Chapter Twenty-Eight - Dimitri
Pain drags me back to consciousness.
Sharp and immediate, radiating from my side like fire spreading through dry wood. I try to move, abort the attempt when agony spikes white-hot behind my eyes.
Surgery. Right. I was shot.
The memories surface slowly through the haze of whatever they gave me for the pain. The restaurant. Gunfire. Janice’s scream cutting through chaos. Her hands on my back, coming away red.
Janice.
I force my eyes open despite the effort it costs. The room swims into focus—familiar ceiling, familiar walls. My bedroom. They brought me home after the surgery, then. Good. Hospitals ask questions I can’t afford to answer.
Movement catches my peripheral vision.
She’s there. Slumped in a chair pulled close to the bed, head resting on crossed arms near my hip, asleep in a position that can’t be comfortable. Her hair is tangled, makeup smeared like she’s been crying, and there’s blood dried on her hands.
My blood.
Something in my chest tightens that has nothing to do with the bullet wound.
She stayed.
I don’t know why that surprises me. We’re married. She’s supposed to stay. Except nothing about our marriage has ever followed conventional rules, and Janice has made it clear more than once that obligation doesn’t dictate her choices.
She chose to stay anyway.
I reach for her with the hand that doesn’t pull stitches, fingers brushing her hair. She startles awake immediately, eyes wild with panic before focusing on my face.
“Dimitri.” My name breaks on something that might be a sob. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Should I get the doctor? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You were shot!”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not reassuring!” Her hand finds mine, gripping hard enough to hurt. Not that I’d tell her. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Tears spill over, tracking through dried blood and ruined makeup. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Don’t apologize. Just don’t do it again.” She swipes at her face with her free hand, smearing the mess further. “I thought you were going to die in that car. There was so much blood, and you kept trying to stay conscious, and I couldn’t stop it!”
“Janice.” I pull her closer despite the protest from my ribs. “I’m here. I’m alive. You can stop now.”
She collapses against me carefully, mindful of the wound, her whole body shaking. I hold her as well as I can with one functional arm, feeling her tears soak through the thin hospital gown someone dressed me in.
We stay like that until her breathing evens out, until the trembling stops.
“How long was I out?” I ask finally.
“Six hours.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. “The doctor said the surgery went well. Bullet didn’t hit anything vital. You just lost a lot of blood.”
“What happened to the shooters?”
“Felix is handling it.” She pulls back enough to look at me, and I see the fear still lingering in her eyes. “He said it was Zullo men. Three of them. They’re all dead now.”
Good. One less problem to worry about.
“You should rest,” she says. “The doctor left instructions about rest and meds.”
“I need to tell you something first.”
“It can wait until you’re stronger.”
“No. It can’t.” I shift, trying to sit up more. Pain lances through my side, sharp enough to make my vision gray at the edges.
Janice makes a distressed sound, helping me adjust pillows. “Stop moving!”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“You knew that when you married me.”
“I didn’t have a choice when I married you.”
The words should sting. They don’t, because she’s right. I took that choice from her just like I’ve taken so many others.
Time to give one back.
“The phone,” I say. “I told you I’d known for a few days, but that’s not true. I knew for much longer.”
She goes very still. “What?”
“I knew the entire time.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy with implications.
“You knew.” Her voice is carefully neutral. “How?”
“Felix’s surveillance caught Santini approaching you. We enhanced the footage, traced the contact back to the Zullos.” I meet her eyes, refusing to look away. “I had the phone monitored from the moment you sent the first message.”
“You monitored it.”
“Yes.”
“Read my messages.”
“Every one.”
“Watched me respond.”
“Yes.”
She stands, putting distance between us. I let her go, watching emotions war across her face—betrayal, fury, something that might be relief underneath.
“It was a test,” she says finally. “The whole thing. You knew they approached me, knew they were trying to turn me against you, and you just… watched. Waited to see what I’d do.”
“Yes.”
“How long were you planning to let it go on?”
“As long as necessary to confirm your loyalty.”
The blunt honesty makes her flinch. “And in the study that night? When you caught me at your desk?”
“I knew exactly what you were looking for. The encrypted laptop, the external drive—I left them there deliberately. Made sure you’d have opportunity.”
“So you could catch me.”
“So you could choose.” I force myself to meet her gaze despite wanting to look away from the hurt there. “Every step, every message, every moment you thought about betraying me—I was watching. Waiting to see what you’d do when you thought I couldn’t see.”
Janice laughs, sharp and bitter. “You manipulative bastard.”
“Yes.”
“This entire time, while I was agonizing over whether to help them, whether to steal from you, you already knew. You set the whole thing up.”
“Not the initial approach. That was genuine. The Zullos wanted leverage, and you were the obvious choice.” I shift again, pain forgotten in the need to make her understand. “Once I knew, I could have ended it immediately. Could have confronted you, eliminated the threat, moved on.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I needed to know if you’d choose me. Not because I forced you, not because you had no other option, but because you wanted to.” The admission costs more than I expected. “I needed to know if this marriage was something you could want instead of just endure.”
“So you tested me like I’m some kind of experiment.”
“Yes.”
“When I refused to take the drive, when I stopped responding to their messages—what then? Were you going to tell me, or just keep the manipulation going indefinitely?”
Good question. One I don’t have a satisfactory answer for.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I knew I should tell you. Knew keeping it secret made everything between us a lie. I just—” I stop, searching for honesty. “I was afraid.”
That stops her. “Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you. Of having you look at me exactly the way you’re looking at me right now, like I’m something you need to protect yourself from.”
Janice crosses her arms, and I can see her rebuilding walls I’ve spent months carefully dismantling. “You should be afraid. What you did was unconscionable.”
“I know.”
“You violated my privacy, manipulated me, set up an entire operation just to test whether I’d betray you.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even have the decency to apologize for it.”
“No, because I’m not sorry.” I hold her gaze despite the fury building there. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. Sorry the method was cruel. I’m not sorry for needing to know if you’d choose me when you thought there was another option.”
“That’s not how trust works!”
“I don’t know how trust works.” The confession comes out rougher than intended. “You’re the first person in twenty years I’ve wanted to trust, and I have no idea how to do it without insurance. Without proof.”
“So you spied on me.”
“Yes.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then sinks back into the chair like her legs won’t hold her anymore. “I chose you.”
“I know.”
“Even when I thought you’d never find out.
Even when I had the perfect opportunity to take what they wanted and walk away free.
I chose you.” Her voice breaks. “Do you have any idea how hard that was? How many times I told myself I was being stupid, that you’d never give me the same loyalty I was giving you? ”
“I do now.”
“Do you? You already knew the answer before I made the choice. You knew I’d pick you because you made sure there was no real alternative. The external drive probably didn’t even have what they wanted on it, did it?”
She’s too perceptive. Always has been.
“No. It was bait. Fake financial records designed to look legitimate enough to pass initial inspection.”
“So even if I’d taken it, even if I’d given it to them, it wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“It would have told me everything I needed to know about where your loyalty actually lies.”
Janice laughs again, and this time it’s not bitter. Just exhausted. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know what I am. The question is whether you can live with it.”
“I don’t know anymore.” She meets my eyes, and I see the conflict written plainly across her face. “I love you. God help me, I do. But I don’t know if I can trust you after this.”
The words hit harder than the bullet did.
“What do you need?” I ask. “To trust me again. What do I have to do?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. Trust isn’t something you can force or manipulate or test into existence.” She stands, crosses to the window. “You taught me that tonight.”
“So that’s it, we’re done?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
She turns back to me, and I see tears tracking fresh down her face. “I’m saying I hate that I still love you. That even knowing you manipulated me, tested me, violated every boundary I tried to set—I still can’t imagine walking away.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple!”
“It is.” I force myself upright despite the agony, need her to see my face when I say this.
“I love you, Janice. Not because you passed some test or proved your loyalty. I love you because you’re the only person who’s ever looked at me and seen both the monster and the man, and somehow decided both were worth knowing. ”
“Pretty words won’t fix this.”
“I know. Nothing will fix it except time and proof.” I extend my hand, an offering. “I’m asking you to stay anyway. Not because you have to, and not because leaving isn’t an option. You choose to.”
She stares at my hand like it might bite her.
“You almost died tonight,” she says quietly. “When they shot you, when you were bleeding in my lap, I realized something.”
“What?”
“That revenge doesn’t matter anymore. Power, freedom, all the things I thought I wanted when this started—none of it matters if you’re not here.” She takes my hand, grip almost painful. “So yes, I’m staying. I choose you. Even when you don’t deserve it.”
Relief crashes through me so intense it rivals the pain.
“I don’t deserve it,” I agree. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to.”
“You better.” She leans down carefully, mindful of my injury, and kisses me. Soft and devastating and tasting like tears. “If you pull something like this again, I’ll finish what the Zullos started.”
“Noted.”
“I mean it, Dimitri. No more tests. No more manipulation. If you need to know something, ask me. Trust that I’ll tell you the truth.”
“Can you tell me the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Even when it’s dangerous?”
“Even then.”