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Damien's expression darkens, and he hesitates before answering. "He's been injured. It's not life-threatening, but it's serious."
Fear courses through me at the thought of Boris hurt. I turn to one of Boris's guards who had followed us inside. "Please make sure Adam has everything he needs and is comfortable here."
I lean forward, wanting to explain to Adam that apart from this one time, I would never leave him again, but even before I can open my mouth, he looks me in the eye and touches my cheek gently. “Go,” he whispers, giving me a brave smile.
Tearing my gaze away from my brother, I look back at Damien, my eyes pleading. "Take me to Boris."
"Alright, let's go," Damien agrees, leading me out the door.
“What happened?” I ask Damien in the car on the way to the hospital. He tells me everything that happened tonight. I gasp when I hear of my uncle’s death, a strange feeling of numbness fueling my confused emotions.
I detested the man. But he was still my uncle.
On hearing how he didn’t care for Adam’s safety when he tried to run, I stop feeling any guilt I might have had for not mourning his death.
“And Boris?” I ask the dreaded question at last.
“He was shot,” Damien puts it bluntly.
“Shot?” I screech, my hands instantly reaching for my belly as scary, dangerous thoughts come to mind.
“He’s fine,” Damien explains, looking worried as I begin to pale. “It’s just a graze, I swear.”
The ride to the hospital feels like an eternity, each passing second filled with dread and worry gnawing at my insides. My heart races, and the image of Boris injured flashes before my eyes, making me grip my seatbelt so tightly my knuckles turn white.
As we rush through the emergency room’s automatic doors, Damien's quick strides leading the way, I scan the faces of the medical staff, searching for any sign of news about Boris.A nurse points us in the direction of his room, and I practically sprint toward it, Damien hot on my heels.
The sight that greets me as I enter the room steals my breath away. Boris lies on the hospital bed, his usually strong features contorted in pain. His black hair is slightly disheveled, contrasting starkly with the sterile white hospital sheets beneath him. My hand flies to cover my mouth, trying to stifle a gasp as I take in the bandages wrapped around his torso.
I rush to his side, and he looks at me and smiles, extending his hand.
“Boris,” I cry out, taking his hand in mine and grasping it against my cheek. “Oh, Boris.”
I sob, and he lets out a chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly, his dark blue eyes filled with a mix of pain and tenderness as he watches me. “I’m okay.”
I lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his hand before looking into his eyes, filled with unspoken emotions that threaten to spill over. "I'm here, Boris. I'll take care of you," I promise, my voice barely above a whisper.
***
Over the next week, I devote myself entirely to Boris's recovery. At first, he tries to brush off my concern, insisting that he can take care of himself. But I'm stubborn, too, and eventually, he gives in, allowing me to help him with everything from changing his bandages to fetching him water.
"Stop fussing," he grumbles one evening as I adjust his pillows to make sure he's comfortable. "I'm not made of glass, Robin."
"Maybe not, but you're still injured," I retort, smoothing his hair from his forehead. "Besides, when was the last time someone took care of you?"
Boris doesn't answer, but the vulnerability in his eyes makes my heart ache. It only strengthens my resolve to ensure his well-being during this difficult time.
After everything he did for me to save my brother, there’s nothing I can do for him that’ll even make a dent in the ocean of gratitude I owe him.
"Fine," he finally concedes, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But only because it makes you happy."
"Deal," I agree, smiling back at him.
***
Between caring for Boris, spending time with Adam, and checking in on Anoushka, I find myself reflecting on the loss of our uncle. He may have been a flawed man, but he was also the closest thing we had to a father figure. The weight of his absence weighs especially heavy on Adam.
One afternoon, when Boris finally returns home from the hospital, I find my brother sitting alone by the window, staring out into the sky. His eyes are red-rimmed, and it's clear he's been crying.
