Chapter 22 - Gela
“Jesus Christ, Valentin! What the hell happened?” I freeze midway down the stairs, on my way to get water, when I see Valentin stumbling through the front door with Leonid draped over his shoulder.
Blood stains Leonid's sleeve, dripping onto the floor, and the sight makes me sick to my stomach.
“Get some towels, Gela, please!” Valentin speaks in panic, not even looking at me as he helps Leonid to the living room couch. “And tell the housekeeper to call Dr. Petrov. Tell him it's an emergency.”
I run down the rest of the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet. My vision goes dizzy as I rush to the kitchen and tell Maria to call the doctor, while I frantically search for clean towels.
When I get back to the living room, Leonid's lying on the couch, and his face looks pale and clammy. His sleeve is soaked with blood, and Valentin's sitting on the floor in front of the couch, pressing his hand against Leonid’s wound.
“It's just a graze,” Leonid groans, but he sounds like he’s hurting badly.
I kneel beside Valentin and hand over the towels. “The doctor's on his way. Maria called him.”
“Thank you,” Valentin says, looking exhausted and broken as he takes the towel, and something in my heart gives. I hate seeing him this worried, this stressed out.
“What happened?” I ask softly.
“We got shot at,” he mutters, closing his eyes with a sigh. That’s not really an answer enough, but looking at how frazzled he is, I let it slide for now. We’ve got bigger problems on our hands.
I swallow back any more questions and head to the kitchen again, needing to be helpful, and grab bottles of water and electrolyte drinks from the fridge.
When I return, I put in a straw and hand a tetra pack to Leonid. “It’ll help with the blood loss. Just take a few sips, please.”
“Thanks,” he murmurs, taking it with his good hand. His eyes flick to Valentin, then back to me. “He's being dramatic. It's barely a scratch.”
“Uh-huh.” I look at Valentin, and he shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to do with his brother either.
The bell rings, and I rush to answer it. Dr. Petrov, a gray-haired man in his sixties, stands there with his medical bag in hand.
“This way, please.” I lead him straight to the living room.
He barely acknowledges Valentin or me and gets straight to work on Leonid. I hover nearby, unsure what to do with myself as he cuts away the bloody sleeve and examines the wound.
“You were lucky,” he tells Leonid. “The bullet just grazed you, and it’s a clean entry and exit. You'll need some stitches, I’m afraid, but there’s no serious damage.”
The living room door slams open, and I turn to see Trifon storming in with Iosif and Miron. Valentin must have told his brothers to come here the minute shit went down.
“What the fuck happened?” Trifon asks Valentin.
I take a step back, instinctively making space for the family drama that's about to unfold.
As Trifon begins to tell us all about his plans, how he went to get the Zakharovs with his explosives, I feel the ground shake beneath him. He put himself in so much danger. He could have lost his life.
And for what?
“You went to the warehouse alone?” Trifon hisses at Valentin when he’s finished. “What were you thinking?”
“I want to end this,” Valentin shoots back. “They came after Gela today by using a fake client to spy on her. I'm not waiting around for them to try again.”
“So you thought you'd blow up their warehouse?” Iosif's voice rises in disbelief. “Without backup and a plan?”
“If I hadn't shown up,” Leonid calls from the couch, “this idiot would be dead instead of me sitting here with a scratch.”
“I had it under control,” Valentin insists.
“Like hell you did,” Trifon spits. “You never think, Val, that’s your problem. You just react. And now Leonid's shot, and you didn't even accomplish anything except alert the Zakharovs that we're coming for them.”
“They already know we're coming for them,” Valentin growls. “They made that clear when they went for my wife with that fucking spy.”
My stomach drops when I realize that this is my fault. Valentin went after the Zakharovs because of everything they’ve done to me, even if he won’t go into the full history. And now Leonid's hurt, and the brothers are at each other's throats.
“Wait,” I cut through their argument, feeling guilty as hell. “Valentin went after the Zakharovs because of me, and I feel like you shouldn’t be mad at him for it.”
“This isn't your fault, Gela,” Trifon says, his voice softening slightly. “Stay out of it.”
“No, but it is about me,” I insist. “Viktor Zakharov threatened me at the gala. He said...” I swallow hard, remembering his words.
“He threatened to burn me and break my bones if I continued staying with you all, the Yuris. And today, I found out my new client, Alex from SkyMark, is working for the Zakharovs. I overheard them talking.”
“You didn't tell us about the Gala part,” Iosif’s eyes widen when he looks at Valentin.
“I was getting to it,” Valentin mutters.
“Well, let her tell it,” Miron says, gesturing for me to continue.
I take a deep breath and tell them everything, from the attack in my office, the strange phone call, the threats at the gala, to me ending up locked in the bathroom today. As I speak, I see each brother look angrier and angrier.
“Look,” I sigh. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but I’m pretty sure they’re planning something. They won’t go through this much trouble setting up a fake client for nothing, right?”
“Considering what you just told me, it’s clear to me now that they’ve definitely got something up their sleeves.” Trifon gives me a nod.
I sigh with relief. “So you understand why Valentin got mad?” I try to defend Valentin.
I see a look of surprise on Valentin’s face, and my heart clenches with regret. Have I given him such little respect that he thought I wouldn’t stand up for him when he’s clearly done nothing wrong?
“I understand why Valentin got mad.” Trifon shakes his head. “But he didn’t have to go guns blazing in there, without a plan.”
“Alright then.” Valentin sounds annoyed. “Make a plan then, because I swear if those bastards come near Gela again, I’ll shoot their fucking heads off.”
“Valentin,” Trifon raises his voice. “Calm down. Let me think.”
“We’ve thought long enough, brother,” Valentin fights back. “We need to take action now.”
Soon, all the brothers are arguing, throwing off ideas. Some demand caution, others want war. I watch this whole thing unfold, feeling like the cause of the controversy in the first place, and a deep, surging need rises in me to help them fix it.
My brain begins scrambling, in circles, over and over, until I realize there’s only one thing to do.
“Gentlemen!” I shout to be heard over the voices, but no one hears me.
“Guys?”
“Listen up, WILL YOU?”
That makes them all stop and stare.
I smile at them. “I know how we can find out what they might be planning.”
“What do you mean?” Trifon asks cautiously.
“I mean, Alex doesn't know that I know he's working for the Zakharovs,” I explain, my heart racing at my own boldness. “I could keep meeting with him, feed him fake information, maybe even find out what they're planning.”
“You aren’t going ten feet near him,” Valentin says immediately.
“Hear me out, please,” I press on. “They clearly want something from me. Information, access to you, a cut from my income, I don't really know. But if I play along, we might find out what they're after before they make their move.”
“It's too dangerous,” Valentin insists.
“It's not a bad idea, though,” Trifon says slowly.
“Are you out of your mind?” Valentin turns on his brother. “You want to use my wife as bait?”
“Why don’t you think of me as an asset?” I correct him. “I'm already involved, Valentin. Whether you like it or not, I'm a part of this now, and Alex talks to me, remember? He thinks I’m na?ve.”
“She has a point,” Leonid adds from the couch, where the doctor is finishing up his stitches. “We need to know what they're planning, and she has a way in to get information. How do we know what scale of attack to plan when we don’t even know their plans?”
“And I'll be careful,” I add, seizing my chance. “You can watch over me the whole time. Please, listen, Valentin, this might be our only chance to get ahead of them.”
“I think we should consider it,” Miron says after exchanging a glance with Leonid.
“Agreed,” Iosif nods.
Trifon looks at me, then at Valentin, and sighs. “It's not ideal, but she's right.”
Valentin's face darkens. “I need to speak with my wife alone.”
Without waiting for a response, he takes my arm and leads me out of the living room and rounds on me in the hallway.
“Have you lost your mind?” he demands. “You want to walk right back into danger after what happened today?”
“I want to help,” I say, standing my ground. “This is my fault—”
“This is not your fault,” he cuts me off. “This is the Zakharovs being the psychopaths they've always been.”
“But they're using me to get to you,” I insist. “And I can use that against them.”
“It's too risky,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Gela, if anything happened to you...”
His voice trails off, and for a moment, I see genuine fear in his eyes. I know that he went after the Zakharovs tonight because he couldn't bear the thought of them hurting me, and I see something so beautiful in that action—impulsive and reckless, yes—but still, courageous.
This man, despite the violence he sees on a daily basis, cares with all his strength and wears his heart on his sleeve. I feel unworthy, not having the strength to do the same for him, when he’s sacrificed everything for me, without asking for a thing in return.
He’s accepted me as one of his, and he’s stretched his wings wider, all so I’m sheltered from harm’s way.
“Valentin,” I say softly, stepping up to him. “If I'm part of this family now, as you say, then I need to learn the ropes.”
“This isn't what I wanted for you,” he says, his voice lower now.
“I know that.” I take another step closer and take his hand in mine. “But it is what it is. You have to trust me. Please, let me help.”
“Why would you put yourself at risk for this family?” His face twists with agony.
“Because I care about you,” I say softly. “And I don't want to see you or your family get hurt because of me.”
His eyes soften, and he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my face. “Gela...”
My breath catches. This is it. I want to tell him that I don't want to leave anymore, and that the thought of my own place downtown without him feels empty now.
God damn it, I’ve been a fool. I've been fighting my feelings because I'm terrified of what they mean.
“Valentin, I need to tell you something—" I start, but just then, his phone rings.
He curses under his breath but pulls it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.
“I have to take this,” he says with regret in his voice.