Chapter 3
Stitched Together
Anton:
A man who's broken has no business wanting something pure. Yet here I am.
I was a ghost of a man. The most efficient killer, wrapped in polite efficiency, but hollow. My heart was just a ticking clock, counting out the beats until I met Fee.
She showed up vibrant, like the sun breaking through gray clouds. Her laughter feels like a melody from a long-forgotten tune. She is warmth in a cold world.
But, she would be someone to lose. That's been the battle. But not having Fee? That unnerves me more than if I did.
Fee sits rigid beside me, part of the skirt on her coral dress torn and bloodstained. The bandage around her foot is seeping red through the white gauze.
"Fee. About last night—"
"Don't."
The word cuts sharply. She stares straight ahead, hands clenched in her lap.
"I want to explain to you."
"Anton, please." Her voice cracks. "It's been a lot. Too much. If we talk about this now, I'm going to say something I'll regret later. Something that might be too much."
The silence stretches taut. Outside, sirens wail in the distance, growing fainter. Inside this garage, Fee's breathing sounds too quick, too shallow.
"I just need to know about Shane. Did he make it?" She finally looks at me, and those green eyes are glassy with unshed tears. "He has a wife, and she's pregnant, Anton. They're expecting their first baby in four months."
"I'll call Yuri as soon as we get upstairs."
"And Cillian. He got shot protecting me. Emma was put in danger because I was at her store. She's not part of this mess you and I live in, but she got caught in the crossfire because of me."
"This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it? Shane has a kid on the way who depends on him. A wife who depends on him. Nobody depends on me, Anton. I'm just Connor Quinn's daughter, someone who is only useful to play the games of influence and power. Shane shouldn't die because of me."
The raw pain in her voice makes my hands curl into fists. She's spiraling, drowning in responsibility that isn't hers to carry.
"Fee."
"I can't do this right now." She reaches for the door handle. "I can't talk about us when people are bleeding because of me. It wouldn't be fair to anyone."
I catch her wrist gently, stopping her from bolting. Her pulse races under my thumb.
"You're right. We don't need to talk about yesterday. Not now." I wait until she meets my eyes. "But I need you to understand something."
She goes very still.
"I don't want to play polite with you. I don't want professional distance or careful conversations about the weather anymore." My voice drops lower. "I want more, Fee."
I watch Fee nod, her fingers still trembling slightly against her torn skirt. The underground garage feels too quiet after everything that just happened.
"I'm going to carry you upstairs."
"No." She shakes her head immediately. "I can walk."
Fee uncrosses her legs and opens the car door before I can stop her. The movement pulls at her dress, revealing more of the damage from our escape.
I'm out of the car and around to her side before she can take a step. "Fee."
"I ran on this foot, Anton." She gestures down at the bloodied bandage. "Obviously, I can limp on it."
The gauze is already darkening with fresh blood seeping through. Her weight shifts, and I can see the pain she's trying to hide.
"I'm not going to let you make your injury worse."
Before she can protest again, I slide one arm behind her knees and the other around her back, lifting her against my chest. She's lighter than I expected, all that fierce energy contained in such a small frame.
"Anton, on a different day, I would have loved this. But today? I'm just hating today altogether."
I adjust my hold, making sure she's secure as I head toward the elevator bank. Her head rests against my shoulder, and I can smell her perfume—roses and wine.
"Where are you taking me?"
"We have some apartments in this building. Owned by the Basovs." I press the call button with my elbow. "We use them in cases like this one."
The elevator arrives with a soft ding, and I step inside, Fee still in my arms. Her face is inches from mine.
"I needed space." The words tumble out rushed, desperate. "I'm not like you, Anton. When I have things to say, I need to say them. Being this close to you makes it impossible to think straight."
I press the button for the twentieth floor, feeling the elevator begin its ascent. She shifts against me, trying to create distance that doesn't exist. Brutal honesty wrapped in that soft voice. No games, no manipulation, just Fee being exactly who she is.
She's five feet of beauty and fire. Dangerous for a man who's spent two years convincing himself he doesn't want to feel anything. Too late for that now.
Her hair has come loose, waves of silk falling across her shoulders. Exhaustion shadows those green eyes, but even tired, she's breathtaking. Those lips are pressed tight, probably holding back whatever's burning through that sharp mind.
"Where is this medic that Yuri took them to?" she asks, cutting through my thoughts.
"We have a surgery center in a building close by. Surgeon and doctors on commission. They'll take good care of both Shane and Cillian."
Fee closes her eyes, and I watch as tears finally form at the corners. Her hand moves to her wrist, fingers closing around something small. When I look closer, I see she's holding a small charm from her bracelet.
It looks like a saint of some sort, delicate silver against her pale skin.
The elevator reaches the twentieth floor with a soft ding.
The doors slide open, and Fee opens her eyes, taking in the long hallway with gleaming hardwood floors and subtle lighting. A few doors are spaced along this side of the floor, all looking identical.
Fee stays quiet, still trying to maintain that distance she asked for.
I carry her toward the door at the far end. At the apartment door, I pause. "Hold onto my neck," I tell her, shifting her weight so one arm supports her legs while I reach for my keys with the other.
Her arms tighten around my shoulders, fingers pressing into my jacket as I unlock the door and push it open with my back.
The apartment beyond is exactly what it needs to be: functional, secure, and comfortable enough for extended stays.
Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate the far wall, offering a panoramic view of Manhattan's skyline. The furniture is expensive but minimal: a black leather sectional sofa, a glass coffee table, and a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances that gleam under recessed lighting.
Everything is clean lines and neutral colors, designed not to distract from the business of staying alive.
I guide Fee through the main living area toward a door I know she hasn't noticed yet. The apartment has more than just comfortable furniture and a view.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Medical room." I push open a heavy door, revealing what looks like a scaled-down emergency room. Stainless steel medical bed with adjustable height, cabinets filled with supplies, and even an IV stand in the corner. "We keep these fully stocked."
Fee's eyes widen as she takes in the professional-grade equipment. "This is insane. You have a whole hospital in here."
"When you can't go to regular hospitals, you bring the hospital to you." I lift her onto the medical bed, the paper crinkling under her weight. "Let me get those answers you need."
I pull out my phone and dial Yuri's number, switching to speaker before the first ring completes.
"Da?" Yuri's gruff voice fills the room.
He starts speaking in Russian, but I cut him off immediately.
"English, Yuri. Fee needs to hear this directly."
"Ah." His tone shifts, becoming more careful. "Ms. Quinn, I apologize. How are you holding up?"
"I've been better." Fee's voice wavers slightly. "Please tell me Shane's alive."
"He is breathing, fighting, and cursing the medical team in colorful Irish as he comes out of the anesthesia.
" Yuri's dry humor comes through even over the phone.
"Surgery completed twenty minutes ago. Two bullets extracted.
One punctured lung, other passed through lower abdomen.
Surgeon says he missed major organs by centimeters. "
I watch Fee's shoulders drop as if someone cut the strings holding her upright. The relief hits her so hard she actually sways on the medical bed.
"He's going to make it?" she whispers.
"Shane O'Malley will live to see his child born, Ms. Quinn. Recovery will take weeks, but he will return home to his pregnant wife."
Fee's hand flies to her wrist, fingers closing around that small silver charm. Her eyes flutter shut, and I can see her lips moving silently. Prayer, gratitude, maybe both.
"What about Cillian?" Fee asks without opening her eyes.
"The stubborn Irishman refuses to stay in bed. Bullet went clean through his shoulder, missed bone and major vessels. He demands to know when he can resume duties." Yuri's voice carries grudging respect. "I told him when he can lift his weapon without bleeding through bandages."
Fee opens her eyes, looking directly at the phone. "Thank you for taking care of them, Yuri."
"Anton's orders carry weight with me, Ms. Quinn. Your safety includes your peace of mind."
I study Fee's face as she processes this. The way her eyes flick to mine, then back to her bracelet.
"What's the status on the scene?" I ask.
"Boutique employees unharmed. Shaken, understandably, but physically intact. Crime scene already sanitized. Quinn family leadership has been notified of incident and your current custody of Ms. Quinn." Yuri pauses. "They expect immediate contact from you, Anton."
"My purse," Fee says suddenly, sitting up straighter. "I dropped everything when we ran."
"All personal effects recovered from service alley. Purse, phone, shoes. Everything accounted for and secure."