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Ignoring the pain, I hug her back. I’ll suffer ten times this if it means I get to bask in her existence. One bullet is nothing compared to being deprived of the woman I love.
“You’re not okay!” she gasps, leaning away to stare at my blood-soaked leg. “What happened?”
“Got ambushed by the police. If it wasn’t for Kostya …”
“You could’ve died!” she yells.
“But I didn’t.” My smile is bittersweet. “I made it back to you. That’s all that matters.”
She stares, battling with her desire to hug me again or make space. The choice is taken from her when Ulyana grips her arm, guiding her away so the doctor can lean in.
Dr. Helsan looks down, scowling as he purges all semblance of proper bedside manner. “You look like shit.”
Chuckling, I hiss between gritted teeth as he and Kostya assist me out of the car. Ulyana and Galina help Mila out behind me.
We’ve got quite the audience. Every member of my staff is crowded on the front steps or at the windows.
“Easy now,” Dr. Helsan says. He and Kostya start to carry me, but I refuse to be seen in such a state of weakness in front of the people who rely on me. Though it causes explosions of gut-rattling pain, I make myself walk stiffly to my front door without their assistance.
Everyone clears a path for me. There’s an air of unease shrouding my return. They only have to look at my bloody leg or Mila’s wounds, or the fact Katya isn’t with me, to know we failed.
The doctor is grumbling under his breath about me acting like a prideful fool. I appreciate that he keeps his voice low enough that only Kostya and I can hear him. When I reach a large, padded brown leather chair in the main room, I lower myself into it with a grimace. Colors dart behind my eyelids from the throbbing in my leg.
But Mila is in worse shape.
“It’s cold,” she gasps, breathing heavily. “Why is it so cold?”
Ulyana makes room for her on the love seat. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
“Take care of Mila first,” I tell the doctor.
He gives me a long, uneasy stare. “You’ve got a bullet in your thigh, Mr. Isakov.”
“And she’s got one in her shoulder.”
“I’m the doctor,” he insists. “Let me decide how to triage this.”
“Go over and help her. Now,” I say crisply. “Eto moi prikaz! I’m fine.”
My eyes dart to Galina, who is coming toward me, her face shiny and pale.
Now that I’m here with her, death can’t touch me.
Dr. Helsan shoves a pile of gauze and bandages into my lap, then jerks away with another series of offended mutterings. This time he doesn’t shield them from everyone else.
Galina glances at him as she passes before she runs the last steps, dropping to her knees beside me. “This needs to be cleaned right away. Give me the gauze.”
Kostya bends close, offering her a small bottle. “Here. To stave off any infection.”
Her brow furrows as she squints up at him. To my memory, Galina has never liked Kostya. He has every reason to loathe her too, since she was the reason for his broken fingers. But for now, their enmity is forgotten. She gives him a quick smile and takes the antiseptic with a tiny nod. “Thank you.”
My brigadier rubs the side of his neck awkwardly before shuffling away to help with Mila. Galina cranes closer to my wound, dabbing at it with some gauze she’s soaked with the antiseptic.
“The bullet has to come out.”
“Galina.”
“I can’t do it. I don’t know how.”
