59. Natalia

59

NATALIA

Anatoly and Olaf are in the front, careening through traffic towards the hospital. Mila is next to me, talking to Misha.

He shouldn't even be here. I should've made him stay home. But would he even be safe at home? Would any of us?

"Natalia?"

The second I hear Andrey's voice, tears fill my eyes. The loose grip I've had on my emotions gives way, and tears pour down my face.

"They got her. They hurt Aunt Annie."

I have no idea how he manages to understand me, but his voice is deadly calm when he asks me a single question. "Who got to her, lastochka ?"

"Your father," I whisper. "Slavik."

There's a beat of silence. I'm bracing myself for the disbelief, the incredulity. I'm resigned to the precious minutes I'll waste trying to convince him that I can still go to the hospital and that he doesn't need to bury me in some underground bunker in Siberia.

But as it turns out, Andrey doesn't need convincing.

"Stay safe," he growls. "I'll handle the rest."

When we arrive at the hospital, Anatoly accompanies all of us into the emergency room. People aim annoyed looks at Remi, but I'm prepared to sic him on anyone who gets in my way.

Once I give them Aunt Annie's name, we're led to a room on the fourth floor.

I don't remember getting into the elevator or walking down the hallway. Just that, the next thing I know, I'm standing in front of this woman who has always been a strong, dependable force of nature, who is now lying in a narrow bed with tubes sticking out of her arms…

And a blazing red rope burn seared into her neck.

"Oh, God. Aunt Annie," I croak.

She stirs, blinking up at me. Her voice—what's left of it—is a nasty rattle in her throat. "My Nic-Nat…"

I grab her hand as tears gush down my cheeks. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, sweetheart," she whispers with difficulty. "I was so scared…"

"Of course you were."

She shakes her head, her eyes bulging out of their sockets, making her thin face look even more gaunt. "Not for me, child. For you ."

"Me?"

She nods, her eyes floating to the door. "The men that attacked me asked a lot of questions about you. And the baby."

My legs are shaking, so I cling to the railing of the bed to keep from toppling over. "Who were they? Why did they do this?"

"They were waiting in the house for me," she explains, wincing on every other word, but talking through the pain anyway.

"Did they say who sent them?"

She shakes her head.

"Was there a man named Slavik there?"

She frowns, her shoulders rising and falling in a weak shrug. "They didn't introduce themselves properly, I'm afraid."

Why would they? She didn't need to know their names if they planned to kill her.

The rope burn around her neck makes my own throat feel tight. "You're safe now," I assure her. "I promise. No one will hurt you anymore."

Her fingers tighten around my hand. "Sweetheart, do you know what you've gotten yourself into?"

No. The answer is a firm, resounding no.

But how can I possibly say that to her? How can I possibly give her more worry and pain on top of what she's already carrying? All because of me…

"Andrey will keep us safe, Aunt Annie."

She doesn't look convinced or relieved. She's still looking at me as though I'm the one in the hospital bed. As though I'm the one who was almost strangled to death.

We're interrupted when a nurse walks in with a new dose of painkillers. I back away and let her administer the drugs.

Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion. I'm no longer in my body. No longer connected to it.

I recognize the sense of panic that precedes one of my episodes. It's kicking in already. It will take only the smallest trigger to send me careening back into numbness and catatonia.

Not now. Aunt Annie needs you.

Misha needs you.

Katya needs you.

I wipe away my tears hastily and fumble around in my pocket for my phone. Andrey should be here. Where is he?

But according to my lockscreen, I've got no new messages or calls.

Moving makes it easier to stave off the shock and anxiety. I pace as I call Andrey, desperate to hear his deep, calm voice.

"Natalia."

Oh, thank God.

"They tried to strangle her. She could have died! Where are you?"

"My father is back." His voice is neither gentle nor reassuring. He's speaking to me like I'm one of the men he commands. "I have to contain the situation before it gets out of hand."

" Before it gets out of hand?" I cry. "He tried to kill my aunt! I'd say it's already out of hand, Andrey!"

He refuses to reveal even a hint of what he's thinking when he asks, "How is she?"

"Hurt and terrified!" I screech, earning me a reproachful look from the woman behind the nurse's station.

"This is my fault." It sounds far too cold to count as an apology. "I should have had a team on her. I didn't think she was in any danger."

"Andrey, please," I implore. "I need you…"

Desperation is the only thing that allows me to be so vulnerable. I'm going down either way—I might as well be honest on the way out.

"Shura is with Katya, but Leonty is on his way to the hospital now. He should be there shortly."

I don't understand. I didn't ask for Leonty. Or Shura. I asked for him.

"Andrey—"

"Slavik returning is not something I anticipated. He may be my father, but he's a dangerous man. I need to sort this out first."

I clutch the phone tighter, a flimsy lifeline. But before I can say anything…

He hangs up.

I freeze, held captive by dead air and the burgeoning feeling of isolation.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" I turn to the blonde, curly-haired nurse. "Your aunt has just been sedated. She's going to need plenty of rest. Her blood pressure is pretty high and, given her age, we're gonna have to monitor that closely."

I blink fast, wishing there was an adult in the room with me who knew how to handle things like this. "Um… but she's out of danger? She's going to be okay?"

The nurse frowns, which isn't at all reassuring. "As I said, her blood pressure is high. Until it drops, she's not out of the woods yet."

I mean to take a step towards my aunt, but my feet don't cooperate and instead, I go barreling into the nurse. She steadies me with both hands. "Ma'am, are you alright? Let me get you a chair."

"No, no," I insist. "I'm okay."

I have to be okay. How can I expect to be there for my family if I fall apart at the slightest sign of conflict or pressure?

I stumble over to Aunt Annie's bedside and take her hand again. Her palm is limp and cool against mine. She turns her head to me, but her eyes are blurry from the drugs and fatigue.

She mumbles something, but I don't understand a word of it.

"What was that?" I ask, dropping my ear to her lips. "Aunt Annie?"

"It'll be the drugs," the nurse informs me as she heads for the door. "It's perfectly normal. She'll be out soon."

But when the nurse is gone, I try again. "Aunt Annie?"

"You're not safe, Nat." Her chest rises and falls with the effort.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm protected."

Aunt Annie's eyes widen for a moment as though she's remembering something. "He said… he said…"

The noose around my neck feels like it's tightening. "Who said? What did he say?"

She passes out before she can tell me.