Page 123 of Secret Heir

“Prepare for intubation,” Ludmila says, already pulling out equipment.

“Not yet. Let’s see if—” Dr. Petrov checks something, his fingers on Daniel’s neck. “Breathing is shallow but present. He’s fighting. Good job, kid. Come on, Daniel. Keep fighting.”

They work for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. More injections. More IV fluids. Constant monitoring of his vitals. Dr. Petrov’s hands never stop moving, checking, adjusting, and treating.

Finally—finally—Dr. Petrov sits back on his heels. His scrubs are soaked with sweat. “He’s stabilized,” he declares. “For now.”

“For now?” Aria’s voice is hoarse from her screaming. She’s broken free from the guard holding her and is crawling toward Daniel on her hands and knees. “What does that mean? Is he going to be okay?”

“The neurotoxin is still in his system.” Dr. Petrov looks at us with compassion. “We’ve counteracted the worst of it, but his body needs time to process what’s left. His organs took a significant hit—particularly his heart and lungs. The seizures were severe.”

“Will he be okay?” I manage to ask, even though I’m terrified of the answer.

“I don’t know.” The honesty is devastating. “We won’t know if there’s permanent damage until he wakes up. There may be brain damage from oxygen deprivation and/or organ damage from the toxin. We won’t know the extent until—” He stops and swallows heavily. “I need to place him in a medically-induced coma. It’ll give his organs a chance to recover without the stress of consciousness and reduce the metabolic demand on his system.”

“If.” Aria’s voice is barely a whisper. “You said ‘if he wakes up.’”

Dr. Petrov’s face shows his sympathy, but he doesn’t lie. “Yes. If.”

They move Daniel to the compound’s medical facility, which is a fully-equipped hospital wing in the east section of the compound that Nikolai maintains for emergencies exactly like this. It has everything: surgical suites, ICU rooms, imaging equipment, and a fully-stocked pharmacy.

Everything except a guarantee that my son will survive.

They put Daniel in a private room with glass walls so the medical staff can monitor him constantly. They hook him up to more machines than I can count—heart monitor, oxygen saturation, blood pressure, and IV pumps delivering medications I can’t pronounce.

They intubate him, threading a tube down his throat to help him breathe. The ventilator makes a rhythmic whooshing sound that will haunt my nightmares.

Daniel looks so small in the hospital bed. So impossibly small and fragile. His face is pale except for the bluish tint that still lingers around his lips. His chest rises and falls with mechanical precision, aided by the machine breathing for him. There are bruises forming on his chest from the CPR. Small, round bruises in the shape of Dr. Petrov’s fingers.

Proof that my son died and his heart stopped. We almost lost him.

Aria refuses to leave his bedside. She’s been sitting in the same chair for six hours now, holding Daniel’s small hand in both of hers, silently crying as she gazes upon our son.

She hasn’t spoken or eaten. She hasn’t moved except to occasionally stroke Daniel’s hair.

I stand on the other side of the bed, one hand resting on Daniel’s head, my fingers buried in his dark hair. My other hand is braced against the bed rail because my ribs are screaming in pain, but I don’t care.

This is my son. My solnyshko. My little sun.

And someone tried to murder him in my own brother’s compound. In the safest place we have with guards outside and vetted staff and every precaution imaginable.

Someone got to him anyway.

“Maksim.” Nikolai appears in the doorway, his face carved from stone, but I can see the fury in his eyes. The guilt. “We need to talk.”

I don’t want to leave my son for even a second, but I need to understand how this happened so I can make sure it never happens again.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Aria, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She doesn’t respond. It’s like she doesn’t even seem to hear me. She keeps staring at Daniel’s face, her lips moving in what might be prayer.

Nikolai and I step into the hallway. The medical facility is quiet except for the beeping of monitors and the soft footsteps of nurses checking on Daniel.

As soon as the door closes behind us, I grab my brother by the front of his shirt and slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the artwork.

“How.” I snarl, my voice vibrating with barely controlled rage. “How did this happen in your fortress? You promised me this was the safest place. You promised me my family would be protected here!”

“The food was clean.” Nikolai doesn’t fight back or defend himself. He just meets my eyes with his own fury and guilt. “We tested everything before it was served. Every dish. The pasta, the sauce, the bread, the water, the plates themselves. All of it came back clean.”