28

28


Amy blinked through the dim light. The loud creak of the door opening had stirred her awake. What was the time? 2 a.m.? Why did he have to be so late?

Mikhail froze, seeing her fully awake now, his good hand instinctively moving to his left arm, shielding the injured hand from view. "Go back to sleep, Amy," he said quietly, his voice rougher than intended.

But she was already sitting up, rubbing her eyes. The book slipped from her lap, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Her gaze found him in the dim light. Something about his frame made her know immediately that there was something wrong.

"You have blood on you..." she said, her voice low and observing, still sleepy but sharpening in alarm.

"Not mine," Mikhail said, turning slightly to hide the makeshift bandage that was already soaking with blood.

"You're lying." Amy stood up, the blanket falling away as she took a step towards him.

"Just go upstairs, Amy, please," Mikhail sighed. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him as the monster he was.

"Don't tell me what to do," Amy snapped, but there was no real heat behind it. She crossed the distance between them, squinting at Mikhail in the dim light.

"Oh my God, Mikhail..." Her eyes widened, voice trailing off in a gasp as she saw the extent of the damage.

Mikhail bit his lip. "It's nothing," he muttered, but his voice had lost its edge.

Seeing her this close, with genuine care in her eyes, made something in his chest tighten.

"You were shot," Amy whispered, reaching out without thinking, her fingers hovering over the wound.

Was that fear he heard in her voice? His little wife probably never had to see a gun wound in her life. Her eyes were wide and terrified... as much for him as she was for herself.

Mikhail could deal with her fighting and muttering how much she hated him. But this... this was different.

"The doctor is on his way," Daniel said, arriving at the doorway, but Mikhail barely heard him.

All his attention was focused on Amy, on the way her hands trembled, fighting back tears.

"Why were you waiting for me?" Mikhail asked quietly. Dammit, he needed to know.

"I wasn't." Amy's jaw tightened. She turned away from him, yet, for some reason, couldn't quite bring herself to step back.

"Liar," Mikhail murmured, never taking his eyes off her. Despite the pain pulsating up his arm, despite the terrible desperation of the night, the corners of his lips curved up slightly.

"Shut up and sit down before you bleed all over your fancy floor." Amy's face flushed in the dim light, but her brow was still furrowed in concern as she practically dragged him over to the couch she had vacated.

The blanket was still warm with her body heat when he sat down. She knelt beside him, her hands finally resting on the wound, touching him with careful gentleness, as though scared she would hurt him.

"This is bad, Mikhail. You should be at the hospital..." she murmured.

"I've had worse," Mikhail gave a dry smile. His breathing became uneven as he watched her—her, the way she bit her lower lip when she was worried, her fingers unconsciously stroking the skin near his wound as if she could soothe the pain away.

"That doesn't make it okay," she whispered, and Mikhail would have kissed her right there.

But then he remembered something. Staring down at Amy, he lifted her chin up, a worried frown on his face.

"Viktor Baranov," he began, hating himself already for having to bring that bastard into their conversation, but he had been thinking about it all through the ride to the mansion.

"Have you two met before?"

Amy paused, her hands pulled back from him. She stared at Mikhail for a beat too long, then shook her head, slowly rising to her feet.

"No... No, I don't know him."

A frown made its way to Mikhail's face. He took a deep breath. The moment had been perfect a minute ago. There was nothing to worry about, he thought, as he tried to convince himself that Viktor had only been messing with him.

Just then, a cool gust of wind breezed past as the door opened, and he lifted his eyes, spotting the doctor at the entrance—a short man dressed in a trench coat that reached his heels, a first aid kit in one hand.

"Go upstairs, Amy," Mikhail said.

Her eyes flashed between the doctor and him. This time she listened, walking away, stopping at the foot of the stairs like she wanted to say something.

What could she say? Knowing that Mikhail just put his life in danger for her, knowing he could have got shot anywhere else. He might not even have returned.

What could she say?

No amount of words could cover that level of fear.

"Let's see it." The man, Doctor Eliot, stopped in front of Mikhail, dropping his kit on the stool, totally unruffled at having to be called so late in the night.

He assessed the wound with clinical precision, cleaning the area with antiseptic.

Mikhail closed his eyes briefly, ignoring the stinging sensation. His mind drifted back to Amy, and then to more dangerous places like the Velvet Chalice.

———

Viktor Baranov sped down the highway in one of his finest cars. He could still feel the cold edge of Mikhail's gun against his chest.

His lips twisted into a cruel smirk.

A dangerous gamble indeed. But he felt more alive than he had in years.

He got a call from his second in command, turning on the speaker, the phone on the empty passenger seat.

"The bar is in shambles. We blocked out Mikhail's men from the lower room like you instructed, but he got away."

Viktor's jaw clenched. "What are the figures?"

There was a pause at the other end, his question being passed across, and then the man replied.

"Four dead, two wounded, half of the property destroyed."

"Still as petty as ever, Mikhail," Viktor clicked his tongue, his anger rising. "We plan our next move. This time, he won't be able to recover from it."

The line ended just as he arrived at his destination.

The casino hotel loomed ahead of him, his car gliding in smoothly. He was out before he fully parked, pulling on a spare coat over his shoulders from the back seat before walking through the doors.

The man at the front desk was dozing off, his eyes snapping into focus as Viktor's footsteps drew near. "Casino hotel, how may I help you? We're currently filled." He managed a smile, masking the annoyance in his gaze.

It was two in the morning, and any sane man with a stable job would be asleep by this time of the night.

"Room 019," Viktor spoke without missing a beat.

"Do you have any authorization?"

Viktor leaned closer, his signature smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Call that bastard to come downstairs."