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Fuck. Did I hurt her?
Panic courses through me as I lower my gun, followed quickly by guilt. Two things I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge since leaving home at eighteen.
“You’re bleeding,” I grit out, still confused as to why the thought of Katya in pain makes me angry.
“It’s fine,” she’s quick to supply. “I patched it up a few days ago.”
I grind my teeth together, my jaw tense as my nostrils flare. She’s been wounded for days, and it clearly hasn’t been properly tended to. She could get it infected if it isn’t already.
Another thought rears its ugly head, just as confusing as the previous ones.
Who the fuck made her bleed in the first place? I’ll do the same to them before ending their miserable life.
Jesus, I need to get it together.
“Not very well,” I say, nodding to the blood on her shirt.
Katya looks down, wincing when she sees the stain. “Fuck,” she says to herself, her hand instinctively coming up to cover the spot.
Her face contorts in pain, but she doesn’t make a sound. I try not to let that bother me, but it doesn’t sit right. How many times has she silently screamed, praying for someone to somehow hear her cries?
I shake my head of those thoughts, not liking the road they were taking me down.“You need stitches,” I state.
“No,” comes the automatic response.
“It’s going to get infected.”
“If I’m about to die, does it really matter?”
“We both know I’m not going to kill you.”
Katya narrows her eyes at me, tearing me apart piece by piece. I’m not sure what she sees, but for the first time in my life, I worry about measuring up. Ridiculous, I know.
“Still. I’m not going to a hospital, and I sure as hell don’t trust a Di Salvo doctor.”
“Fair enough,” I say with a nod. She’s right, neither one of those options is a good one. For either of us. “I have an extensive first aid kit in my home. I’ll take you there and stitch you up.”
“Pass.”
“Then I’ll just take you to Romeo as is, I guess.”
Katya glares at me, her jaw clenched and chin jutted out in defiance. I know that look, too. She’s cornered. Trapped. Forced to decide between two shitty outcomes. She doesn’t know, however, that there’s no way in hell I’m taking this injured, terrified woman straight to the lion’s den. Fuck if I can explain why, I just know I need to get her to my place, where she’ll be safe.
“Fine,” Katya concedes, her shoulders drooping slightly.
“Good. Now, follow me out to my car, and don’t try anything stupid.” I try to sound like the gruff, no-nonsense Capo I am, but with Katya, everything comes out a little softer. I hate it.
“Can I at least know the name of my captor?” she mumbles, eyeing me warily.
“Valentino,” I clip out.
Katya barely makes it three steps before doubling over, clutching her side as she hisses. I’m next to her in an instant, and before I even realize what’s happening, she’s in my arms, cradled against me. I ignore the feeling of something settling deep in my chest now that she’s in my care.
“I’m fine,” Katya whimpers, though I can feel her muscles jerking in pain with every step I take.
Why is it excruciating to see her suffer like this? I want to absorb her trauma, whatever it may be, and make it my own so she never has to feel this way again.
I’m fucking losing it.
