Chapter Fourteen
In which we learn why it is wise to always invite a doctor to your wedding.
Vadim…
I sweep a trembling Oksana up in my arms and carry her away from the body and into the bathroom.
"I'm okay," she says, as I put her on the counter. Her tone is steady, but flat. I check her pupils; she doesn't seem to be going into shock.
"I'm not going into shock." She blinks and looks up at me. "I'm not."
Running my fingertips feather-light down her neck, I ask, "Are you tasting blood in your mouth? Can you breathe?"
"I can breathe just fine. It just hurts a little when I swallow." She winces slightly when I touch the marks on her throat.
Cupping the back of her head with my palm, I search for bumps. "Where else did he touch you?"
"He slammed me back against the wall and my head bounced off it a couple times," she says.
Checking her back in the mirror's reflection, I can see twin trickles of blood from her shoulder blades.
Like her wings had been torn off.
Touching the wounds gently, I'm relieved to see the cuts aren't deep.
"I think those were from the hooks in the closet," she says, carefully clearing her throat.
Men are filling the suite and Stepan is here, at my side. "Go get, Dr. Komilova," I say. "She should still be downstairs."
"On it," he nods.
Oksana's eyes widen, and she grabs my jacket. "Anka! Anka was in here. Did he hurt her? Where is she?"
"Sir, we have her," Artemy calls in from the bedroom. "I found her, she was unconscious, on the terrace. I'm putting her on the bed now."
"Let me go see her," Oksana says, trying to wiggle off the counter.
"Artemy will look after her. The doctor is coming," I say, holding her steady, still running my hands over her arms and chest. "Open your mouth. Are your teeth chipped?"
She sighs, obediently opening her mouth for me, then closing it with a painful swallow. "Do you realize that's the most you've ever said to me? Four sentences in a row."
No, it isn't, I think. But I hope you never remember that night when we talked until dawn.
The fist gripping my heart loosens slightly. My chest swells as I take a deep breath, too. "You weren't protected."
She frowns. "They did a security sweep on the suite, Vadim. And you came just in time."
Stepan comes back with Dr. Komilova, still in her evening gown. "I've sent someone to get her medical bag from her car," he says.
"I'm always prepared," the doctor says dryly, stepping closer. "If you could move away, Mr. Turgenev, please." I step back, fighting an unreasonable urge to shove her away from Oksana. "Hello, Mrs. Turgeneva, I'm Dr. Komilova. It seems you've had a rather eventful end to your celebration."
Oksana lets out a high, slightly hysterical titter. "No, I was not expecting that. But this is life in the Bratva, so I suppose I should have."
Dr. Komilova smiles, shining a pen light in her eyes, then carefully sliding her fingers over the knot on the back of Oksana's head. "I'm going to check for symptoms of a concussion, all right?"
She runs through some quick cognitive exercises as I step into the living room with Stepan. "How did he get in?"
Stepan gestures at Lukan, the redheaded guard at the door.
He's shaking. "We did run a security sweep, sir, when we allowed in Miss Volkova. It was clear, I swear it. It was -"
"It was not clear." I cut him off. "He attacked my wife and her friend."
Artemy steps over, the guard who found Anka. "We believe he came over the terrace wall, sir. We're not sure how he navigated the -"
"That seems impossible with a missing hand and a severed dick," Stepan snarls.
"You were in charge of security for this suite," I say, pulling my gun out.
"Sir -" Lukan lets out a pained grunt as I shoot him in the leg and he drops to the floor. To his credit, he keeps his mouth shut. Looking at Artemy, I shoot him as well.
"If my wife had been severely hurt, I would have spent days taking the two of you apart. For now, you're on shit duty in Siberia until further notice."
Stepan lets out a sigh and nods. "You heard him."
They're dragged over to lean against the wall as the doctor races in. "What the hell is going on? Why did you shoot these men?"
"You can look at them after you finish with my wife and her friend," I say, holstering my gun.
One of my other men has tossed them towels from their bathroom, and they press them down on their wounds trying to stifle their groans.
Dr. Komilova turns, heading back into the bathroom without another word. The door flies open and Oksana’s family hurries in.
"Where is she?" her mother asks, frantic.
"The bathroom." I angle my head toward the door.
"What is the meaning of this?" Benedikt shouts. "How could this have happened?"
"Exactly," I say. "The floor and this suite were under your security's supervision.
How did it happen?" Benedikt may be half drunk and full of righteous indignation, but the bluster drains away almost immediately.
"The attacker is your former Sovietnik. How did a man who is missing his hand and an eye break into a secured suite? "
Now, he turns pale. "Impossible! Yefim was too badly injured.”
I step back to the closet. He follows me, along with his sons, stopping short when he sees what remains of Yefim. Nikolai gives a long, low whistle, and Maks stays silent. Knowing what I do about the two of them, I'm surprised they aren't high-fiving each other.
"He had a gun in my wife's mouth," I say slowly.
Benedikt is shaking his head furiously. "No, I don't understand this. This is impossible. Is this some kind of a setup?"
Nikolai quickly touches his father's arm. "Father, please allow me to speak with Vadim. I am sure you would like to see that Oksana is all right for yourself."
We both know he doesn't care, but surprisingly, he allows his son to take over.
"I apologize for my father," Nikolai says gravely.
"There is no excuse for how our former Sovietnik was able to infiltrate this room and impact our sister's safety and that of her friends.
I also see that…" His gaze turns to my men, currently bleeding on the living room carpet, "That you also had security at the door. "
Ah, clever. Subtly trying to assign some of the blame on my people, and it's well done. I incline my head. "Do I have your word that you will personally conduct an investigation?"
Nikolai nods firmly. "You have my word." He looks down at what's left of Yefim, bloody foam bubbling from his mouth and dripping down the sides of his face.
Squatting, Nikolai looks at him closely.
"He had to have taken something incredibly powerful to have kept him on his feet," he says, shaking his head.
"He's always been a pig. Oksana tried to tell us about him before," Maks says.
"Shut the fuck up, Maks." Nikolai cuts him off viciously.
Looking between them, my disgust grows. So, she had tried to ask for help before, and they didn't protect her. Shoving past them, I head back to Oksana. Anka's there, conscious and getting checked over by the doctor.
"Your wife is fine. Banged up, certainly," Dr. Komilova says.
"I bandaged her back. I don't think a scan for a concussion is necessary.
She's not showing any signs that concern me.
Still, keep an eye on her tonight, please.
If her throat swells, or she starts having difficulties breathing, or drinking water, please notify me immediately.
If you wish, I'll send a nurse back with you. Where are you staying tonight?"
I'd been intending to put Oksana on my jet and fly back to the U.S. tonight, it's clear that won't be happening. I'm not going to risk her having a potential head injury.
"My home here in the city," I say shortly, and the doctor nods.
"Miss Anka here has an unpleasant cut on the back of her head, where he struck her," she continues. "Fortunately, also no signs of concussion and she did not require stitches."
Anka's watery gaze moves from Dr. Komilova to me. "Thank you for saving us. Thank you for looking after Oksana. It's the first fucking time anyone has," she says bitterly.
Oksana's mother stands in the corner, forgotten, until I notice her visibly flinch. Anka does not apologize.
Dr. Komilova breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Follow up care for you, Miss Anka. If your cut starts bleeding, if you're dizzy or confused, you call immediately, understood?"
"Yes, thank you," Anka nods.
Looping her stethoscope around her neck with a sigh, the doctor says, "If you'll excuse me, I believe I have two gunshot wounds to attend to."
Oksana and her mother are talking quietly. There are tears in her eyes as she smooths Oksana's hair back from her face. I can hear bits and pieces of their conversation, though they're whispering.
"Mat', you don't have anything to apologize for," Oksana says, squeezing her mother's hand. "None of this is your fault. I'm okay. Vadim got to me in time." She gives me a beaming smile.
"Thank you," Sofia says wearily. "I knew you would protect her."
There's something more to what she says and how she said it. But I don't have time to analyze it now. I nod politely. "I will be taking her home with me. She'll have around the clock medical care."
"Very well," she nods. "Let me get your clothes, milaya devushka. I am sure you want to change out of that dress."
Inexplicably, Anka starts laughing. "Look on the bright side, if you really want to keep your wedding dress for your future daughter, there's a spare ready to go. No blood!" Oksana joins her and they hug, laughing and wheezing a little together.
I watch in silence. Some things I should not be expected to understand. Humor seems to be one of them.
Out in the main room, there are two camps in opposite corners. Oksana's family is in one, speaking with their security. Benedikt is blustering, backhanding one of the men as he shouts at him, trying to regain some control by pretending his security is all to blame.
Mine is in the other. Mother nods to me. "I've already called Anka's father, he'll be here in a moment to take her home. How are you?" She eyes my blood-splashed clothes, but doesn't bother to ask if any of it is mine.
"I spoke with Dr. Komilova," Father says. "She's theorizing that he took Flakka. It's a new synthetic drug that supercharges the nervous system for a short time. It causes violent and uncontrollable behavior. There's a tidal wave of overdoses reported with this."
"A pity, then, that he didn't drop dead before he got to Oksana," Mother says sharply.
My grandfather looks at me, tilting his head toward the terrace, my father and I follow him. The door is shut, and Grandfather's already lit a cigar, offering one to each of us.
I reject mine. This is not a celebratory occasion.
“The father needs to go,” Grandfather says, staring out over the city at the brilliant sprawl of glittering high rises and the glowing, unearthly beauty of the ancient architecture of Moscow.
"He is useless," Father agrees, puffing his cigar reflectively. "Nikolai seems like he might be capable of moving into the role of Pakhan quickly."
"He stepped in and took responsibility tonight, he promised to conduct an investigation into how Yefim got into the bridal suite," I say. "He's ready." I hear a little rumble, like boulders rolling down a mountain. It's Grandfather's version of a chuckle.
"Not tonight, grandson."
"No," I acknowledge. "But soon. Father, are all the contracts in place for the trade agreements with Vasiliev?"
"Benedikt was almost pathetically eager to sign them," he says in disgust. "It gives us access through Vasiliev's ports in Georgia and Turkey for the new gun shipment routes."
"Good. Even less reason to keep him alive. If you will excuse me," I say, "I will take my bride home."
Placing his heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezing briefly, my grandfather nods to me. This is his version of a hug, a pat on the back, and a proud utterance of, "job well done." All in a simple gesture.
My father watches it all with a smile, he's never resented my close relationship to my grandfather. In fact, he encouraged it early, he saw the similarity between us early.
Mother smiles as we come back in and gives me a quick kiss. "Please let me know if there's anything you need, all right? If you have to leave suddenly, I can come over and sit with Oksana."
"Thank you, Mat'."
Dr. Komilova finishes bandaging up the bullet wounds, and she looks up at me briefly. "Thank you for making it a clean in and out," she says wryly. "It was easier to stitch the entry and exit wounds quickly."
I have no response for her, nor does she seem to expect one. With a slight groan, she stands, picking up her bag. "Stepan," I say, "have someone escort the doctor to her car and carry her bag for her."
Oksana is in the bedroom, her arms wrapped around Anka, who's also changed. I can hear Viktor Volkov cry out, "Where is my daughter!"
"Clearly, my father's here," Anka says tiredly. "Along with Polina, of course. My stepmother is going to require a lot of attention if I don't move quickly, because she will pretend to faint from all the stress."
"Love you, fam," Oksana whispers, giving her a kiss. "I'm so very sorry."
"Not your fault," Anka says in a tone that tells me this is something she has said to her many times.