I doubt she lost the first one I gave her.
She takes the card, brushing her fingers against mine. “What if I say no?”
“Then you say no… But we both know you won’t.”
I leave her standing in the parking lot, feeling her watching me as I walk to my car. Viktor opens the door for me, his face carefully blank.
“Take me to the office,” I tell him as we pull away.
I don’t look back at Elena, but her image stays with me—the defiance in her eyes, and the pride in the set of her shoulders even as she faced financial ruin. She’s nothing like the women I usually surround myself with. Nothing like anyone in my world.
Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my head.
My phone rings at 8:47 that evening. I’m in my study, reviewing financial reports with a glass of vodka at my elbow. I recognize the number immediately. “Elena,” I answer.
A pause. “How did you know it was me?”
“I make it my business to know things.”
She’s silent for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about your...offer.”
“And?”
“I’ll do it,” she says, her voice firm. “I have conditions.”
I lean back in my chair. “I’m listening.”
“This is strictly business. No...bedroom contact.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Agreed.”
“And I want everything in writing. How long this arrangement lasts, what’s expected of me, financial terms…the works.”
“Of course.”
“And I want my own place. I’m not living with you.”
This gives me pause. “That would defeat the purpose, Elena. We need to appear as a legitimate couple.”
“Then separate bedrooms, and I need my own space in whatever mansion you probably live in.”
“It’s a penthouse, actually, and yes, you’ll have your own room.”
She exhales slowly. “Okay. When do we...start?”
“I’ve already started. I stopped by the university financial office this afternoon. Your tuition balance has been paid in full.”
Silence stretches between us. When she speaks again, her voice is tight. “You were that certain I’d agree?”
“I was certain you had no other choice.”
“Right.” The word is bitter. “Because I’m desperate.”
“Because you’re practical,” I correct her. “And intelligent enough to recognize an advantageous arrangement when it’s offered.”
“Is that what this is? Advantageous?”
“For both of us.”
She sighs. “When do you want to meet to discuss details?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll send a car for you after your shift.”
“I can take a cab.”
“Elena,” I say, my tone brooking no argument, “I’ll send a car.”
Another pause. “Fine.”
“Good night, Elena.”
“Good night...Damir.”
She hangs up, and I stare at the phone for a long moment. The way she said my name—reluctant, testing the feel of it on her tongue—stirs something in me I thought long dead.
I drain my vodka, irritated with myself. This arrangement is purely practical. A business transaction. The fact that she’s beautiful, intelligent, and fiery is irrelevant. The fact that she’s agreeing to this out of desperation rather than desire shouldn’t bother me.
But it does.
I pour another drink, trying to drown the uncomfortable thought. I’ve never cared about a woman’s motivations before. I’ve never wanted one to want me for anything beyond what I could provide—money, status, or protection.
So why does it matter that Elena is marrying me because she has no other choice?
It doesn’t, I tell myself firmly. It’s better this way. Cleaner. No messy emotions to complicate things.
I return to my financial reports, but the numbers blur before my eyes. All I can see is Elena’s face, proud even in defeat, beautiful even in distress.
Mine, even if only by necessity.