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They agreed and settled down. Evelina ran to the kitchen and returned with a slightly greasy paper bag that she dropped in my lap. “I almost forgot,” she said. “Your pirozhkis.” They smelled delicious and my stomach rumbled loudly. “Goodness, when was the last time you ate?” she asked.
I shook my head, my hands shaking as I opened the bag. I didn’t remember. Yuri told me I could eat them on the way to the airport, closing his eyes for a brief second.
Everyone seemingly remarkably unbothered at what had just transpired. The harried car chase, the roadside shooting, the fact Yuri had a brush with death and I’d been kept prisoner in an underground lair. I found I was equally unfazed, at least for now. That was mafia life, and I was firmly back in it. Thankfully this time with the family I wanted to be part of.
Evelina returned to the kitchen and began working at her bank of computer screens, maybe finding her and her brother tickets to Miami. Leo jingled his car keys, and Yuri opened his eyes and stood. He looked down at me, his face hard and serious.
“Time to go,” he said.
I nodded, then looked away as I got up, not quite sure what I was in for on the flight home. I knew I had a lot to answer for. My heart twisted. Did he only rescue me out of his deep sense of responsibility? Maybe I wouldn’t be part of the family for long, after all.
Chapter 23 - Yuri
Kira kept her hood pulled low over her battered face as we boarded the jet. The pilot looked well rested, if not a bit sullen this time, when he greeted us. He’d probably gotten an earful from Ivan, and I made a mental note to make sure my brother didn’t come down too hard on him for helping me out.
I trusted my cousins’ plan to make it look like Artur had been overtaken by any of the other people who wanted revenge against him, but I was anxious to get in the air and out of Russia in case things went south. Not to mention my shoulder throbbed, with blood slowly seeping through the bandage again. Adrenaline had kept it from hurting while we raced through Moscow after Kira and her father turned up on a traffic cam. Evelina’s ingenious plan to send me to the airport in order to lure Artur into a false sense of security had worked like a charm.
Now that Kira was safe, and we were rolling down the runway, the pain came back in full force. I needed a doctor, but it could wait until we were home. I looked across the jet at her where she was buckled in for takeoff. Her hands were in a white knuckled grip on her seatbelt as we lifted off the ground. She’d finally pushed her hood off and I studied her face, growing angry all over again at the sight of Artur’s abuse. She looked up and our eyes met. Tears welled up, and I reached across to gently wipe them away. Her mouth opened and shut, like she was struggling to get some words out. I wanted to hear what she had to say, but that could wait too, and I shook my head.
“Later,” I told her. “It’s not important now.”
“It is,” she said miserably.
“But it can still wait.”
After we were safely in the air, I found the plane’s first aid kit and soaked a washcloth in cool water and began to clean up her face. There were multiple bruises and a cut across her nose—had the beast actually punched her? If I’d had any regrets at all, they disappeared as I tenderly applied salve to her bruises and scrapes, asking if she was hurt anywhere else.
She looked at me with disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she reached for my shoulder. “You were shot, for God’s sake. What about you?”
I shrugged, causing a fresh jolt of pain. She shook her head as I felt the bleeding start again.
“I’m fine.” I pulled away, surprised at the look of hurt on her face. “Are you still hungry?”
She had eaten the beef pirozhkis Evelina had bought for her on the drive to the airport. They smelled delicious but I didn’t want to take her up on her offer to share, knowing her father’s predilection for not allowing her to eat.
The hurt faded to anger and she reached for my shoulder again. “You’re not going to make it home if you don’t let me stop this bleeding.”
Her concern felt nice, and I let her gingerly open my shirt and peel away the soaked bandages. “This needs stitches,” she said. “You know I could do it, right?”
“I have no doubt. It seems like you know a lot of things I couldn’t imagine.”
Her cheeks reddened and she bit her lip, leaning back. “I’m sor—”
“Later,” I interrupted. “We’re both exhausted, and we both feel like shit. Am I wrong?”
“No,” she said, concentrating on the contents of the first aid kit.
We both remained silent while she swabbed my gunshot wound with alcohol and packed it with fresh gauze before taping a clean washcloth over the whole mess. She finally rested her palm on my cheek.
“It must have hurt so much,” she said, tearing up again.
It took all my reserves not to kiss her. We were both too emotionally raw, overly tired, and in pain. I led her to one of the couches and motioned for her to lie down.
“Just get some sleep,” I told her. “I can’t wait to shut my own eyes.” By telling her I needed sleep too, she finally laid down without a fight.
I covered her with a soft blanket, tracing her jawline and smoothing her hair behind her ear until her eyes slid closed and her breathing steadied. I crouched down beside her and watched her for a moment. In the few weeks that we’d been reunited, she’d been through some truly nightmarish things, and all at the hands of a man who was supposed to love and care for her above all others. That had been her entire life. It was no wonder she couldn’t trust anyone.
The leftover resentment I still carried that she hadn’t been able to instantly see I only had her best interests at heart melted away. I felt fifty pounds lighter at the release of that burden. I barely made it to the other couch, setting an alarm on my phone for about an hour before we were supposed to land. As soon as my head hit the cushions, I was asleep.
