Chapter 12 #2
I gently pick up Stella’s wrist in my hand, her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers in a steady rhythm.
I let out a sigh of relief as my eyes scan the rest of her body, my hands slowly trying to discover where all the blood is coming from.
All too soon, and not soon enough, do I find the cause of her injury—a bullet to her shoulder.
Unlike my shot, Pyotr’s was messy. The bullet is still lodged somewhere in her shoulder, buried in a crowded intersection of nerves and blood vessels.
With it sitting this close to the subclavian artery, all it would take is the slightest shift for it to press on or even nick that vessel to trigger massive internal bleeding.
And that’s not even counting the other risks that come with leaving a bullet inside her.
Infection, abscesses, sepsis, and even lead poisoning if it sits there long enough.
If I don’t want her to die on me, then I can’t wait until we land in Moscow to save Stella.
“Stay with her. I’ll be right back,” I tell Kira, then slip out of the room before my control finally snaps.
I pull the door shut behind me and lean back against it, the cool surface pressing into my spine. Still, my hands won’t stop shaking as the image of Stella, lying motionless in that car trunk, keeps flashing behind my eyes.
This was supposed to be one of the happiest nights of my life. And yet I feel like I just walked into a nightmare of my own making. Everything that could have gone wrong tonight did. Fucking Lev and Pyotr messed up in the worst possible way imaginable.
No. This is on me. I’m the one who told them to bring Kira to me by any means necessary. They were just following orders. And I was following the Pakhan’s orders. However, I told them to bring her when she was alone, not drive her off a road and shoot at her! Not shoot at my Stella! Fuck!
I lift my shaking hands to my face and grimace when I see Stella’s blood smeared across my fingers.
That bastard Pyotr got a merciful death.
If I’d had the time, he’d be screaming for mercy right about now.
But time was a luxury I didn’t have. Especially since Lucky, as Kira calls him, showed up just as we were boarding my family’s jet.
Blyad! I fucking warned Misha that taking Kira abruptly, without investigating how deep her affiliations with the Romano clan were, might cause us unwanted problems. Still, my brother didn’t want to hear it.
And now, here we fucking are. Neck deep in problems. If Misha didn’t want a war with the Outfit, I think I just lit the first match by kidnapping two children of the Capo Dei Capi.
“Okay, the pilot said we should be in the air in five,” Kostya says, running toward me through the aisle.
If my brother expected a reply, he doesn’t get one. My eyes are still locked on the blood in my hands. Her blood. Blood I practically spilled myself.
“Kirill, the fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps when I keep standing there like a ghost.
“Nothing,” I mutter, brushing past him and forcing myself to move.
I need to get that bullet out of her shoulder. If I don’t…
No. I can’t think like that. Stella is a fighter. She’ll survive until we get to Russia. Until I bring her home where she can get the proper care she needs.
Twenty hours. That’s how long I have to keep her stable. Twenty fucking hours.
“Boss, we might have a problem,” the copilot calls out from the cockpit, pulling me out of my grim thoughts.
“What is it?”
“Best you come see for yourself.”
I run to the cockpit and spot a line of black SUVs tearing down the tarmac, ready to gun the plane down before we can lift off.
Mne pizdets. I bet this is Lucky’s doing. He must have called for backup before trying to play the white knight. How he found us in the first place is anyone’s guess.
“Get this plane in the air. Now.”
“That’s not so simple,” the pilot blurts like I’ve lost my mind.
I cock my gun and press it to his temple. “Get this motherfucking plane in the air. Now!”
The pilot goes ghostly pale, sweat shining on his brow, but he keeps his grip on the controls, mumbling a prayer as he pushes the engines harder.
“Fuck. He’s not going to make it,” Kostya mutters in panic beside me, eyeing the SUV barreling straight toward us like a bad game of chicken.
I rack the slide to my Glock just enough to let the pilot hear the round in my chamber. “If you don’t get this plane off the ground, I promise you’ll be the first to die tonight.”
Sweat beads trickle down his face as the co-pilot straps himself in, ready to help with the lift, fearing my wrath will fall on him next.
“This is going to be tight! Hold on!” the pilot warns, the nose of the plane jerking upward, just in a nick of time. We skim so close to the first SUV leading the battalion that I swear I feel the scrape.
“Well… that was close. Remind me to never do that again,” Kostya says, his laugh thin and shaky as we climb clear of the cars beneath us.
I don’t add anything to the remark, too busy sprinting back to the cabin, searching for my medical bag. Most airplanes carry only a basic first-aid kit, while ours stores every medical supply a Bratva soldat could possibly need in times of war.
“Follow me,” I order Kostya once I have the supplies in my hands.
I might need his brand of distraction to keep Kira and Lucky entertained while I dig that bullet out of Stella.
I’m coming, baby. I’m coming.
The moment I walk back into the room, the metallic scent of blood hits me like a punch.
My grip tightens around the bag’s handle as I force myself to keep it the fuck together.
She’s still lying on the bed where I left her, pale and unconscious, her hair matted to her beautiful face with blood.
I drop to my knees at her side and brush her hair away from her face.
My fingers shake once—only once—before I force them still.
“Has she woken up yet?” I ask, never taking my eyes off her.
“No,” my niece answers, the worry clear in her voice.
“Good. Might be for the best,” I retort, lifting my head to Kira and waving her over. “Hold her head while I take off her jacket.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Lucky growls, still not trusting I have his sister’s best interest at heart.
“Your sister has a bullet in her shoulder. I’m going to take it out.”
“The fuck you are! Land the goddamn plane and take her to a hospital!”
“That’s not happening.” Cold settles into my voice, the kind that makes grown men shut up.
“Let him help,” Kira says, moving to my defense.
She moves to offer me assistance, as if understanding that Stella is the one person I’d never intentionally harm. Lucky visibly shakes with the effort of not fighting me, forcing himself to trust Kira’s instincts, which earns him a little respect from me.
Then Kostya, being the idiot that he is, says, “Oh shit—this is Stella? The Stella?”
I snap my head toward him. “Zamolchi. Ni drugogo slova.”
Thankfully Kostya hears the warning in my tone and shuts up, before he says something I can’t take back.
With Kira’s help, we ease Stella upright as gently as we can, just enough for me to be able to take off her clothes.
Her jacket peels away wet from the blood.
The turtleneck beneath is soaked through too.
And it’s in this moment that Stella’s eyes begin to flutter open as I lie her on the bed again.
“What… what’s going on?” she whispers, her voice groggy as if sleep wants to take her under again.
“One of my soldat shot you, milaya,” I explain, while hurryingly slipping off my coat and shirt. My skin hits the cold air, but I barely feel it. “I need to get the bullet out. You’re losing too much blood.”
She blinks slowly. “Ki… Kill?”
“Yes, dusha moya. I’m here.” My voice softens instinctively. “How’s your head?”
“I’ve… had… worse hangovers.”
That’s my Stella.
“This will hurt,” I warn, tipping her forward again. Blood pulses from her shoulder in slow, sickening waves. “Hand me the alcohol and small forceps,” I order to no one in particular.
“Here you go, doc,” Kostya jokes as he tosses them over.
I hit him with a glare that promises I’ll skin him alive if he cracks one more joke. When I turn my attention back to Stella, all that rage vanishes.
“Bite into me if you need to, milaya,” I say before pouring alcohol straight into the wound.
Her scream tears through the cabin, primal and raw. She bites into my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.
“Hold her steady,” I howl.
Kira instantly anchors her, while Lucky’s phone light shines over her back.
I dive in with the forceps, as more blood coats my fingers.
Stella sobs into me, each sound twisting something sharp and furious inside my chest. And then I feel it…
the bullet. I clamp down around its edge and pull.
The bullet comes free, blackened and slick.
I toss it aside and cup the back of her head, pressing my lips to her hair.
“The worst is done. I just have to stitch you up.”
“I’m so tired.” She trembles.
“That’s the blood loss talking,” I explain softly to her, then bark orders at my brother in the same breath. “Kostya. Needle and sutures.”
Ten minutes of stitching follow. And this time my hands don’t shake.
Not once. When I finish and wrap the gauze tight, my girl has already slipped under, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.
I pull a blanket up to her chin and caress her temple with a gentleness I’d swear I didn’t have before she came into my life.
But she’s safe now. Even if her fire isn’t fully back yet. Stella’s fire isn’t just in her hair. It’s in her eyes, her voice, her bite. And God help me, I’ll kill the fucker who tries to put it out. Pyotr can attest to that.
No one will hurt you, dusha moya. Because I’m taking you home.