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MATVEI

I stare at Polina.

"What the fuck are you telling me?"

When her eyes grow hard, I have to remind myself—I’m talking to the wife of my boss. He’ll fucking cut my tongue out if I disrespect her.

I blow out a breath. “Sorry. It’s not you I’m mad at.”

Rafail stands behind her, watching me. Tense.

He’ll kick my ass if I disrespect her, and I’ll have no choice but to let him.

"Listen, I’m not a medical professional," she says, "but I know them. And wearegoing to get her in with someone."

I nod tightly. "I know. We’re going to find someone we can trust."

"Absolutely," she says. "But I’m telling you this because I know how you operate, and I know if that were me in that bed, Rafail would want to know the truth."

My jaw tightens. "What truth? I want you to spell it out for me."

Rafail growls behind her. "Say please."

Jesus fucking Christ. Am I eighteen again?

I grit my teeth. "Please."

Polina doesn’t flinch.

"What she’s experiencing right now is sometimes related to a genetic condition, like endometriosis or something similar," she says. "But she told me she has scar tissue. Do you know where scar tissue comes from?"

Of course I fucking do. I grunt. "Surgery. Injuries"

"Sometimes, yes. People do have scar tissue from surgery." She levels her gaze at me. "But you also get scar tissue from an injury that hasn’t healed."

I frown.

Why would Anissa have scar tissue that would cause her to bleed heavily during her period?

How would someone get scar tissue that?—

And then it hits me.

Like a freight train.

Like a gunshot to the fucking chest.

I go momentarily blind with the realization.

"You mean—" My voice is barely a rasp. "Someone fucking did this to her?"

She takes a step toward me.

"Lower your voice."

I inhale sharply, struggling for control.

"I don’t know for a fact," she says. "But it’s a definite possibility. It’s something you need to look into."