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LUKA
“Apparently the second bullet wound did more damage than we thought.” The low murmur from the doctor standing a few feet away from Dima’s room makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“He needs to be prepped for surgery so we can repair the artery around his heart,” another one says while staring down at a chart.
I swallow hard and stop outside the door. A long-gone and now unfamiliar pang in my chest reminds me of the times during our childhood when Dima and I would know exactly what the other was feeling.
The twin tingle.
The doctors look at me and do a double-take since they’re currently treating my mirror image.
“You must be Dima’s brother.”
I give a swift nod in reply.
“He was very lucky. The bullet only grazed an artery, so we’re going to take him in for surgery,” one of the doctors explains. “No need to worry.”
As if.
I square my shoulders and push open the door to his room, blinking fast to adjust my eyes to the bright white light. There are machines surrounding his bed, bleeping incessantly to track his vitals.
I turn toward the bed and see my brother propped up against some pillows.
His usual smug, prick expression has been replaced by one of defeat.
I know he hates to be perceived as weak, and you can’t look any weaker than if you’re lying in a hospital bed in one of those backless gowns.
So why did he want to see me?
I’m the last person he’d call upon in a time of need.
Maybe he wants to rub my nose in his upcoming wedding to Natasha, just to feel a little rush of power before he goes under the knife.
My spine stiffens when his troubled gaze meets mine.
“Mom said you wanted to see me.” I step toward the bed, leaving a space between us just like the wedge that permanently drove us apart years ago.
“She’s a wreck right now. You need to take care of her,” he grunts, shifting on the bed. “I know you were planning to leave Miami after the wedding.”
“How? Dad said he didn’t tell anyone.”
“He didn’t.” Dima glowers at me. “I overheard you talking to him about it.”
“When did you find out?”
“The other day.”
I ball my hands into tight fists. “Oh, you mean after you sent those guys over to my place to kill me?” I roll my eyes. “You should have been a little patient.”
“You can’t go, Luka. Not now.” He squeezes his eyes shut, wincing as if the pain sank its claws just a bit deeper to remind him of his vulnerability…and the need to swallow his pride. “Not with Dad gone.” Dima’s voice catches, his fists clenching the bedsheet.
“I’ll stay as long as it takes to handle the funeral arrangements and the will. Our paths should never cross after that. We both know a collision would be deadly for one, if not both, of us. And the family has suffered enough death for one day.”
“That’s what you need to think about. The family. They need you now.”
“Now you care about the family?” I snap.
“Everything I do is for the family.”
