Page 12 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

The SUV swerved violently as Kostya caught sight of the blood, tires screeching against asphalt. “Fuck. Fuck!”

His hands were shaking, actually fucking shaking, as he yanked his phone from his pocket and speed-dialed a number he knew by heart. The phone rang once before a crisp voice answered.

“Dr. Petrov.”

“It’s Kostya. I’m bringing someone in. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. ETA fifteen minutes.” His eyes flicked to Azriel, who was slumped against the passenger seat, her face alarmingly pale. Blood was seeping through her fingers where she pressed them against her stomach.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough.” Kostya took a sharp turn, ignoring the honking horns behind him. “And Petrov? This stays between us. No records, no questions.”

“Understood. Bay three will be ready.”

Kostya ended the call and pressed the accelerator harder. Beside him, Azriel’s breathing had become shallow and rapid. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes stark against her too-pale skin.

“Hey.” He reached over and touched her cheek, his voice gentler than he’d ever heard it. “Stay with me, princess. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

She stirred slightly, her gray eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Kostya?”

“I’m here. We’re almost there.”

The Nikolai family clinic looked unremarkable from the outside, a modest brick building wedged between a laundromat and a corner store.

But Kostya knew better. His grandfather had established it decades ago as a front for treating injuries that couldn’t be explained to regular hospitals.

The interior was better equipped than most private hospitals, with suites that resembled luxury hotel rooms more than medical facilities.

Dr. Petrov, a silver-haired man in his sixties, was waiting in the underground garage as Kostya pulled into bay three. Two nurses flanked him, a gurney at the ready.

“What happened?” Petrov asked as they carefully transferred Azriel from the car.

“Campus shooting. She got caught in the crossfire.” The lie came easily. Kostya jogged alongside the gurney as they rushed toward the elevator. “She was conscious until a few minutes ago.”

“Pulse is weak but steady,” one of the nurses reported. “Blood pressure’s dropping.”

The elevator ride to the third floor felt like an eternity. Kostya watched the numbers climb, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. When the doors finally opened, they rushed down a hallway lined with paintings that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a museum.

“You’ll need to wait outside,” Dr. Petrov said as they approached the operating suite.

“No.” The word came out harsher than Kostya intended. “I stay with her.”

“Kostya.“

“I fucking stay with her.” His voice carried the kind of authority that had made grown men piss themselves. “Find a way to make it work.”

Dr. Petrov studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Scrub in. Don’t touch anything, don’t speak unless I ask you a direct question.”

The next three hours were the longest of Kostya’s life. He stood in the corner of the operating room, watching as Dr. Petrov and his team worked to repair the damage the bullet had caused. It had missed vital organs, barely, but there had been significant bleeding and tissue damage.

When they finally moved Azriel to a recovery room, Kostya felt like he could breathe again.

The room was spacious and elegantly appointed, with cream-colored walls and a window that overlooked a small garden.

A comfortable armchair had been placed beside the bed, as if the staff had anticipated he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

“The surgery went well,” Dr. Petrov said, removing his surgical cap. “The bullet missed her major organs, but she lost a significant amount of blood. She’ll need to stay here for at least a week, possibly longer.”

“But she’ll be okay?”

“She’ll recover fully. The wound will be tender for several weeks, and she’ll need to take it easy, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage.”

Relief flooded through Kostya’s chest, so intense it left him dizzy. “Thank you.”

“I’ll check on her every few hours. Call if you need anything.” Dr. Petrov paused at the door. “She’s lucky, you know. A few inches to the right, and we’d be having a very different conversation.”

After the doctor left, Kostya sank into the armchair and stared at Azriel’s sleeping form.

She looked so small in the hospital bed, fragile in a way that made his chest tight with an emotion he didn’t want to name.

Her dark hair was spread across the pillow, and an IV line snaked from her arm to a bag of fluids hanging beside the bed.

He should call Viktor, let the family know what had happened. He should be coordinating a response to whoever had dared to target him through her. Instead, he found himself studying the steady rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath like a prayer.

Hours passed in a blur. Azriel drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes mumbling incoherent words, other times simply staring at him with unfocused eyes before sleep claimed her again.

Kostya left her side only once, to call his men and have them investigate the shooting.

The information they brought back made his blood run cold.

It wasn’t random. The Kozlov Bratva, their oldest rivals, had gotten wind of his visit to the campus. They’d been watching, waiting for an opportunity to strike at him through someone he cared about.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. Through someone he cared about. When had that happened? When had this woman, who’d been nothing more than payment for her father’s debts, become someone worth targeting to hurt him?

“You look like shit.”

Kostya’s head snapped up. Azriel was awake, her gray eyes clearer than they’d been since the surgery. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth despite the pain medication that should have kept her unconscious.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, but his voice was gentle. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got shot.” She tried to shift in the bed, wincing. “Where are we?”

“Private clinic. You’ve been out for about eighteen hours.”

Her eyes widened. “Eighteen hours? I missed—” She started to sit up, then immediately fell back against the pillows with a gasp.

“Easy.” Kostya was on his feet instantly, his hands hovering over her shoulders. “The only thing you missed was more sleeping. Doctor’s orders.”

“But my classes—”

“Will still be there when you recover.” He settled back into his chair, studying her face. “This is my fault.”

“What?”

“The shooting. They weren’t targeting random students.” His hands clenched into fists in his lap. “They were targeting you to get to me.”

Azriel was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Competitors. People who think hurting what’s mine will give them leverage.”

“What’s yours?” Her voice was soft, but there was something sharp in her eyes.

Kostya met her gaze steadily. “What’s mine.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but exhaustion was already pulling her back under. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her breathing evened out again.

For the next day and a half, Kostya barely left her side.

He worked from his laptop, fielding calls and messages while keeping one eye on Azriel at all times.

When she was awake, which wasn’t often, they talked in fits and starts, her medication making it hard for her to focus, his guilt making it hard for him to find the right words.

By the second evening, she was able to stay conscious for longer periods. Kostya had been telling her about the time Viktor had tried to impress a girl by climbing onto the roof of their childhood home, only to get stuck and need the fire department to rescue him.

“He made us all swear never to tell anyone,” Kostya said, watching as Azriel’s mouth curved into a smile. “Threatened to put hair dye in our shampoo if we breathed a word.”

“Did he ever get the girl?”

“She married his best friend.” Kostya grinned. “Viktor claims it’s because she was intimidated by his ‘dangerous masculine energy.’“

Azriel’s laugh was soft but genuine. “Your family sounds...”

“Completely insane?”

“I was going to say interesting.” Her eyes were growing heavy again. “Tell me another one?”

So he did. He told her about Fedya getting into a fistfight with a swan at the park when he was twelve.

About Irina convincing all of them that she could talk to ghosts and charging kids in the neighborhood five dollars for séances.

About the time his cousin Adrian had hacked into the school’s system to change everyone’s grades to A’s, thinking he was being helpful.

“You have a big family,” Azriel murmured as sleep began to claim her again.

“Yeah. They’re loud and obnoxious and constantly getting into each other’s business.” Kostya’s voice was fond. “You’ll meet them soon enough.”

But she was already asleep, her breathing deep and even. Kostya settled back into his chair, planning to work for a few more hours before trying to catch some sleep on the small couch by the window.

He must have dozed off in the chair, because the next thing he knew, sunlight was streaming through the windows and someone was watching him.

Azriel was propped up against her pillows, fully alert for the first time since the shooting had occurred. Her color was better, though she still looked fragile in the hospital gown.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Kostya scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly aware that he probably looked like hell. “How long have you been awake?”

“A while. You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.” Her smile was small but real. “It’s kind of cute.”

Something warm unfurled in Kostya’s chest at her words. He was about to respond when she spoke again.

“I liked your stories. About your family.”

“You were listening?”

“Some part of me was always listening.” Her eyes met his, and there was something different in them now, less guarded, more open. “Even when I couldn’t respond, I could hear your voice. It helped.”

The air between them shifted, becoming charged with something Kostya couldn’t quite name. He found himself leaning forward, drawn by the way the morning light caught the silver in her eyes.

“Azriel...”

The door burst open with enough force to rattle the frame. “Kostya, what the fuck?“

Viktor stopped dead in the doorway, his words dying as he took in the scene before him. His gaze moved from Kostya to Azriel, then back to Kostya, his expression shifting from concern to confusion to something that might have been amusement.

“Well, well,” Viktor said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Dr. Petrov mentioned you brought a woman here, but I thought...” His eyes narrowed as he studied Azriel more closely. “Who is she?”

Kostya felt Azriel tense beside him, her earlier openness evaporating like morning mist. He stood slowly, putting himself between his brother and the bed.

“Viktor.“

“Is this some kind of side piece? Because you know the rules about bringing random women to family facilities.” Viktor’s tone was casual, but Kostya could hear the edge underneath. “If she’s just some—”

“She’s not just some anything.” Kostya’s voice cut through his brother’s words like a blade. “She’s my wife.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Viktor’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

“Your what?”

“My wife.” Kostya reached back and took Azriel’s hand, squeezing gently when she started to pull away. “Viktor, meet Azriel. Azriel, this is my brother Viktor.”

Viktor stared at them for a long moment, his mouth slightly open. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“Holy shit. Kostya got married and didn’t tell anyone.” He laughed, the sound filling the room. “Wait until the others hear about this. Mikhail’s going to lose his mind.”

“Viktor,“ Kostya started, but his brother was already pulling out his phone.

“I have to call everyone. This is the best thing that’s happened all year.” Viktor paused, looking at Azriel with something that might have been approval. “Welcome to the family, sister-in-law. Hope you’re ready for the chaos.”

As Viktor headed for the door, still muttering about phone calls and family meetings, Kostya felt Azriel’s hand tighten in his.

“So,” she said quietly, “I guess the secret’s out.”

“Yeah.” Kostya looked down at their joined hands, at the way her fingers fit perfectly between his. “I guess it is.”

Outside the room, he could hear Viktor’s voice carrying down the hallway as he started making calls. Soon, the entire Nikolai family would know about Azriel’s existence. There would be questions, demands for explanations, probably more than a few arguments about protocol and security.

But for now, in this quiet room with the morning sun streaming through the windows, it was just the two of them. And for the first time since this whole mess had started, that felt like enough.