Lies of My Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance(12)

I know that, I do. But the threat of an attack from my uncle is imminent at this point. I can’t hurt the only father figure I have or indirectly cause harm to Mike and even Babushka.

She might have disowned me, but the three of them are all I have left.

But at the same time, allowing anyone to hurt Kirill is out of the question.

“What happened, Lipovsky?” Viktor insists.

“He’ll tell you when he wakes up.”

“Bullshit.” He grabs me by the arm and shakes me until he nearly dislodges all my cells. “What’s the deal with you, little fucker? You’re always roaming around him and sticking close, despite your subpar skills. Are you perhaps threatening him with something? Why would he put trackers on you and follow you all alone to the middle of fucking nowhere?”

He…put trackers on me? Plural?

Now, it makes sense that he could follow me so closely. I honestly thought the only tracker he could put on me was the one on my phone, but, of course, he’s always one step ahead. He must’ve slipped one in my jacket when he kissed me or something.

God, to think that I could’ve prevented this whole nightmare by checking my belongings makes me want to scream.

“Answer me.” Viktor shakes me again.

I twist my arm free from his brutal hold and raise my chin. “I told you to ask him when he wakes up. Our priority is to get him out of here before we’re attacked again.”

“Listen to me, Lipovsky—”

“No, you listen to me, Viktor! I know you’re suspicious and want to find out what happened, but I’m telling you that now is not the time. You need to channel your energy into flying him out of here, and only when he’s safe can we talk about this.”

He reaches an open-palmed hand to me, but before he can bash my head against the nearest surface, a nurse peeks from around the corner.

The smile on her face falters upon seeing the tension between us, but she still says, “The patient just woke up.”

My stomach dips, and an urgent need to cry hits me again, but I manage to rein in those emotions as I kill the distance between us and ask in a word vomit, “Is he fully conscious? Were there any side effects? Did he speak? Can he breathe without the machines? Did the doctor mention anything about his ability to fly? Will there be any complications due to cabin pressure?”

She offers me a kind smile. “You can ask the doctor all of those questions.”

Viktor and I basically jog to the room Kirill is being treated in. The bodyguards, probably mercenaries, judging by their aloof stance, are stationed by the door.

Through the glass, I catch a glimpse of the doctor and another nurse injecting something into Kirill’s IV drip.

His eyes are open, but they’re unfocused and look almost dead. Their intense blue color is dull and washed out, like the endless snow in Russian winter—lifeless and without purpose.

Heartless and…cruel.

My heart shreds to pieces as I continue to stare at him, but at the same time, I can’t control the euphoria I feel at the knowledge that he’s alive. I don’t care what happens as long as he continues to breathe.

Maybe he senses a presence or sees a shadow, but Kirill’s eyes slowly move in our direction.

I stop breathing as they clash with mine.

For a moment, it feels like we’re no longer in the hospital. Instead, we’re both standing in that field he followed me to. We’re surrounded by the bloody snow as he looks at me with the most terrifying expression I’ve ever seen.

One that says he’s my enemy now.

Without realizing it, I shake my head slowly.

I didn’t know, I say in my mind. I swear I didn’t. I would never do this to you.

But that changes nothing in his unwelcoming gaze or the small muscle that tightens in his jaw.

It hits me then; he doesn’t like me being here.

As fast as his eyes opened, they close again, and I think my heart falls to my knees due to the impact.

Soon after, the doctor emerges from the room, and I rush in his direction until I nearly collide with him. “What’s going on? Why did he lose consciousness again?”

“He didn’t lose consciousness, he fell asleep.” The doctor is apathetic and collected, and it reminds me of Kirill’s manner of speech.

There’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m even seeing him in other people now.

“Will he be okay?” Viktor asks.

“Yes. His vitals are almost back to normal, and he’s not suffering from an infection.”

It takes everything in me not to sag against the wall from gratitude. Instead, I keep my head in the game. “We need to fly him home. Now.”

“I don’t recommend that,” the doctor says. “It might put a strain on his injury. It’s better to wait at least forty-eight hours—”

“We don’t have one hour,” I cut him off with a nonnegotiable tone. “We have a medical crew who will take care of him during the flight, so I’m sure he’ll be okay. Viktor, have you gotten everything ready?”

The mountain of a man narrows his eyes on me. “If this is another one of your games, I swear to fuck—”

“This is about ensuring the boss’s safety. You and I might not get along, but we have that in common.” I face him, chin up. “I’m asking you to put our differences aside and focus on him. After we get to New York, you can do whatever you want.”