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“Yes, don’t worry.” Kristina pats my shoulder. “He’s safe.”
“Why do I sense there’s a but there?”
“Maks saved him and got shot instead. He’s also in the ICU,” Karina blurts, tears brimming her lids.
Oh, God.
No.
I don’t know how I get the energy, but I’m already wheeling the IV drip and storming out of the room.
I don’t listen to them calling my name or asking me to be careful.
My whole body feels like it’s on fire as I take the elevator to the ICU. Then all my chaotic emotions come to a halt when I arrive near the waiting area.
A bulky mass of muscles sits on one of the chairs, blood soaking his neck, hands, and shirt as he holds his head in his palms.
I slowly approach my brother, my heart thundering so loud, I’m scared it’ll bust out. Once I’m in front of him, I carefully touch his shoulder.
Anton lifts his head, and for the first time in our lives, I see tears clinging to his eyes.
“Malyshka…” he whispers in a low tone, and I just hug him to my chest.
His arms wrap around my middle, and his whole body shakes against me.
“I’m so sorry, Tosha.”
“I could’ve killed Uncle Albert in that moment, but I hesitated and only killed him when it was too late. I’m the reason Maks threw himself in front of me. He didn’t hesitate, Sasha…he just offered his life for mine without even thinking.”
“That’s because he loves you, Tosha. And I know you love him, too.”
“What if…what if I lose him, Sasha…? What am I supposed to do then?” I can feel the anguish and pain emanating from my brother in waves.
I have to stop myself from giving in to the dooming thoughts, but I can’t control it as we both shake.
“You won’t.” I pull back and stroke his hair. “Maks is a fighter and won’t die just like that.”
“He…lost a lot of blood.”
“That still won’t kill him. He’s Maks, remember?”
“He’s Maks,” he repeats in a less assured tone.
I hug him again, and we remain like that for what seems like an hour before the doctor comes along.
My brother staggers to his feet and nearly hits the wall when the doctor says that Maks is stable.
I squeeze his arm, smiling through my unshed tears. “I told you.”
He smiles in return, his expression easing before it sobers. “Remember when you said I needed to have something for myself?”
I nod.
“I will.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You were right, Sasha. Maks is more important than duty.”
I grin like an idiot. What? I’m their number one supporter.
“What do you plan to do?”
“Once he’s okay, I’m leaving this life and starting anew. Now that Babushka and Uncle Albert are gone, I’ll raise Mike and clear up the mess our family made in Russia.”
“Do you know where they left Mike?”
“Back in Saint Petersburg with a nanny. I told her to fly him here for now, so they’re on their way.”
“I can raise him, Tosha. I love Mishka to death, and you were never good with children.”
“No, I will. Mike and I need each other. Besides, you have your own son to worry about.”
“Mishka is not a burden. We can share his custody until I think you can take care of him properly.” I pause. “How did you and Maks end up there anyway?”
“Kirill let me go. He came earlier that day and said that he had evidence he wanted me to see personally.”
Right.
Everything is part of an elaborate plan for Kirill. He made Anton and me see our uncle’s true colors and did the same with Konstantin and Yulia.
Although I doubt he calculated all the shoot-outs that happened. At least, I hope he didn’t.
“Do you…know where he is?” I ask my brother.
“Probably the next ward.”
“I’ll come back, okay?”
“No need to. I’m going to go clean up and visit Maks.”
“I will come back,” I repeat, then give him a quick hug.
After I make sure he can stand straight, I wheel the IV drip to the other section of the ICU.
Sure enough, Kirill is sitting opposite the vending machine. Legs apart, his jacket thrown over the back of the seat, and his face closed off.
It looks cold under the bright lights, and I don’t know why that makes me hide around the corner.
He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger as Konstantin grabs two cups of instant coffee and then joins him.
The brothers sit shoulder to shoulder, silently sipping their coffee.
“This stuff tastes like recycled urine,” Kirill grumbles as he takes another sip.
“I have too many questions, but the most important are: one, how do you know what recycled urine tastes like? Two, is urine even recyclable?”
“A hunch for the first. Yes, for the second.” Kirill clutches the cup with both hands and steals a glance at his brother. “Are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?”
