Chapter 35 Leanna
LEANNA
One of my eyes is swollen shut, and the vision in my good eye is blurry. My stomach is riotous, and the vomiting tells me I’ve got a whopper of a concussion, if not worse.
Still, I’m awake. I’m alive.
I’ve held up against my brother’s brutal efforts to make me admit I’ve turned on our family.
My father and his men storm into the building without warning. Even without being able to see clearly, I can sense the change in my brother’s posture, which has stiffened up. I smell urine and realized he’s pissed himself.
I do my best to focus, to understand what’s happening.
“She was fucking that Barkov heir,” I hear my brother whine. “She was going into his club every week. I know she was sharing information. She was betraying us!”
His voice pitches higher and higher as he scrambles to explain himself, as if there’s any excuse for sitting here torturing his own sister.
My father doesn’t say anything—at least nothing I can hear at first.
I struggle to see what’s happening. I heard the subtle click that means a weapon is ready to fire —whose weapon was it?
My brother is crying when he falls to his knees in front of our father. I think he has his gun in his hand.
“She’s a lying, traitorous whore,” he says. “Can’t you see that?”
Finally, I hear my father’s voice, deadly calm. “My son. What are you doing?”
“I’m getting the truth,” Vince says.
“And what truth is that?”
“She had a backpack,” my brother answers. “Fake IDs, clothing, money. She had so much cash. Cash she got from telling him our secrets.”
I want to sleep. My head hurts. I feel heavy and everything hurts. But I do not want to miss this. So I force myself to say, “Was running…from…responsibility. Didn’t…share…secrets.”
I throw up again, though there’s very little left in my stomach.
“Don’t talk,” my father says quietly.
“Barkov, cut her loose.” He continues.
Barkov.
My brother, at this order from my father, howls like a banshee. He stands and points his weapon at our father. I think his hands are shaking. And then there are footsteps approaching, and he turns and howls again.
“Don’t you fucking dare take another step. This is Campisi’s house cleaning.”
And he turns to my father, “What the fuck is this? He’s here with you?” Vince’s voice is a mixture of cry and scream, and his anger tells me that Nik is here.
He’s here.
“Vincenzo, put the gun down,” my father orders. “Put it down and we’ll go home and have a chat.”
There’s too much menace in his tone, too much to go unnoticed, even by my unhinged brother.
“Why?” Vince asks, and I can see that his whole body is trembling with rage. “What is there to chat about? You’re choosing her, like you always do. You’re choosing to get in bed with Barkov, just like she did.”
“There’s a more efficient business solution to all of this,” my father says. “And I built this business through hard work and time and patience and yes, making hard decisions. And you’re forcing my hand here, son, but I’ll make this hard decision if I have to.”
My brother falls to his knees again, and now he’s openly weeping. He’s crying, and then I hear the metallic, eardrum-busting sound of a gunshot, and then he is slumping sideways to the floor.
There is absolute silence for a long moment.
My father walks forward, checks my brother, presumably for a pulse. But he is gone, one self-induced shot taking him out with far less misery than he just put me through.
A dark part of me wishes someone had put him through more pain. This seems like an easy way out for such a shitty human.
Someone approaches, and it’s a figure I would know anywhere, even concussed and half blind.
My father and he shake hands. They talk in hushed voices, then they both turn and come my way.
Nik kneels to cut the tie that binds my arms, and then my legs. I feel limp, boneless. He lifts me from the chair and holds me close.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, kissing my head.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” My father says, again and again, holding my hand. “I didn’t know. I had no idea.”
And he sounds just like a father, worried about his daughter. And I realize with certainty that Nik is here with my father’s blessing. That he’s carrying me away with my father’s blessing.
My injured brain and body can’t sustain much more. I’m tired, so tired.
Everything goes black and peaceful.
When I come to again, it is to the antiseptic smell and the beeping of a hospital’s monitor.
I must move or twitch or moan because there is someone at my side immediately. Familiar, large hands enfold one of mine.
“Ana,” he breathes. “My Ana.”
I open my mouth, dry enough that dust might come out.
“Don’t talk,” Nik says. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
He reaches across my body and grabs a glass of water from the tray table. Holds the straw to my lips so I can take a sip. Puts the water back on the table before caressing my face gently.
With my non-swollen eye, I can see so much emotion in his face, but mostly worry.
“I’m…okay,” I rasp.
He looks away sharply, and I suspect he’s trying not to cry. It’s a funny thought, the idea of a man like him shedding tears over anything at all, especially me.
“I’m not,” he finally says. “I’m wrecked, Leanna. Seeing you like that, hurting, half-dead…”
He cuts off, swallowing hard. His hand is so tight around mine.
“My brother…asshole,” I say.
He huffs. “To say the very least. But he is gone now, by his own hand. But if it hadn’t been him, then it would have been me. I told you I would kill anyone who touched you.”
“Not…Trace.”
“Trace?” he asks, his face contorting comically in confusion. Then, “Oh, the nerd. Well, there is still time for him.”
“Nerd,” I say, laughing, but then wincing because it hurts my head and my cheek.
“Ana,” he says, serious, “There are things I need to tell you.”
“Oh?”
He looks grim. “I made a deal between our families. I’m sorry, because it traps you.”
My heartbeat speeds up nervously, and the monitor whines in response. A nurse comes in and says, “Oh, you’re awake,” interrupting the conversation.
She shoos Nik out of the room while she takes some vitals. He growls about it, but she seems unintimidated.
I close my eyes while she asks me questions about my level of pain.
I’m told that I have a concussion, three broken ribs, a bruised solar plexus, broken bones in my cheek, and a laceration on the left side of my face.
She shares that the doctor will visit at some point to discuss recovery and surgical options.
“Surgery?” I ask.
“Plastic surgery, hon, for your face.”
At my horrified expression, she chuckles. “No, it’s not that bad. The scar won’t be too bad, but there are bones broken in that cheek, and I’d think you’d want them out.”
“Oh,” I say. I can’t think of any other response.
After she leaves, Nik stalks back in.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks. “Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you.” My gaze drifts to the ceiling for a moment before I finally look at him. “You’ve… been here all this time. Why?”
His mouth sets into a frown as he takes his seat next to the bed once more. “Because I…”
I blink, unsure if I should feel relief, irritation, or something in between. My survival instincts want me to push him away, to tell him to go, but I stay still, letting him gather his thoughts.
He exhales slowly, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond me.
“When I was a kid, my parents were killed in the crossfire between two warring Russian families. My sister and I survived, and Lars took us in. He and Volya didn’t have children of their own, so they raised us as if we were theirs.
To Misha, they are her parents.” His jaw tightens. “I was…angry. Very angry.”
“I can understand that,” I say quietly.
He lifts one shoulder in a faint shrug. “I think I told you he put me in hockey so I’d have an outlet.
And I loved it. The sweat. The discipline.
The brotherhood. The violence.” His gaze flickers to mine.
“Leanna, I need you to know I’m not so different from your brother.
I have darkness in me. I like the violence. ”
He rubs his face with both hands and sighs, and for the first time, I see how tired he really is, like he hasn’t slept in days.
“How long have I been out?” I ask, if only to give him a moment to collect himself.
“A day or so,” he says. “I’ve lost track, honestly.”
“Why didn’t you go home and have a rest?”
His lips press into a thin line, then he nods. “I couldn’t leave you. I wanted to be here when you woke up.”
“What about my father?” I ask.
“He’s been in several times.”
“And he’s okay with you being here?”
He swallows. “Yes. When you disappeared, I came looking for you. When I found out you’d been taken… I nearly lost it. I was terrified. I kept imagining losing you. I couldn’t lose you.”
My stomach flips at the confession. He’d told me he cared before, but this lands differently. It feels like he means it.
“I never wanted relationships,” he says. “Early on, as I learned about the business from Lars, I liked how it engaged my darker urges, but I also saw how that world chews people up and uses them against each other. I never wanted to put someone I cared about into that.”
“I’m already exposed,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “And I am in love, so here we are.”
I can’t help feeling shocked. I look at him, trying to see if I can suss out a lie in his words.
“That’s…not possible,” I say, even though a small, absurd part of me wants it to be true.
“No,” he agrees. “It shouldn’t be possible. Our relationship has been unconventional, to put it mildly. We didn’t just have raw animal heat chemistry; we also connected. We talked. You made me want something different. And when I found you in that bed, in my room by sheer accident—”
“You threatened to use me as leverage.”
“I did. But it wasn’t just strategy, it was personal. Every time a man looked at you, touched you, I wanted to kill them. I wanted you only for me.”
“Possession is not love,” I say, and a lump forms in my throat.
“Ana,” he says. “Please. I understand that I am not perfect. I am not good. We have a great deal to learn about each other. But I will not lose you.”
“That’s…” I sigh, wiping away tears. Crying is making my head hurt. “You said you made a deal and that I might feel trapped. What did you mean?”
His jaw flexes. He starts to speak, then clamps his mouth shut.
My suspicion spikes. “Nik,” I push, my voice sharper now.
“They know,” he says finally, “They know you were planning to run. Your brother exposed it. Your father was… disappointed. He believes in you as his successor, as his future. He wanted you to take his place.”
“And?” My stomach knots.
“And he was worried,” Nik says, “worried about us. About how we met. I explained the truth to him. That neither of us knew the other’s identity until the Commission.
I told him I love you, Ana. That I want nothing more than to protect you.
And he… he wants you here. Running the business. He wants you safe.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And?”
“He and Lars have agreed to merge Chicago operations. You’ll run the Campisi organization. My sister Misha will run the Chicago side.”
“And you?”
He meets my gaze without flinching. “I’ll serve as your second. And your husband.”
I swear my heart drops straight through the floor. “My… husband?”
“Yes.”
My pulse spikes so fast it sets off the monitor again. The nurse bustles in, scolding Nik to stop getting me worked up. He mutters an apology, calls her “Ma’am,” and probably sets her panties on fire with that disheveled bad-boy look.
“And… how do you feel about that?” I manage, trying to keep my voice calm for both the monitor and myself. “You told me marriage wasn’t on your radar.”
“I know. It wasn’t. Not until I thought I might lose you.”
“Do you want this?”
“I want you.”
“But you’d be giving up—”
“I give up nothing,” he cuts in. “I want this. But it does trap you in a life you didn’t choose, and I won’t be one more person trying to control you. If you want out, I’ll help you disappear. I’ll help you leave. I won’t follow.”
I put my hand to my mouth, as if to stop myself from speaking or crying or who knows what. He would help me leave.
He would help me disappear.
I could go.
But looking at him here at my bedside, I know what we are to each other. Whatever this is between us—love, something darker, something bigger—I can’t just walk away.
“This is a lot,” I whisper.
“It is,” he agrees.
I inhale slowly, then exhale. “I love you, Nik. I meant it when I told you that. But we still have a lot to learn about each other before I agree to marry you. So… how about this? How about we just date for a while? Like normal people. I’ll come watch you play hockey, and we’ll go to dinner, take walks… whatever people do when they date.”
Nik’s lips twist in amusement. “I’ve never dated.”
“Of course you haven’t,” I say, sighing. “Can you figure it out?”
His grin widens. “For you, yes.”