Chapter 25
Dimitri
SONG: WHATEVER LETS YOU COPE BY BLACK FOXXES
Maxim looked significantly less dead than he had two days ago.
Progress. I walked into his hospital room carrying coffee from the decent place on Market Street.
Not the hospital swill that tasted like regret and antiseptic.
The ICU had rules about outside food but nobody stopped the Pakhan from bringing contraband espresso.
Perks of the position.
"You're alive," I said by way of greeting.
"Disappointed?" Maxim's voice was rough. Three bullets and emergency surgery would do that.
"Devastated. I'd already started interviewing replacements."
"Find anyone good?"
"Nobody willing to take bullets for me. Standards have declined."
He tried to laugh but stopped when his chest reminded him that laughing with perforated lungs was inadvisable. "Bastard."
"That's what they tell me." I set the coffee on his bedside table. "Doctor says you'll live. Apparently, you're too stubborn to die properly."
"Family trait."
"Speaking of family…" I glanced around the room. "Where's—"
"Bathroom." Maxim's eyes tracked to the closed door. "She's been here since yesterday."
"Yesterday as in twenty-four hours ago?"
"Yesterday as in I woke up and she was asleep in that chair." He nodded toward the uncomfortable vinyl monstrosity that passed for hospital seating. "Won't leave. Keep telling her to go home. She won't listen."
The bathroom door opened. Apolena emerged looking like she'd been dragged through several circles of hell backward. My sister was twenty-three and currently resembled something that had escaped from a zombie movie. Dark circles under her eyes, hair in a messy knot, and wearing yesterday's clothes.
"Dimitri." She stopped. Guilt flashed across her face. "I was just—"
"Refusing to take care of yourself?" I finished. "Yes, I noticed."
"Someone needs to make sure he doesn't die from his own stupidity." She moved back to Maxim's bedside. Picking up a cup of water, she held the straw to his lips without asking if he needed it.
He drank without protest, accepting her help like this was routine instead of strange.
"I can hire nurses for that," I said.
"Nurses don't care if he's comfortable." Apolena adjusted his pillow and fussed with the blanket. "They just check vitals and leave."
"That's literally their job description."
"Well, it's insufficient."
Maxim caught my eye and shrugged. The gesture said "what can you do?" Resignation mixed with something else I couldn't quite identify.
I studied them. Maxim had been my best friend for twenty years. My second for three. The person I trusted most in the world after discovering trust was a liability. If anyone could read him, it should be me.
But watching Apolena hover protectively while he pretended to be annoyed by her attention, I realized I might have missed something. Some dynamic that had developed while I'd been occupied with marriage and alliance management and generally being distracted by Giulia.
"How long has she been doing this?" I asked Maxim.
"Doing what?"
"Acting like your personal nurse."
"Since I woke up." He shifted in the bed and winced. Apolena immediately reached for the pain medication button. He waved her off. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You were shot three times."
"I'm aware. I was there."
"Then stop being stubborn and take the medication."
"Stop being bossy."
"Someone has to be bossy since you clearly lack basic self-preservation instincts."
"Says the girl who tried to fight off armed kidnappers with a textbook."
"It was a hardcover. And it worked."
"You got lucky."
"You got shot."
They bickered like this was normal. Like they'd been having this exact argument for years instead of days. The familiarity was strange. Comfortable in a way that made me uncomfortable.
"Children," I interrupted, "can we focus on the fact that Maxim survived being ventilated by Albanian bullets?"
"He barely survived," Apolena corrected. "Because he was showing off."
"I was protecting you."
"By being reckless."
"By doing my job."
"Your job is advising Dimitri. Not martyring yourself for my benefit."
"My job is whatever I decide it is."
Watching them was like watching tennis. Volley and return. Each comment precisely calibrated to annoy while also somehow being...affectionate? Maybe? Hard to tell when they were both speaking through irritation.
My phone buzzed.
Boris: Need you to sign off on that thing.
Cryptic. Probably intentional given we were in a hospital with surveillance cameras and curious staff. I texted back
Me: Which thing?
Boris: The Albanian thing.
Right. The cleanup crew wanted authorization to finalize disposal. Geraldo's body had been reduced to ashes per Giuseppe's request. Now the Albanians who'd pulled the trigger needed similar processing.
Me: Approved. Make it disappear.
I looked up to find Apolena watching me. "What?"
"Nothing." But her expression said it wasn't nothing. "Just wondering when you're going home to your wife."
Direct hit. My sister had excellent aim when she wanted to wound.
"Soon."
"You left her alone for three days."
"I was handling a situation."
"You were avoiding difficult conversations." Apolena crossed her arms. "Giulia didn't do anything wrong. Her cousin is an idiot but that's not her fault."
"I'm aware."
"Are you? Because walking out in a rage suggests otherwise."
Maxim shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe this isn't the time—"
"It's exactly the time," Apolena interrupted. "Someone needs to tell him he's being an ass. Might as well be me since everyone else is too scared."
"I'm not scared," Maxim said.
"You're drugged. Doesn't count."
"Still not scared."
"Then tell him he's being an ass."
"You're being an ass," Maxim said obediently.
"Thank you both for this intervention." I stood. "Very helpful. I'll add it to my list of reasons to reconsider my life choices."
"Dimitri." Apolena's voice softened. "She loves you. Anyone can see it. And you love her even though you're terrified to admit it. Don't destroy this because you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid."
"You're petrified. You think if you love her too much she'll leave like Mom did. But Giulia isn't Mom. She's stronger. She chose this life. She chose you."
Uncomfortable how well my baby sister could read me. Twenty-three years old and already too perceptive. I blamed the literature degree. Too much analysis of human motivation.
"Noted," I said and started toward the door, then stopped. "Apolena, you should go home, and get some sleep. Actual sleep in a bed instead of that torture device."
"I'm fine here."
"You're exhausted."
"I'm staying." She moved closer to Maxim's bed. Defensivelike I might physically remove her. "Someone needs to watch him."
"The nurses can watch him."
"The nurses don't care if he's actually okay. They care if his vitals are stable. There's a difference."
Strange argument. Passionate in a way that seemed disproportionate to the situation. Yes, Maxim had taken bullets protecting her. Yes, she was grateful. But this felt like something more than gratitude.
I looked at Maxim. He was watching Apolena with an expression I couldn't quite read. Fond? Exasperated? Something else entirely?
My phone buzzed again.
Boris: Also, about your sister…
I stepped into the hallway and called him. "What about my sister?"
"She's been at the hospital for two days."
"I'm aware. I just saw her."
"With Maxim."
"Yes. She's grateful he saved her life. It's understandable."
A pause, then… "Boss, you seeing what I'm seeing?"
"What am I supposed to be seeing?"
"Your sister. Your second. Together. Constantly."
"She's keeping him company. They're friends."
Another pause. Longer this time. "Right. Friends."
Something in his tone made my spine straighten. "Boris, say what you're trying to say."
"Just seems like maybe there's...more than friendship happening."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Because Viktor saw them holding hands yesterday. And Alexei said she was crying when he went into surgery. Not normal, grateful crying. Like genuine terrified crying."
"She thought he might die. Anyone would be upset."
"Sure. Anyone." Boris didn't sound convinced. "Look, I'm not saying anything definite, just that people are noticing things. And maybe you should notice them too."
"Maxim would never—" I stopped. Reconsidered. "He wouldn't betray my trust like that."
"Maybe it's not betrayal. Maybe it's just two people who care about each other."
"She's my sister."
"She's also an adult who can make her own choices."
I ended the call and stood in the hospital corridor processing information I didn't want to process. Maxim and Apolena. Apolena and Maxim. The possibility seemed absurd.
Except…
I had a photographic memory. Came with the package of being my father's son. Useful for business, occasionally devastating for personal life when you could recall every detail you'd rather forget.
And now, standing here, I started cataloging moments. Small things I'd dismissed as insignificant.
The way Apolena always asked about Maxim during family dinners. How she'd insisted on learning Russian even though she hated language study. The Christmas party where she'd laughed at his jokes for twenty minutes straight. The time I'd found them both in the library talking about Pushkin.
The way Maxim watched her leave rooms. How he'd volunteered to be her security detail without me asking. His uncharacteristic interest in art history after she'd started her degree. The fact that he knew her coffee order without asking.
Individually, these meant nothing. Friendly interest between people who'd known each other for years. Maxim had been around since Apolena was three. Of course they were comfortable together.
But together. Together they formed a pattern. A narrative I'd been too blind or too busy to notice.