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Leo isn’t there.
My heart sinks, confusion swirling inside me as I try to keep my smile in place while I take a deep bow. I don’t understand. He said he’d be here. Did something happen? That has to be it. It’s the only reason I can think of that would keep Leo from following through with his promise.
There's still a good deal of the ballet left. I have no choice but to stick it out through the pas de deux, through the finale before I can finally leave the stage to try and call him. My stomach is in knots, anxiety bubbling in my chest. I know Leo through and through. There's no way he would miss this. Maybe I got his seat wrong. Maybe he's watching from a different section of the theater.
By the time the ballet comes to an end and the curtains close, I all but elbow my way back to the change rooms where I quickly strip out of my costume and get dressed. It's chaos behind stage, the area flooded with patrons and admirers, all with flowers and program copies for signing.
“You were amazing,” someone tells me.
“Truly fantastic!” someone else exclaims.
I thank them all, though I'm obviously distracted. Nausea keeps twirling in the back of my throat, and I break into a cold sweat, but I push it all down one last time. I can’t let anything hold me back anymore. Not now. There are a flurry of flashing cameras and people shoving gifts into my arms. When I look out into the crowd and see a pair of red-headed twins, my heart leaps into my throat. Sandra and Charlotte.
I make my way over to them, hopeful that Leo is somewhere nearby. “Where's—”
Sandra puts a hand up, her expression grave. “You need to come with us,” she says.
“I don't understand.”
“We need to go to St. Petersburg,” Charlotte explains. “Leo's been shot.”
Chapter 31
Nikita
I'm a nervous wreck by the time we arrive. I still have glitter in my hair, my bun so tight I have a headache. It didn't feel real when the twins invited me on to their private jet, taking off from a private airfield on the outskirts of Moscow only to land in St. Petersburg in under an hour and a half.
“How did it happen?” I ask them. “Is he alive? Why won't you tell me anything?”
These were only a few of the questions I pelted them with for the duration of the flight. I don't know these two very well, but it's obvious in their eyes how much they care about Leo.
Charlotte seems particularly sympathetic, offering me the occasional, “We don’t know much, but Leo is strong.” Not that it did anything to soothe my nerves.
I practically fling myself from the car when we pull up to the hospital, running into the emergency room at full speed. I'm just about to give the poor nurse behind the reception desk a hard time when I spot Roman, along with the rest of Leo's brothers. There’s blood on his shirt. I stomp over, equal parts terrified about what I'm about to see, but also determined to get to Leo no matter what the cost.
“Where is he?” I demand. I dare to grab Andrei by the collar. I don't care if he's the one in charge, or the head of the Bratva. Right now, I need answers. If I have to throttle them out of him, then so be it. “Tell me what's happened before I lose my damn mind.”
“We have him in a private room,” Andrei answers, his words dripping with barely contained anger. I don't think it has anything to do with me, but the situation itself.
“Take me to him.”
“Not yet.”
I feel like my head is about to burst. “What do you mean not yet?”
“There's something you should know,” Roman says. His eyes are downcast, his shoulders slumped. I don't appreciate the way he takes forever to answer.
“Just tell me,” I rasp. “Please, I need to know. Is Leo okay?”
“The doctors were able to get the bullets out,” he says slowly. I nearly vomit then and there. Bullets? As in more than one? “The surgery was complicated, but the bullets thankfully missed everything vital.”
I shake my head. “So what's the problem then? That's good news.”
“They had to put him under anesthesia for obvious reasons,” Charlotte says softly. “But Leo reacted poorly to it.”
My legs are jelly, barely able to support my weight. My brain is having trouble processing this information. “Fuckingtell me,” I hiss.
“He's in a coma,” Sandra finishes for her twin. “The doctors have no idea when he's going to wake up.Ifhe’ll wake up.”
