Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I waited patiently while Baba and Bronwyn debated between six different outfits that all looked identical to me. It should have been infuriating but it wasn’t. Every time I glanced at Bronwyn, I felt this lift in my chest.
Then Baba sent Bronwyn off to look for a matching hat. As soon as Bronwyn was gone, Baba turned to me. “What’s the real story with you and her?” she demanded, her voice slurred but iron hard.
I tried to play dumb. She poked me in the chest with one of her walking sticks, pressing my white shirt so my tattoos showed through. “Don’t bullshit me, Mr. Aristov. I’m old but I still know who’s who in this town. I know what you are. I know there’s something going on.”
I looked her right in the eye. “And yet you haven’t tried to stop the wedding.”
“Because I see the way she looks at you,” said Baba.
Deep in my chest, childish, giddy hope flickered into life. I looked away and straightened my tie, trying to crush the feeling.
“Be careful, Mr. Aristov.” Baba poked me in the chest with her stick again and glared up at me: I knew now where Bronwyn got her fighting spirit. “If you break her heart, I’ll beat you to death with this thing.”
I looked her in the eye, saying nothing. Then I nodded solemnly.
34
BRONWYN
A few nights later, I was stretched out on my favorite couch, reading. It was past midnight and I’d been promising myself I’d go to bed in a minute for the last four chapters. Then I heard the door to the penthouse unlock. Radimir’s home!
I tried to ignore the lift in my chest. I shouldn’t feel anything. But I did, and it was more than just the animal attraction of that scowly, gorgeous face and big, chiseled body. It was more than just the way he made me feel safe. There was a tension, when he wasn’t there, an ache...
I kept my eyes on my book as Radimir walked into the main room. No. I was not, I was absolutely not falling for him. “Late night,” I said, without looking around. “Want me to fix you a sandwich?”
He grunted. That wasn’t like him: he was cold, but always polite. He moved across the room but that sounded different, too. I’d come to know his heavy, impatient footsteps, like he was crushing his enemies under his expensive shoes. Now his steps were slow and faltering. I finally glanced over my shoulder...and went rigid.
Radimir was stumbling across the room, one hand pressed tight against his upper arm. He slumped against the wall for a second, then pushed off, leaving a bloody handprint.
I moaned in panic, jumped off the couch and ran to him. I hooked an arm around his waist and made him lean on me, even though it made my knees burn. “Come sit down! Come on!” He mumbled protests but I ignored him and hauled him along, groaning under his weight. I finally got him to an armchair and eased him down into it. “There! Hold on, I’ll call an ambulance.”
He shook his head. “Nyet. No doctors.”
“You’re bleeding!” The arm of his suit was soaked through, and blood was dripping from the cuff. “How much blood have you lost?!”
“I can deal with it,” he panted. “I need the bag...bottom drawer, in my office.”
I ran to his office, pulled open the bottom drawer and found a red bag. I brought it back to him and opened the zipper. It was a full medical kit, with bandages, syringes and bottles of drugs.
“Thank you,” he breathed. He began to take off his jacket but had to stop, wincing in pain. “Go,” he grunted. “I can do this.”
“No you can’t!” I shook my head, staring at the blood in horror. “Jesus. Let me help.” I quickly eased his jacket, waistcoat and shirt off him. There was a four-inch gash down the side of his arm, and I felt my stomach lurch, not at the blood but at the thought of someone hurting him. “Who did this?”
“An Armenian.” He closed his eyes. “He’s dead.”
I shook my head in silent horror. How could mafia wives do this? How could they wait patiently at home every night, knowing their husbands were out there getting knifed and shot and killed? I pressed a pad of gauze against the wound. It instantly soaked through.
“Pressure,” he rasped.
I pressed down on the gauze. He grimaced in pain, and I almost stopped, but he laid his hand on mine. First reassuringly...and then he squeezed my hand a little as if touching me helped.
The bleeding slowed. Radimir opened his eyes. “It’s too big to close on its own,” he told me. “It will need stitches.” He nodded at the first aid bag. “The suture kit, please.”
I picked it up and stared at the needle and thread. “You’re going to sew your—No, you’re about to pass out! I’ll do it.”