32. Roman
ROMAN
The night air bites at my skin, but the cold barely registers. My lungs are burning, adrenaline still pounding through my veins.
Anton lies motionless on the concrete, his face a ruin of blood and bone. The fight is over. I’ve won.
“Get in the car,” I repeat to Vera, my voice rougher than I intend. I gesture toward the waiting vehicle.
“You’re hurt. Shouldn’t we get you to a hospital?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, and Vera goes quiet.
She doesn’t argue, only moves quickly toward the car with the ledger clutched to her chest like a shield.
Lev is already directing his men, his voice low as he coordinates the cleanup. The mansion is secure now, Anton’s threat neutralized. Well, until the next attack anyway. I’ve come to almost expect them now.
I turn to follow Vera, but as I take my first step, I wince again. A strange pulling sensation in my side, followed by a searing heat that spreads through my torso like fire.
I stumble, my hand going to my ribs. When I pull it away, it’s slick with something dark and wet.
Blood.
I look down and see it spreading across my shirt, a crimson stain that’s already soaking through the fabric. Great. The wound at my ribs is bleeding worse than I thought. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me going suddenly fades, replaced by a wave of dizziness that makes me sway on my feet.
“Roman?” Vera’s voice sounds distant, like she’s calling to me from underwater.
“I’m fine,” I say, but the words come out slurred. “Just... let’s get back to the safe house.”
I try to take another step, but my legs won’t cooperate. The world tilts, the mansion blurring into a swirl of lights and shadows. I reach out to steady myself against the car, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the cool metal.
“Roman!”
Vera is at my side now, her hands on my arm, her voice sharp with concern. “God, there’s a lot of blood.”
“It’s nothing,” I manage, though I can feel the lie in my own words. The pain is getting worse, a deep, throbbing ache that radiates through my entire side. “Just a scratch.”
“Artyom, how fast can you drive?” she asks. “However fast that is, drive faster.”
She helps me into the back seat. I collapse against the leather upholstery, my head falling back against the headrest. The world keeps spinning, the edges of my vision blurring into darkness.
“Artyom, drive,” Vera commands, her voice cutting through the fog in my mind. “The safe house. Now.”
The car lurches forward, the motion making my stomach turn. I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the pain.
“Let me see,” Vera says, her voice softer now. “Let me look at the wound.”
I force my eyes open and watch as she pulls out a first aid kit from under the front seat. I’d forgotten it was even there. Her hands are steady as she pulls out gauze and antiseptic, her expression focused.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“It’s not good,” she admits. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
She cuts away my shirt with a small pair of scissors, her fingers gentle against my skin. When the fabric falls away, I hear her sharp intake of breath.
“How bad?” I ask, trying to turn my head to see.
“Don’t look,” she says, pressing a wad of gauze against the wound. “Just stay still.”
The pressure brings a fresh wave of pain, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes my lips.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know it hurts.”
I want to tell her I’ve had worse, which is true, but my words slur instead.
I watch her through a haze of pain and blood loss.
Her face is set with determination, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she works to stop the bleeding.
This isn’t the Vera I met at the cemetery, the woman who was so fragile she looked like she might break at any moment. This is someone else entirely.
“You’re good at this,” I manage to say, my voice weak.
“I’ve had practice,” she says, her voice tight. “Dmitri... violence followed him home often enough. I learned how to patch him up.”
The mention of Dmitri’s name sends a fresh wave of anger through me, but it’s quickly replaced by admiration for the woman beside me. She survived him. She survived three years of marriage to a monster and came out stronger on the other side.
“Stay with me, Roman,” she says, her voice cutting through the fog in my mind. “Don’t you dare pass out on me.”
“I’m trying,” I say, though it’s getting harder to keep my eyes open. The world keeps fading in and out. The sounds are coming and going like waves on a shore.
The car takes a sharp turn, and the motion sends a fresh wave of pain through my side. I can’t stop the cry that escapes my lips, my body arching against the seat.
“Sorry,” Artyom calls from the front seat. “Traffic.”
“It’s not your fault,” Vera says, her hand pressing against my shoulder, holding me still. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”
I feel the pressure of her hands against my wound, but it’s getting harder to focus. The edges of my vision are blurring all over again.
“Roman?” Vera’s voice sounds distant, like she’s calling to me from the end of a long tunnel. “Roman, stay with me.”
I try to answer, but the words won’t come. My eyes are too heavy, my body too weak. I can feel myself slipping away, the darkness closing in around me.
“No,” Vera says, her voice sharp. “Absolutely not. You stay with me, Roman. You hear me? You stay with me.”
Her voice is like an anchor, pulling me back from the edge. I force my eyes open and find her face in the dim light of the car. Her eyes are wide with fear, but there’s a fierce resolve in the set of her jaw.
The car slows, then turns onto a bumpy road. The motion sends jolts of pain through my body, but I bite my tongue and refuse to make a sound.
“We’re here,” Artyom says.
The car stops, and the back door opens. Lev appears, his face grim. How did he get here? He must have taken another car, but my thoughts are scrambled.
“Yelena’s waiting,” he says. “Let’s get him inside.”
Between them, they manage to get me out of the car and into the safe house. The movement makes me want to be sick, but I grit my teeth and bear it. I won’t show weakness in front of my men.
Yelena is waiting in the living room, her medical bag already open on the coffee table. She takes one look at me and her expression tightens.
“Get him on the couch,” she says. “Now.”
They lay me down on the leather couch, and I can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes my lips. The soft cushions are a welcome change from the hard car seat.
Yelena cuts away the makeshift bandage Vera applied. When the wound is exposed, I hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Bad?” I ask with a weak chuckle.
“The bullet went deep,” she says, her voice grim. “It probably missed anything vital, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get it out, and soon.”
“No hospitals,” I say, my voice weak but firm. “No official records.”
She nods, already pulling out her instruments. “I understand. I can do it myself, but this is going to hurt like hell.”
“I can deal with it,” I say, though I’m not sure I believe it.
Vera appears at my side, her hand finding mine. “Squeeze if you need to,” she says. “Don’t worry about my hand.”
I nod, my eyes already fixed on the ceiling as Yelena prepares to work. The first touch of the pliers is a sharp, searing pain that makes me gasp. I squeeze Vera’s hand, my knuckles turning white.
“Breathe,” she says, her voice steady. “Just breathe with me.”
I try to follow her instructions, but it’s hard. The pain is overwhelming, a white-hot agony that threatens to consume me.
“Almost done,” Yelena says, her voice strained. “Just a little longer.”
The pain intensifies, and I can feel my consciousness starting to fade again. The edges of my vision blur, the sounds around me distorting into a meaningless roar.
“Roman,” Vera says, her voice cutting through the fog. “Stay with me. Remember what you told me? You’re not going to leave me, you’re not going to leave our baby.”
Our baby. The words cut through the haze, anchoring me to the present. I force my eyes open to focus on her face. She’s crying, silent tears tracking down her cheeks, but her expression is determined.
Yelena works quickly, which is a small mercy. The pain begins to fade, replaced by a dull ache that’s almost tolerable.
“All done,” she says finally, tying off the last stitch. “You’re going to live thanks to my handiwork.”
I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.
“You’re going to need to rest,” she says, packing up her instruments. “First your ribs, now this. You’re a mess, Roman.”
“I hear you.”
She leaves, and Lev appears with a glass of water and some painkillers. I take them gratefully, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.
“Get some rest,” he says. “I’ll take care of things here.”
I nod, my eyes already feeling heavy. Before I can let myself drift off, I need to know something.
“Vera,” I say, my voice weak. “The ledger. Where is it?”
She pulls it out from under the couch, where she must have hidden it when they were helping me inside. “Right here,” she says. “Safe.”
“Good.” I reach for her hand, my fingers finding hers. “You need to hide it somewhere no one will find it. Don’t let anyone know where it is, not even Lev or me.”
She nods, her expression serious. “I will.”
“And the baby,” I say, my voice getting weaker. “Promise me you’ll protect the baby. No matter what happens.”
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.
“Promise me,” I insist. “Promise me you’ll keep our child safe.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she nods. “I promise,” she says. “I’ll protect our baby with my life.”
“Good,” I say, my eyes finally drifting closed. “That’s... good...”
The darkness claims me then, pulling me under into a deep and dreamless sleep. The last thing I hear is Vera’s voice, and the feeling of her hand in mine.