Page 49 of Frozen Heart

34

BRONWYN

A few nights later,I was stretched out on my favorite couch, reading. It was past midnight and I’d been promising myself I’d go to bed in a minute for the last four chapters. Then I heard the door to the penthouse unlock.Radimir’s home!

I tried to ignore the lift in my chest. I shouldn’t feelanything.But I did, and it was more than just the animal attraction of that scowly, gorgeous face and big, chiseled body. It was more than just the way he made me feel safe. There was a tension, when he wasn’t there, an ache...

I kept my eyes on my book as Radimir walked into the main room.No.I was not, I wasabsolutely notfalling for him. “Late night,” I said, without looking around. “Want me to fix you a sandwich?”

He grunted. That wasn’t like him: he was cold, but always polite. He moved across the room but that sounded different, too. I’d come to know his heavy, impatient footsteps, like he was crushing his enemies under his expensive shoes. Now his steps were slow and faltering. I finally glanced over my shoulder...and went rigid.

Radimir was stumbling across the room, one hand pressed tight against his upper arm. He slumped against the wall for a second, then pushed off, leaving a bloody handprint.

I moaned in panic, jumped off the couch and ran to him. I hooked an arm around his waist and made him lean on me, even though it made my knees burn. “Come sit down! Come on!” He mumbled protests but I ignored him and hauled him along, groaning under his weight. I finally got him to an armchair and eased him down into it.“There!Hold on, I’ll call an ambulance.”

He shook his head. “Nyet.No doctors.”

“You’rebleeding!”The arm of his suit was soaked through, and blood was dripping from the cuff. “How much blood have you lost?!”

“I can deal with it,” he panted. “I need the bag...bottom drawer, in my office.”

I ran to his office, pulled open the bottom drawer and found a red bag. I brought it back to him and opened the zipper. It was a full medical kit, with bandages, syringes and bottles of drugs.

“Thank you,” he breathed. He began to take off his jacket but had to stop, wincing in pain. “Go,” he grunted. “I can do this.”

“No you can’t!” I shook my head, staring at the blood in horror. “Jesus. Let me help.” I quickly eased his jacket, waistcoat and shirt off him. There was a four-inch gash down the side of his arm, and I felt my stomach lurch, not at the blood but at the thought of someone hurting him. “Who did this?”

“An Armenian.” He closed his eyes. “He’s dead.”

I shook my head in silent horror. How could mafia wivesdothis? How could they wait patiently at home every night, knowing their husbands were out there getting knifed and shot and killed? I pressed a pad of gauze against the wound. It instantly soaked through.

“Pressure,” he rasped.

I pressed down on the gauze. He grimaced in pain, and I almost stopped, but he laid his hand on mine. First reassuringly...and then he squeezed my hand a little as if touching me helped.

The bleeding slowed. Radimir opened his eyes. “It’s too big to close on its own,” he told me. “It will need stitches.” He nodded at the first aid bag. “The suture kit, please.”

I picked it up and stared at the needle and thread. “You’re going to sew your—No,you’re about to pass out! I’ll do it.”

He shook his head.

“You looked afterme,”I told him firmly. “I’m going to look after you.” I tried to think calmly. “What can I give you for the pain?”

“A drink.”

I ran over to the kitchen and brought a bottle of vodka. He spun the cap off one-handed and took a big slug. I threaded a needle and then, wincing, I slid the needle in and began my first stitch.“Why?!”I wanted to know. “Why did this guy stab you?”

“The Armenians are new in town. Young, flush with money, trying to make a name for themselves. They think being a gangster is all about looking cool, like in a video game. They even bought a fancy bar as a base, a place calledWorship.They’ve been trying to take over our territory and that led to...adisagreement.”

My stomach flipped. A disagreement that ended with a guy dead. But at least it was him and not Radimir. I fell silent and began the next stitch.

Radimir winced in pain. “Talk to me,” he grunted. “It helps.”

I pulled the thread slowly through. “Talk about what?”

“How is the wedding planning going?”

My stomach went heavy. I focused on suturing, not meeting his eyes. “There’s nothing to plan.”