Chapter 9 - Misha
The door opened before I heard his footsteps.
It was not the sound itself that alerted me, but the shift and the subtle change in the air whenever he entered a room.
It was the way the silence inside the safe house tightened by a fraction.
I was already awake and aware, watching the hallway when he stepped into the light.
A part of me had been worried tonight, as if something was about to go wrong.
I had been unable to sleep and unable to shake the thoughts away.
The worst part of it all was that Kliment had been late in returning home.
I turned around, my gaze falling on him.
And that is when I saw the blood.
It soaked through his shirt at the shoulder first, darker near the seam, spreading unevenly across the fabric.
There was more along his side, less obvious but still there if one was looking at him closely.
His posture was steady and his expression unchanged, but I saw the slight tension in the way he held himself.
He was injured, and it had clearly been rather recent. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like a gunshot wound. A graze, perhaps because he did not seem to be in pain. But then someone like Kliment Romanov knew exactly how to hide his pain anyway.
“You’re injured.” The words left my mouth flat, almost irritated, as if he had personally inconvenienced me by getting shot. His gaze flicked to me, assessing as always.
“I’ve been worse,” he said, repeating the line I had used when he had rescued me from the warehouse all those weeks ago.
I rolled my eyes at his cheekiness, but that was all the humor I was willing to accept.
I did not understand why my heartbeat was accelerating, but seeing him in this position suddenly turned everything gray around me.
“That doesn’t make this acceptable, Kliment.”
I sighed and pushed myself off the couch, ignoring the pull along my side and the dull protest in my foot as I moved towards him.
My injuries still hurt, but I was still much better now.
The brace limited the damage, but it did not eliminate it entirely.
I compensated without thinking and adjusted my weight, keeping my steps controlled.
He watched me approach and did not move to stop me or turn me away.
“Care to tell me what happened, or will I have to pry that out of you?” I asked, already reaching for the edge of his shirt.
“A Romanov storage property near the port was hit just a few hours ago. I got the call and rushed to check out the area. I got shot during the fire when I tried to protect one of my men. But the bullet has only grazed my shoulder. I am fine. There is no bone damage.” I tugged at his collar, the blood beginning to appear even worse from up close.
I had seen enough wounds in my life to not let this bother me, but for some reason, it did.
It almost felt as if seeing him in pain was the reason it made it all the worse for me.
“By who?” I asked, beginning to focus on the logistics instead.
“You already know the answer to that, Misha.”
I paused and sighed at his reply because he was right.
I did know. My fingers stilled for half a second before I resumed, pushing the soft fabric aside carefully.
The wound at his shoulder came into clearer view.
It was a graze exactly as he had said, but it was deep enough to bleed heavily.
It was not clean but appeared accidental.
I almost wanted to smack him for jumping in front of a moving bullet.
“How stupid are you?” I asked, my annoyance only increasing.
“Why?” he seemed taken aback by the question.
“Who in their right mind jumps in front of a bullet. It could have hit a vital organ,” I lectured.
“If I hadn’t jumped in front of Dominique, he could have been dead. When you see a brother in line of danger, you do everything in your power to protect them. You know this better than I do, Misha, and I know you would have done the same if the roles were reversed.”
My jaw tightened. He was right.
“So it was my brothers, I believe?” I asked quietly, and Kliment nodded.
“They are looking for you everywhere, and when they couldn’t find you, they thought attacking the Romanov property would give them access to me and, in turn, access to you.”
That made me completely still, for just a second.
“So they think you took me.” I already knew that.
“Yes.”
The room went quieter than it already was.
I stepped back slightly, my hands dropping from his shirt as my mind worked faster than my body could follow.
Of course, they would think that. Of course, they would trace the patterns, the movements, the silence, and land directly on Kliment.
He was the most obvious choice in this entire game.
A flicker of something sharp moved through my chest. It wasn’t fear or regret but something closer to guilt.
Not because they were wrong, but because my absence had become a catalyst. Because what I had chosen to do alone was no longer contained, and everyone was beginning to suffer because of it.
My absence had been causing problems, and no matter how much I chose to ignore them, I could not escape them forever.
“They attacked you for it,” I said.
“They attacked a Romanov property,” he corrected. “The reason is secondary.”
“That’s not how my brothers work. You yourself said they came looking for you, and they will do it again. They will continue attacking different properties until they find me in one of them. They won’t rest until they do.”
His gaze sharpened slightly. “That’s not for you to worry about. I will handle it.”
I looked at him and exhaled slowly, stepping past him.
“Sit.”
It was not a request, and to my surprise, he did not even argue.
That, more than anything, told me he understood the severity of the situation.
He moved toward the chair near the small table, lowering himself into it with controlled ease.
I retrieved the medical kit from the desk drawer without another word, placing it down with quiet precision before kneeling slightly in front of him.
“Take it off,” I said, gesturing to his shirt.
His gaze lingered on my face for a moment too long, but he did exactly as told.
His movements were deliberately slow, making me wonder if his shoulder hurt more than he was willing to admit.
The fabric peeled away from his skin, revealing more damage than I had initially seen.
The graze on his shoulder was much worse up close, the skin torn in a shallow but angry line.
There was bruising along his ribs as well, which was darkening already, spreading beneath the surface in uneven patterns. I knew from experience that it hurt.
I inhaled quietly as I looked at his naked torso, trying to tear my gaze away from his biceps and the abs that lined his lower abdomen.
I already knew he worked out regularly, but I could never have guessed that he looked like this underneath the suits and the snug shirts and t-shirts.
Everything around us was going up in flames, and all I could think about was Kliment Romanov’s body.
Get a grip, Misha.
“Sit still,” I said, clearing my throat.
“I am still.” The amused smile on his face was enough to tell me that he had noticed me staring.
“Then don’t move.”
A faint flicker of something, amusement maybe, passed through his eyes.
But he didn’t move. I worked in silence at first, cleaning the wound with careful, practiced motions.
My hands were steady, precise, and efficient.
I did not rush or hesitate, knowing fully well that I needed to be careful.
Blood had never unsettled me before, and his did not either, but the proximity between us was a completely different story.
It almost felt as if he was closer than ever before.
The heat of his skin under my fingers was impossible to ignore, the solid line of muscle beneath, the controlled stillness of someone who was always aware of everything.
Even now. I could feel his gaze on me, and I knew it was neither casual nor indifferent. It was focused instead.
“What?” I asked without looking up.
“You are not shaking.”
I let out a quiet breath, dabbing at the wound again.
“Should I be?”
“You’re treating someone you’re supposed to hate.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said evenly. “I just don’t like you.”
That earned a soft, almost imperceptible shift in his posture.
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“Not particularly.”
I finished cleaning the wound and reached for the bandage, my fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder as I secured it in place. His breathing shifted slightly at the touch, but it was enough for me to notice. Of course I did.
“You’ll live,” I said, leaning back just enough to assess my work. “Unfortunately.”
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before moving back to my eyes.
“That almost sounded like concern. Am I dreaming?”
“It was not.”
“Misha,” he uttered my name softly. Too softly. “Why are you hiding from them?”
The question landed between us with quiet precision, but I did not answer immediately.
Instead, I stood up, moving towards the counter to dispose of the used gauze, buying myself a second of distance.
Of space and control. When I turned back, he was still watching me as if waiting for me to answer.
I tilted my head slightly, not knowing what to say.
It was not as if he hadn’t asked this question of me before.
In fact, he had been asking it since day one, but today it felt different.
Today, it felt as if I were the reason he was hurt, and all those men died at the warehouse.
I was the cause of this violence, and I was choosing to let it spread.
I did not like feeling that way.
“One question for one question,” I said, breathing in deeply.
His expression didn’t change as he looked at me. “Explain.”