Page 52 of A Love Most Brutal (Morelli Family #2)

MAXIM

When I woke up in the hospital to find that Marianna was sitting in a jail cell, Willa doing everything in her power to get her in front of a judge, I was inconsolable, trying to free myself from the various cables and IV to get to her.

I wasn’t conscious of the pain, the broken ribs, the hole in my foot where a bullet had been lodged, only consumed with getting to her and getting her out of there.

They had to sedate me.

When I wake again, the spare light through the window tells me that it’s evening and I’m in my bed, still hooked up to machines but in my own room this time.

I must’ve been out of it for a long time, because Marianna is asleep next to me, her body pressed against the side of mine over the covers. Greta sleeps between our legs.

My relief is palpable and I exhale before pressing a kiss against her head, inhaling the scent of her hair until I believe she’s real and alive and I didn’t slip into death while I slept.

“She’s in good health,” a quiet voice says. Lev. The old doctor closes the book he was reading and returns it to my nightstand. He stretches and stands from the chair at the side of the bed.

I pull her closer to me, ignoring the ache of my ribs. She yawns and slides her leg higher up mine, but stays asleep.

“Between your chest, arm, and face, you needed one hundred and forty stitches,” he says. “You have three ribs broken and the bullet could’ve done more damage to your foot, but all things considered, the surgery was easy enough. You needed a lot of blood.”

“Where is he?”

“Nikolai?”

“Tenneson.”

A small smile turns up Lev’s lips and he nods at Marianna. “She killed him. That’s why she was held overnight.”

I startle, remembering another detail from the mess of the day. “My brother?”

Elise had said Sasha was on his way to bleeding out, and that news was excruciating to me. He never got the respect he deserved as the Orlov bastard—my father never claimed him, and even when I had, many didn’t respect him enough to care.

“Alexei is recovering,” Lev says. “He’s in rough shape, but I believe he’ll get through it.”

My eyes fill at this news and I press my nose again into my wife’s soft hair. Alive and well, both of them, and me too.

Lev presses a plunger on my IV, administering something that immediately makes me feel softer around my swollen edges.

“Sleep, son,” the old doctor murmurs, and I let myself drift off.