28. Emil
EMIL
Iwatch Kiera leave with her brothers, her shoulders squared and her head held high.
She's magnificent when she's angry. She's also adorable when she's worried about me.
She may try to hide it, but I can see the concern in her eyes.
The way she keeps tossing glances back at me, as if to make sure I'm still alive, is another giveaway too.
The moment the doors close behind Kiera and her brothers, my body gives out.
I drop to one knee, the adrenaline that's been keeping me upright finally draining away. Pain explodes through every inch of me. My ribs scream. My jaw throbs. My left eye is swollen nearly shut, and I can taste blood in my mouth.
Fuck.
"You absolute idiot." Luca's voice comes from behind me, sharp with anger. "What the hell were you thinking?"
I try to stand, but my legs won't cooperate. Luca's there immediately, his arm sliding under mine to haul me up.
"I was thinking," I grit out, "that I needed to teach them a lesson."
"You're the Pakhan. You don't need to prove yourself to anyone. You don't need to earn anyone's respect. You command it." He starts walking me toward the side exit, supporting most of my weight. "Four men, Emil. You let four men beat the shit out of you."
"I beat them too."
"That's not the point." His grip tightens as I stumble. "You have nothing to prove. You're the most powerful man in this city. You could have had them killed with a phone call."
"That wouldn't have solved anything."
"It would have solved the problem of them interfering with your marriage." He sends me a glare and a knowing look. "You held back," he accuses. "I've seen you fight. I've trained with you. You didn't give it your all."
I don't say anything. He's right, of course. I didn't fight as hard and dirty as I usually would. But these are Kiera's brothers. My goal was to teach them a lesson and make an agreement to make our lives easier. Not to kill them.
We make it through the door and down a long hallway. Every step sends fresh waves of pain through my body. My ribs are definitely bruised, maybe cracked. My nose is broken. Again. I've lost count of how many times that's happened.
The clinic is at the far side of the estate, a fully equipped medical facility I keep staffed twenty-four, seven. When you're in my line of work, you need a doctor who doesn't ask questions and doesn't report gunshot wounds to the police.
"You're supposed to be smart," Luca continues, still berating me. "Strategic. Not throwing yourself into unnecessary fights like some street thug trying to prove he's tough."
"It was necessary."
"Bullshit."
We reach the clinic, and the doctor looks up from his desk. His eyes widen slightly when he sees me, but he's too professional to comment. He just gestures to the examination table.
Luca helps me onto it, and I bite back a groan as I settle against the padded surface. Everything hurts. Everything.
"Leave us," the doctor says to Luca.
"I'm staying."
The doctor looks at me, and I nod. Luca's not going anywhere, and honestly, I don't have the energy to argue.
He begins his examination, his hands gentle but thorough. He checks my ribs, jaw, and nose, all the most obvious signs of injury. Then he shines a light in my eyes to check for a concussion and takes my blood pressure.
"You're lucky," he finally says. "No broken ribs, though several are badly bruised. Your nose is broken, but it's a clean break. I can reset it now. The cuts will need stitches."
"Do it."
He works efficiently, resetting my nose with a sharp crack that makes even Luca wince. Then he stitches the cut above my eyebrow and the one on my cheekbone. The whole time, Luca stands against the wall, arms crossed, glaring at me.
"This was the best way," I tell him when the doctor steps away to prepare bandages. "The brothers needed to feel like they fought for her. Like they did everything they could to protect her. Now they can accept the marriage without feeling like they failed her."
"You could have just talked to them."
"Talk hasn't worked with them so far. Their concern for their baby sister runs too deep.
Mere words aren't going to convince them of anything.
They needed action." I shift on the table, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt.
I shrug, wincing at the pain slicing through my body. "I gave them the action they needed."
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
Luca shakes his head and walks out, muttering something in Russian about stubborn idiots.
The doc returns with bandages and pain medication. He wraps my ribs, tapes my nose, and hands me a bottle of pills.
"Take these every six hours for the pain. Rest for at least forty-eight hours. No strenuous activity."
I nod, though we both know I won't follow those instructions. The doctor finishes up and leaves me alone in the clinic.
I sit there for a moment, taking inventory of my body. Every single muscle aches. Every bone feels bruised. Every tendon is strained. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten more times than I can count, so I am used to my body being abused.
Before I can stand, the door opens and Luca walks back in. This time, he's not alone.
Kiera's with him.
Her face is pale, her blue eyes wide with something that looks like fear. For me? The thought sends an unexpected warmth through my chest, cutting through the pain.
"How could you be so stupid?" The words burst out of her like she's been holding them back. "Are you alright? You deserve every single injury you got. Does it hurt a lot? What were you thinking? Four men, Emil. Four."
She crosses the room in quick strides and wraps her arm around my waist, careful of my ribs. The gesture is so unexpected, so tender, that I freeze for a moment.
"Come on," she says. "Let's get you to your room."
"The library," I correct. "I need to work."
"You need to rest."
"I'm the Pakhan. I don't get to take the day off to lie in bed."
We make our way slowly through the estate, Kiera supporting me more than I'd like to admit. She keeps glancing at me, her expression shifting between anger and worry. Sometimes I think I see something else. Pride, maybe? But that's probably wishful thinking.
When we reach the library, I sink into one of the leather chairs near the fireplace. Kiera hovers nearby, her hands fluttering like she wants to help but doesn't know how.
"Let me help you to your room," she says again.
"No."
"Emil, you can barely walk."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're hurt and stubborn and—"
"I need to work." I lean back in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position. "I have business to handle. Calls to make. The organization doesn't stop because I'm bruised."
She crosses her arms, and I can see the frustration in her face. But there's worry there too. Real worry.
A wicked idea forms in my mind, and despite the pain, I can't help the gleam that enters my eyes.
"Of course," I say slowly, "if you want to spend the afternoon in bed with me, I might be persuaded to rest."
Her face flushes red. "You're impossible."
"I'm practical."
"You're an asshole."
"That too."
She glares at me, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Good. I'd rather have her angry than worried.
"Go find Luca," I tell her. "Tell him I want you to practice sparring with him. Self-defense training. I want you to be able to protect yourself."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." My voice comes out harder than I intend. "Someone tried to kill you, Kiera. Someone's still out there, and until I find them, you need to know how to defend yourself."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. Finally, she nods.
"Fine. But you'd better actually rest while I'm gone."
"I'll rest," I lie.
She gives me one more worried look, then leaves. The moment the door closes behind her, I pull out my phone and start making calls.
Twenty minutes later, my captains file into the library. "Report," I say without preamble. "Any leads on the shooter who targeted Kiera at her apartment?"
They exchange glances. "We've been canvassing the area, Pakhan," one of the captains said. "Talking to informants. Checking security footage from nearby buildings."
"And?"
"Nothing yet."
Frustration burns through me, hot and sharp. "Nothing? It's been days."
"Whoever it was, they're a professional," another adds. "They knew how to avoid cameras, how to disappear. We're still looking, but—"
"But you have nothing." I lean forward, ignoring the pain in my ribs. "Someone tried to kill my fiancée. Someone is still out there, planning God knows what. And you're telling me you have nothing?"
"We're doing everything we can," the first captain says carefully.
"Then do more." My voice drops to a dangerous level. "I want every resource we have on this. Every contact, every informant, and every piece of surveillance equipment. Find this person. Now."
"Yes, Pakhan."
They start to file out, but before they reach the door, it opens again. Another captain rushes in. His face is flushed, and he's breathing heavy like he's been running.
"Pakhan," he says urgently. "I was watching Miss Walker's apartment like you ordered."
My entire body tenses. "And?"
"Someone got in. They ransacked the place. I didn't see it happen, but when I checked an hour ago, the door was open and everything inside was destroyed."