Page 47

Everything happened in a blur, but also like a nightmare in slow motion, where I couldn’t move fast enough.

Was Mila actually putting herself in the line of a bullet?

With a scream, she flung herself forward and came flying at me, and at the same time, the shot sounded.

As she slammed into my chest with her arms wrapped tight around me, I twisted, yanking her behind me, trying to shield her with my own body, the same as she was so foolishly trying to do for me.

Pain ripped into my shoulder, sending me reeling.

In a moment, I was heading toward the floor, dragging her with me.

Feeling like my arm was being torn from the socket, I managed to turn so I wouldn’t crush her as I hit the tile hard, the air briefly knocked out of me, and dazed from the hot pain of the bullet that blew through my shoulder.

“Mila,” I grunted. “Stay down.”

Leave it to my wife not to listen to me again.

Still screaming like a raging banshee, she was up in a second, hurtling herself at Ivan and roundhouse, kicking the gun out of his hand.

Before I could fully marvel at that move I’d certainly never seen before, she was on him, fists flying, absolutely beating the shit out of him.

Ivan was being pretty loud, too, not wanting to hit her back, and shouting at her for being so stupid.

For once, I wholeheartedly agreed with one of the Fokin brothers.

While he was distracted, I gripped the gunshot wound to stop the flow of blood and pulled myself carefully over to where Mila had kicked the gun.

It was a miracle the room wasn’t swarming with guards, but I had a feeling Ivan had warned them that they shouldn’t risk bursting in and harming Mila.

Plus, I was sure he had intended to end me himself.

Once I had the gun, I got up and pulled her off her brother before she did some real damage.

I thought I had seen her bloodthirsty side when we tortured my uncle together, but she was a ball of fury right now.

As soon as she turned and realized I wasn’t dead, only keeping a low profile until the gun was in my possession, she stopped her attack and collapsed into my arms.

It hurt like hell, but I would have never complained.

She didn’t hate me. She had jumped in front of a damn bullet for me.

She was back where she belonged, almost. We were still in enemy territory.

It was only when she began frantically searching me for where I got hit that she noticed I was holding Ivan’s gun on him.

“Arkadi!” she squeaked, shocking the hell out of me and digging her fingers into my fresh wound at the same time she wrested the gun from my other hand.

Stepping back from both of us, she waved it back and forth.

Ivan jumped, cringing, while I stood silently, half proud, half confused about what in the hell was happening.

My arm fucking stung from the way she got the drop on me, but I still had to struggle to hold back a smile. She was so damn amazing.

“I’ve had enough out of both of you,” she hissed, glancing at the door as if she had just begun wondering why no guards were helping out yet. Walking backward, she reached behind her and locked us into the room.

“Is she any good?” I asked Ivan under my breath.

He gave me a look that told me he was sorry his own aim wasn’t better. “She’s a crack shot.”

And with the look of rage on her face, neither one of us risked rushing her to regain the weapon. She stood well out of our reach, her finger in front of the trigger guard, ready to take one of us down if we so much as twitched in her direction.

“Mila,” I said, low and soothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ivan shake his head as if this was the wrong way to go about being held hostage by my own wife. As if he knew her better than I did.

Maybe he did. She whipped the gun in my direction, blue eyes blazing fire. “Don’t try to calm me down after you went and let yourself get shot.”

“I wasn’t about to let you get shot,” I replied, glaring at Ivan. “This woman risked her life for me. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

He laughed bitterly, but stopped as soon as she turned the gun on him. “You actually pulled the trigger when you knew it might hit me,” she said, the pain in her voice enough to make me want to take a swing at him.

“Yeah, and I don’t know whether to be pissed off you jumped in front of the gun or sorry it didn’t hit him somewhere more deadly.”

“Of course, I’m not going to let you kill my husband. I’d be the one who was dead if Arkadi hadn’t turned and gotten hit instead,” she snapped right back.

He had the good grace to look abashed and showed enough intelligence for once to stay quiet. Good. I looked at Mila long and hard. Her face went through a series of emotions. Hurt, anger, and confusion. I wanted to erase them all, but there was no way as long as she was still pointing a gun at me.

I had never been very expressive, taught to keep whatever feelings I had well hidden.

Anything other than icy fortitude could be considered weakness.

It became such a habit that it almost seemed like I forgot how to have feelings, let alone show them.

I showed them to her now, every last one. How sorry I was. How much I needed her.

Her face softened, and a bit of the rage cooled from her eyes.

Not all, but it was a start. Holding out her hand to stop her brother from making any sudden movements, she lowered the gun and moved to my side.

I wrapped her in an embrace, dropping a kiss on top of her head, never taking my eyes off of Ivan.

He eyed the gun that hung loosely in her hand, but made no move. Defeat was written all over his face, and from the looks of it, it tasted pretty sour.

“Now we can talk,” Mila said firmly.

I groaned, shaking my head when she jerked her chin up at me to remind me she was still in charge and still mad. “I agree, just not right now. I need stitches for one thing.”

She gasped, dropping the gun with a clatter to pull at the top of my sleeve, now soaked with blood. Leaning down, I grabbed the gun, and she gasped.

No, it wasn’t a trick, but I still didn’t trust Ivan as far as I could throw him. After tucking it into my waistband, I held up my hands in surrender, wincing at the pain it caused.

“I’m done fighting with you,” I told her brother. “All of you. Like it or not, we’re family now.”

Mila tugged on my good arm, eager to leave now that she feared I was badly hurt. “Don’t push it,” she hissed.

“I’ll be available to speak to everyone so we can work things out,” I continued anyway, ignoring her pinch and Ivan’s simmering rage.

He only glared at me in silence until Mila piped up. “I swear I’m happy, Ivan.”

That put me more in shock than any gunshot wound could. Was it the truth, or just a ruse to get us out of there without an army of guards surrounding us the second we opened the door?

Ivan looked disgusted, but got on his phone to tell his people to let us pass. “Wait,” he told Mila, hurrying to a desk drawer and pulling out a phone. “Take this. If at any time you don’t answer, we’re coming in hot.”

As he silently dared me to say anything about giving Mila a means to communicate with them, I only shrugged my good shoulder.

She took it, and we walked out, making it to the car on the other side of the gates alive.

We weren’t in it long enough for me to start the engine when the phone Ivan gave her rang.

With a tired sigh, she answered, putting it on speaker even though I didn’t ask her to.

“Just say the word, and the guards will put him down,” Ivan said. “I’ve got a sniper on him right now. It’ll be quick and painless, which is more than he deserves.”

I froze. Mila didn’t gasp in horror or even immediately speak. I watched as she stared at the phone, stone-faced. Was she still angry enough at me to say the word that would end me, and end the future I wanted for us?

“God damn it, Ivan, you need to start listening to me,” she shouted, ending the call. “Just go,” she told me. “He’s not going to have you shot.”

We headed home without the windshield exploding and the top of my head getting blown off, but didn’t have the conversation I wanted to. Mila rested her head wearily against the window and lapsed into silence.

At home, she tugged on my hand, leading me upstairs and into our bathroom, ordering me to have a seat on the edge of the tub. Tossing through the contents of the linen closet, she finally emerged with a first aid kit in her hands.

“Let me see your shoulder,” she said, all business.

“I don’t think it’s as bad as I thought,” I told her, peeling away the stiff, bloody fabric to show her it was just a flesh wound. “Went straight through. Hardly hurts anymore.”

“Liar,” she mumbled, dabbing a wet cloth around the torn skin.

After she had it neatly wrapped in a bandage, she handed me a clean shirt, but I didn’t put it on. I took her hands and pulled her in between my legs. She ran her hands over my hair, shaking her head.

“There’s even blood in your hair,” she said, her voice cracking. “You could have been killed.”

“Never mind that,” I told her, waiting for her to meet my eyes.

“Never mind? When I’m the reason you were there?”

Now she managed to look at me, and there was sadness in her eyes, a bit of fear, and still a trace of anger. I wanted them all gone.

“Why did you leave?” I asked gently. No recrimination. I just wanted to hear it from her.

“I only wanted to keep them from worrying,” she said. “I was just going to run up and tell Ivan I was fine and could explain more in a few days, but he tricked me and drove off.”

She was going to give me the days I asked for, even when she was fuming mad at me. I pulled her onto my lap, holding her close. “I’m sorry for not letting you call when you asked. I’m sorry for the secrecy. For planning those attacks in the first place.”