Page 29 of Savage Truce

Just as I reach the bedroom, the doctor steps out into the hallway and quietly closes the door before meeting my eyes.

“Anastasia is severely malnourished and dehydrated, but that’s something we can fix. I’ve started an IV and taken blood, so I’ll have a better idea of what she needs once the results come back.” He moves closer to me while taking a deep breath. “There’s an old gunshot wound to her calf, but by some miracle it didn’t get infected and seems to be healing well. I removed the thread that was used to stitch it up, cleaned the wound thoroughly, and dressed it.”

A gunshot wound! That fucker can be glad I already killed him.

My jaw clenches from the anger pouring into my chest, making the doctor hesitate before he continues, “She’s covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes. But I do have some good news.” My eyebrow lifts. “Anastasia wasn’t sexually assaulted. Given the circumstances, I’m grateful she was spared that kind of trauma, and her virginity is still intact.”

It takes me a second to process what he’s telling me, then the anger is drowned out by pure fucking relief. “Thank fucking God.”

He nods and gestures at the shut door. “If everything continues to go well, she should fully recover in two to three weeks. I’ll stop by every day to check on her. She’ll just need plenty of rest, antibiotics, and small meals until her body adjusts to eating normally again.”

Locking eyes with the man, I say, “Thank you.” I lift my arm, passing the clothes to him. “You can dress her in these.”

He takes the shirt and boxers, and when he enters the room again, I get a glimpse of Miss Zoya adjusting a sheet over Anastasia.

The urge to enter the room so I can be close to the woman who I thought was lost to me almost overwhelms me, but instead I say, “Miss Zoya, when you’re done, I need you to prepare dinner. I have a guest coming over at eight.”

“Yes, Mr. Volkov.” The door is shut again.

Needing to find out as much as possible about Anastasia, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Tim’s number.

It doesn’t even ring twice before the kid answers, “Hi, boss. What’s up?”

“I’m not your boss,” I grumble. “I need a favor.”

“Anything,” he replies eagerly.

“Yegor Fedorov has a granddaughter. Anastasia. Get every piece of information you can on her. She was born in Russia but lived in the UK until she was twenty.”

“Oh, I was hoping for something more challenging,” the little shit mumbles. “I’ll get back to you soon.”

The call ends, and when the door opens again and Miss Zoya comes out, I’m done waiting and enter the room. “The guest doesn’t like vegetables,” I tell my housekeeper before I turn my attention to the bed. “And prepare soup for Anastasia. I want her to eat when she wakes up.”

Looking way too fucking fragile, Anastasia’s skin is even paler with all the dirt washed away. Noticing her hair is wet, I grab one of the towels that’s on the dressing table.

“I’ll be back tonight at ten,” Dr. Kravets says before leaving.

Sitting down on the side of the bed, I focus on drying Anastasia’s hair while I keep taking in every inch of her face.

Finally, the shock of finding her in that hellhole begins to wear off, and when I toss the towel aside, I place my hands on either side of her head and lean over her.

Besides falling hopelessly for Anastasia, the fact that she’s a Fedorov has me thinking a marriage between us would be the best thing for the Bratva right now.

It will silence Yegor’s old associates and give me the final push I need to take full control over the organization.

Anastasia needs to recover from the ordeal she suffered, but the sooner we get married, the better.

There isn’t a single woman in the organization who’s more fitting to be my wife, and ever since I laid eyes on her, she’s the only woman I’ve wanted.

By the time her lashes stir and her eyes open, I’ve made up my mind. There’s no fucking way I’m letting her slip through my fingers again, especially now that I know she’s a Fedorov.

CHAPTER 9

Anastasia

Lethargic and confused, it takes me a moment to focus on Rodian’s face. Leaning over me, he’s dangerously close, and my pulse begins to race.

His grim expression is scary, his features drawn tight and his mouth set in a hard line. His blue eyes are so sharp and icy, I struggle to look into them.