Chapter 12 - Fiona

As soon as I see the knife plunge into Boris's side, it's like my body takes over, and my brain is no longer in control. I lunge forward, kicking the guy in the side before he can turn and run away. What a fucking coward.

But the moment he turned back to me, and I saw his face, all the air left my body. Because I've seen this guy before, hanging around the office.

I realize now that one of Olive's "boyfriends" is a bodyguard, always hanging around her but not too close. I picture her typical entourage and wonder how many of them are real friends and how many are mafia members.

Boris lets out a groan before crumpling to the ground, and I'm torn between helping him and killing the motherfucker who did this. The dance floor has completely cleared out, girls are screaming, and the houselights have come on, illuminating the blood seeping out of Boris's side.

"I'll call 911," a nearby girl says, but I hold up my hand, searching for a reason for her not to call an ambulance.

"He doesn't have health insurance," I finally settle on, which makes the girl nod in understanding. I kneel next to Boris, ripping off a piece of his jacket and pressing it to the wound to try and stop the bleeding. He's fading in and out of consciousness, and his hand moves like he might try to pull the blade out, but I know that will only cause more damage. I place my hand over his, and his eyes meet mine for a moment before he passes out again.

I fumble in Boris's pockets, bring up his emergency speed dial, and call the first person I see: Anya.

"Hello?" she sings when she answers the phone. It's quiet in the background, so she must not be at a club. I wonder if she's home, in her pajamas for the night, ready for bed. I swallow and take a deep breath before answering her.

"Anya, Boris has been stabbed."

"Holy shit," she says, her entire demeanor shifting. "Stay where you are. Do not call the police, I'll get my brothers. Are you at Noch?"

"Yes," I say, a tear sliding down my cheek. I wonder if Boris always comes here or if he told them that he would be bringing me here today.

Anya stays on the phone with me while she runs through the house, rousing her brothers and sending them our way. Anton is the first to arrive, as he was already out in town, and he grabs a first aid kit from the wall before rushing to Boris's side.

"We're gonna take the knife out," he says, looking at me while he rips a piece of tape with his teeth. "I need you to hold him still if he wakes up."

I nod and place my hands on Boris's chest. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to hold him still, but I'm preparing myself anyway. A moment later, Viktor, Roman, and Anya hurry in, all looking like they are either asleep or in bed.

Kneeling in my sparkling dress—which is now covered in blood—I feel ridiculous. Roman drops to his knees and puts his hands on Boris's chest as well, while Viktor helps Anton pull out the knife and clean the wound before packing it with gauze.

"Anya," Anton says, "call the family clinic and tell them we're going to need scans done," then, to me, he says, "he could have a perforated bowel, but we're just going to pack this wound to stop the bleeding, then get him to the clinic. We can make sure there's no major internal bleeding and check his organs once we get there." He takes a deep breath, looking up at each of his siblings. "Looks like it missed all major arteries, so we're good."

Viktor and Roman lift Boris, and as we all move together, carrying him out to the SUV, I turn to Anton.

"I thought you studied business?" I ask, breathless, wondering if medical training is just part of the life of a Bratva member.

"Minored in business," he says, grinning, as he wipes his hands on some napkins Anya found for him. "But medicine is my real passion—" he sticks out his bloodied hand. "Anton Milov, MD."

"You're insane," I say, shaking my head and not taking his hand. Instead, I climb into the back of the SUV, where they've laid Boris down across the seats. I place his head in my lap and try to breathe—we're getting help. He's going to be okay.

The family clinic turns out to be a small, free-to-the-public clinic that the Milovs operate on the other side of town. Besides being a free clinic where people can get flu shots and antibiotics, it also functions as the Milov family emergency room.

A man and a woman meet us outside with a stretcher, and Roman and Viktor help slide Boris onto it before they quickly get him inside. Anton goes to wash his hands, and Anya sits with me in the waiting room.

The clinic is eerily quiet in the dark, reminding me of a horror movie. I jiggle my leg and twist my hands together, waiting to hear about Boris.

It reminds me too much of the day my dad died—how I'd found him. He had a heart attack from a lifetime of eating crap and taking steroids from randoms at the gym, but he was still alive. By the time I got him to the hospital, he was barely breathing, his eyes bugging out, tears tracking down his cheeks.

Brave in the face of everything except death.

"Hey," Anya says, making me jump. She reaches over and puts her hand on mine. "It's going to be okay. Boris is the most stubborn son of a bitch I've ever met."

"That knife was meant for me," I say, the words coming out in a hurried breath. "But he stepped in the way."

"That sounds like him," Anya says. "No offense, but it's a good thing he did. That knife would have killed you. Since he's a big guy, he's probably just got a muscle wound."

"We'll see," I say, bringing my hand to my mouth and tearing at a hang nail. "That—Anya, the guy who stabbed him? I recognized him. He's one of Allard's men, I think. Maybe a bodyguard for Olive."

Anya's eyes widen, and she leans back, swallowing and glancing at the door. She presses her lips together.

"My brothers don't like me to be involved in the Family's business," she says, rolling her eyes. "But if you say your friend wouldn't know, I trust you. I have some friends I would genuinely trust with my life. When you know, you know."

"Thank you," I breathe, grabbing her hands with mine. "Will you wait to tell your brothers? I don't think Boris would want them running out, guns blazing, until we have a plan."

Barely knowing the guy, I'm not really sure what Boris would want, but I don't want them running out, looking to kill. Because that might mean Olive would get caught in the crossfire. And she doesn't deserve that.

Holding hands as we sit in the waiting room, I can't stop thinking about Boris's question: Is there really not a single cell inside of you that could believe she's involved?

For the first time since coming here, I realize my answer has changed because I don't know if Allard ordered that hit without her knowing or if my best friend might want me dead.

***

I'm sitting by Boris's bedside the first time he comes to, his eyes opening slowly, then scanning around the room. I hear the sheets rustle and look away from my book.

"Fiona?" he asks, his voice rough, and it sends a shock through me. He hasn't seen me yet and is already asking for me. Of course, he could just be checking to make sure I'm not dead, but there's still something soothing about the fact that I'm the first person he asked for.

"Hey," I say, coming around the side of the bed and setting my book on the side table. I take his hand, watching as he blinks through the painkiller.

"Fiona," he breathes, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "I thought—"

"I didn't get the motherfucker," I say, my voice quiet. "I had to choose between helping you or killing him. And I made my choice."

"You think I care about that?" he laughs, swallowing hard, and I reach the table, grabbing the glass of water I've been keeping fresh in case he needs it. "I'm—I'm just glad you're okay."

"Well, you're the one who actually got stabbed, so—"

"Oh, right," he says, shifting and wincing in pain. "What's the damage?"

"The doctor at the clinic said you got lucky—the knife missed major arteries and organs. It's a muscle wound, but it's going to take at least two weeks to heal. And it's going to be painful for a long time. There may be lasting nerve damage, and you should probably do physical therapy."

"So, what I'm hearing is that it was barely a scratch?"

I roll my eyes, letting out a breath.

"I'd better let your siblings know that you're awake," I mutter, "or they'll kill me."

Boris's eyes darken, and I laugh when I realize that at least one of them—Viktor—has actually tried to kill me. When I text them all from Boris's phone, Anya and Anton take less than five minutes to arrive. Anton spends ten minutes telling Boris the more technical details of his injury—like which muscles were injured and how he can best heal them. Anya piles several stuffed animals onto Boris's lap and sets a vase of flowers on the mantle.

"I don't need all this stuff," Boris snaps, pushing aside a stuffed pig so he can meet Anya's eyes.

"According to the internet," Anya says, "a pleasant environment is essential to fast healing."

"You call this a pleasant environment?"

At that moment, Viktor walks in, his eyes locked on Boris.

"Hey, asshole," he says, "good thing you're alive, or we'd be stuck with Roman as our head."

"Fuck you," Roman says, walking in a moment later and punching Viktor in the arm. The two of them glare at each other for a moment until Anya hands them each a stuffed animal.

"What the fuck?" Viktor asks, his eyes darting to hers. She walks across the room, giving me a stuffed Pegasus.

"Where are they even coming from?" Boris mutters, looking around the room.

"I don't know," I say, looking at mine, then switching it for the stuffed pig near Boris's face, "but they're adorable."

"It creates a pleasant environment," Anya says, turning to Anton, "where's the chicken soup? You were supposed to be making chicken soup for him when he woke up!"

Anton hurries out of the room with Anya on his heels, and then Roman gets a phone call and steps out. Just after Roman closes the door, a loud snore rips through the room, making me jump. Boris falls back asleep the second the commotion dies down.

I gaze at him for a moment, wanting to reach out and touch his face, but Viktor is still here, and he's glaring at me. My brain itches to tell Boris about the attacker and how I recognized him, but I also know he needs all the sleep he can get if he's going to heal quickly.

When I look up, Viktor motions for me to follow him to the hallway. I give Boris one last look, tuck the stuffed pig into bed with him, and follow Viktor out.

"So," he says, spinning on his heel the second he has me in the hallway. His gaze is dark, his eyes pinning me to the spot. For the first time since arriving here, I actually feel a little fear looking at him. "Am I supposed to believe that Allard's guy stabbing my brother was a coincidence?"

"What?" I breathe, eyes darting between him and the door to Boris's bedroom. "Did Anya—"

"You really think I wouldn't figure it out?" Viktor laughs, but there's no mirth in it. It's cold and calculating as he takes a step toward me, boxing me in against the wall. My instincts kick in, telling me to knee him, head butt him, get away from him as quickly as I can, but another part of me feels trapped under his stare. He sneers at me as he continues.

"I checked the cameras the second Boris was stabilized," he says, his eyes running over my face like he's just waiting to catch me in a lie. "And I saw the guy—the cameras in the club are pretty good if you can believe it. With facial recognition, it wasn't hard to trace him back to fucking Olive Allard . So, you'd better tell me, right now, what the fuck is going on."

"What's going on is that I was attacked, and your brother saved my life."

"Yeah, right," Viktor says, rolling his eyes. "Pretty convenient that Allard's guy got him and not you. Too bad he couldn't go for the kill shot, huh?"

"No!"

"There's something off about you," Viktor breathes, lowering his brow as he steps even closer so I can feel the heat from his chest, the threat in his posture. "I've seen this play out before—my cousins are all huge fans of kidnapping women to be their brides—and not a single one went willingly. Played along with the ruse. They were all hysterical, falling apart. Even Penelope, who is now the queen of the mafia."

"I—"

"You may have everyone else fooled, but not me," Viktor continues, cutting me off again, and I realize I've finally had enough. I bring my hands up, pushing against his chest to make him back up.

"If I was some sort of plant, waiting to get kidnapped by your brother so I could report back to the Allards, don't you think I would be acting like the rest of them? If I didn't want anyone to be suspicious of me, I'd be crying and screaming and throwing a fit."

I step closer to Viktor, looking up at him with menace in my eyes.

"But I'm not like the rest of them," I breathe. "The second I saw your brother in that office building, standing in the dark, I thought: finally . Finally, something interesting is happening to me. I let him kidnap me because I was so fucking bored with the life I was living. My father raised me to be ready for the worst, to survive the fucking apocalypse—and then I was sitting in an office building every day? Filing paperwork? I came with your brother because being kidnapped by him felt like coming home."

"That is…fucked," Viktor says, wrinkling his brow in disgust.

"You don't have to tell me that," I mutter, just as Anya comes jogging up the steps, Anton right behind her with a bowl of soup. Her eyes dart between us, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Lots of tension in this hallway," she comments, her eyes darting to Boris's door. "Is it the sexual kind?"

"Disgusting!" Viktor says while I say, "Fuck no."

"Okay, good," Anya breathes, stepping between the two of us and reaching to open the door for Anton. When she looks back at Viktor, it's with a heavy gaze that gives her words more meaning. "Because even with a stab wound, Boris would kick your ass for that."