Mikhail
It’s rare for me not to be in the city when the sun rises. I always wake up two hours before dawn, but not today. I haven’t been able to sleep at all. Pavel and I sit in the waiting room, mentally blocking out the irritating voice of the overenthusiastic morning host on a TV bolted to the wall.
My gaze is unfocused as I stare out the large windows at the morning light. Bands of orange accent the mauve sky as the sun peeks its top over the horizon. My toes tap the floor rapidly as I wait for an update on Maria’s condition. Anton stands outside the window, smoking all his cigarettes.
“Try to rest, Mikhail Ivanov.” Pavel frowns at me with concern and apprehension. “I will wake you when they call her name.”
I can’t sleep. I can’t even close my eyes. When I do, all I see is Maria collapsing to the floor of the vacant building. I see the flash of blinding light in front of us as she dashed to step in front of me. Her body jolting as the bullet struck her torso. I see her falling to the floor, her eyes squeezed tightly in pain and her teeth gritted together.
I press the pads of my fingers into my eyes as if I could rub the horrifying image away.
When I stand up, the room freezes around me, and I start to pace the floor again. The other visitors have chosen to sit on the farthest side of the room, nowhere near the men covered in tattoos, wearing yesterday’s clothes.
A nervous woman with dark eyes behind large glasses glances over to make sure I’m staying away from her children. Her young son stares at me with fascination, and her daughter’s gaze is drawn to the tattoos on my hands. The woman tugs both of them away and turns directly toward the TV as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room.
I’m certain they’ll be pleased when we leave.
The nurse steps into the waiting room and frowns as I stop in my tracks. “Aaron Smith?” she calls out.
I step forward, leaving no space between me and the tired woman dressed in baggy scrubs. Her blonde hair is braided down her back, and a permanent crease rests between her eyes.
“How is she?” I ask in one breath.
She holds up her hand to silence me quickly. “Please follow me, sir.”
Anton, Pavel, and I enter a private room in a separate wing far from the main entrance. Maria lies quietly on the hospital bed, machines monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure. Her face is pale against her auburn hair, but her cheeks show a little color.
I hurry to her side and feel relief flood my body.
A moment later, the relief is replaced with dread. I’m not sure what I’ll hear. And I’m not sure how I might react if the worst is true.
“How is she, Nurse?” I ask.
“Dr. Galano,” she corrects me efficiently. “Belova couldn’t find the bullet because it didn’t penetrate her. But grazes aren’t that much better. She’s lucky there’s no internal bleeding. But she’s still lost a lot of blood. But by my count, she can go home tomorrow morning.”
My heart rises to my throat. “What about the baby?”
“Baby?” Dr. Galano asks.
Panic surges, and I fight the urge to shake her as well. “Yes, the baby. Ed-Eve is pregnant.”
Dr. Galano sighs. “We can arrange for an ultrasound so that we can check. But that’ll mean more strings to pull.”
“Please do.”
She glares at me for a moment, as if to say something. But slowly, her expression softens. “I’ll see what I can do. But for now, I’d prefer it if you could draw less attention to yourself.” Galano steps closer and lowers her voice. “I happen to like working here.”
I nod. “We’ll be discreet.”
“Do better than that.” She points at an anxiously pacing Anton, who is drawing more looks from the woman and her children. “Be invisible. I’ll do my best to let you know as soon as possible.”
“Can I see her?”
“Yes.” A smile slips onto her face, and she looks a little bit more human. “But remember. Be invisible, Mr. Smith. I’ll be back soon.”
A moment later, I’m sitting beside Maria’s bed and placing my hand over hers.
Maria moans softly in her sleep, and maybe I’m imagining the slight grin that appears on her beautiful face when I touch her. I hold her hand gently, my mind still racing at the uncertainty. I haven’t lost Maria yet.
But if we lose our baby …
I don’t want to think about it. I can’t afford to think about it. I’ve suffered losses that will always be hard to bear. But this? If the worst happens, this will be a loss that is impossible to bear. Looking at Maria, I wonder if I can deliver the message to her when she wakes up.
If I can even deliver it for myself.
“Mikhail Ivanov,” Pavel leans down and whispers in my ear.
I shove my public display of affection aside. Responsibility and duty return to my brain and body instantly. My intellect, not my emotions, forcibly takes command as I stand and step away from her bed.
“Have guards surround the hospital from a distance, on foot and in vehicles, monitoring who comes and goes. Watch all doors, especially the employees.”
“What about inside?” asks Anton.
I nod my head. “Women. Have them pretend to be civilians. Scrubs would be ideal, but people might ask them questions.” I pause. “Call Rurik and make sure he’s armed. You two leave and get some rest.”
My gaze returns to Maria, and looking away is impossible. The stress of the night finally claims me. I sit down heavily in the chair and stare at her motionless body under the covers. At the soft curves I want to hold close more than ever. I place my hand over her stomach and silently beg whoever might be listening, “Please. Please. Please.”
Emotions flood back into me like water breaching a dam, and I cover my face with my hand.
Pavel and Anton are awkwardly silent until Pavel speaks. “We’ll wait outside until Rurik comes.”
“If you see Zakhar, tell me immediately.” I nod, taking my hand away and letting out a ragged sigh. “I want him all for myself.”
My eyes grow heavy, and I don’t realize that I’ve been asleep until I wake up. The sound of voices rouses me, making me instantly alert. My eyes flutter open, and I see Rurik first, guarding the door. Despite the trendy jeans and the baggy sweatshirt, his appearance is not that of a civilian. No matter how he dresses, he looks solidly Bratva. But I’m glad to see him.
But across from me, Larissa sits. Her thick dark hair is concealed under a Yankees baseball cap, and her eyes hide behind a pair of sunglasses. But I know they’re looking at me with a familiar fury.
“Kolya.” She removes the sunglasses to take a better look at me, and her expression battles between sympathy for my exhausted state and blaming me. “What have you done?”
“There was a text,” I start to explain. Stay strong, sweetheart. One thing left to do.
I begin to recount the events that led to Maria being shot as if I were in a confessional with a priest. I rarely confess fully to anyone, and I’m struck by how guarded I’ve become. My life has been consumed by isolation and hatred since my mother’s death. Each day blends into the next as I navigate the demands of running the Bratva without my father or my brother by my side. All their tragic pasts have shaped me and left a black hole deep inside me.
A black hole that has sucked Maria into it.