Chapter 12

With restless hands, I ran through the house, trying to find a thermometer. I ended up coming across a first aid kit in the bathroom, which would do the job.

I measured her fever—it was at thirty-nine and a half.

"Fuck!" I cursed in Russian, remembering to put socks on the girl's feet as well.

Finishing that, I rushed to grab my phone, which I had left on the kitchen table, to search Google for information on how to handle a situation like this.

There were packs of fever reducers inside the kit I found in the bathroom, so I grabbed some and went upstairs with a glass of water, relieved to find Alejandra with her eyes open.

"Ilya?" She looked at me with heavy eyes and an even weaker voice. "No! I have to leave..."

I rushed to her as she tried to sit up.

"What the hell is going on in your head, girl? You're burning up!"

I held her arms, pressing her back against the mattress, because even though she was clearly weak, she was still trying to fight me. Her eyes rolled slightly in their sockets, showing that part of her reaction was due to delirium. The fever, no doubt.

"I can't be a burden to you. You can't turn your back on everything because of me. Please, let me go!"

"No, moi rys. You're sick. I need to take care of you, okay?" I tried to keep my voice gentle because if I acted harshly, I had the feeling she would break.

I managed to get her to take the fever reducer and calm down, at least enough to curl up under the blankets and stay still.

Lying beside her on the bed, I continued searching for information on what to do, then decided to prepare some compresses and something for her to eat. Maybe borscht, which would be full of nutrients to help her recover quickly.

I left her sleeping and went to the kitchen to check if we had all the ingredients. Luckily, I had bought extra supplies at the market, including everything I needed to make the dish.

The entire time, as I chopped beets and onions, I kept asking myself what the hell I was doing there. Why had this girl been put in my path?

Even as skeptical as I had always been, I started thinking that she was some kind of mission that had been thrown into my life. She had mentioned being a burden, and I had the impression she might have overheard my conversation with Dimitri on the phone.

Shit! That wasn’t what I wanted, but the cabin was small enough for that to be a problem. Privacy would be difficult, especially with only one bedroom. The biggest proof of that was the fact that we were sleeping in the same bed.

It took me just over an hour and a half to finish cooking. I tasted the soup—it was a little bland, but edible. I poured a generous portion into a bowl and took it upstairs.

Placing it on the dresser, I moved closer to the bed to place my hand on Alejandra’s forehead and felt that she seemed a little less hot.

I grabbed the thermometer and placed it under her arm to check her temperature, and she looked at me.

"It smells amazing," she said with a smile, sounding more coherent.

"Don't get your hopes up," I muttered.

"You don’t seem like the type who cooks."

"I'm not. But I can make something to survive."

The thermometer beeped, and I checked it. Thirty-eight. Still a fever, but it had gone down.

I pulled the desk chair up beside the bed and offered to help Alejandra eat, literally feeding her spoonfuls of soup.

It was an incredibly intimate act, one that should have been purely out of care, but my mind was so disturbed that I found the whole thing extremely sensual.

The way she looked at me, how her face seemed more flushed after a few spoonfuls, and the way I used a napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth when some soup dripped... it was all too provocative.

Or maybe I was just seeing things where there was nothing.

"You're also too kind for a man of your size," she said when we finished.

I wasn’t kind. I was clumsy and rough with delicate things like her. I was lethal when necessary.

"I'm not the good guy, Alejandra."

"For now, you're my hero. I might change my mind later, but so far, you're the only decent man I've met."

Our eyes met for a moment, and I felt sorry for her. That her life had been filled with so many monsters and bastards that she had to place all her trust in a mafioso.

In the beast of the Bratva.

But that was how things were, and there was no turning back.