“You survived?” Even though he’s asking a question, he doesn’t wait for me to answer him. “How? You were as good as dead.”
I was unaware you could hear blood pressure rising until my tilted chin and arched brow doubles the vein working overtime in the doctor’s neck. I’m not stalking him in silence so he’s unprepared for my attack. I’m drinking in features I swear I’ve seen before. He couldn’t have been at any raid or takeover bid I was a part of—he’d be dead if he weren’t on my side—so I must have seen him somewhere else.
Somewhere dark and twisted.
Somewhere cold and damp.
Somewhere a devil cut off his wings so he could help an angel uncocooned from hers years later in the very same room.
The last time I saw the man standing in front of me, I was flat on my back, having my fractured ankle set by a student doctor hoping to one day deliver babies.
Justine’s wet eyes bounce between the doctor and me when I mutter, “Roman said you came back every day for two weeks.” I don’t recall much of what happened after having surgery without anesthesia. I drifted in and out of consciousness for almost a month, and my mental stability was on the rocks even longer than that.
Dr. Goyette nods, agreeing with a notion I’ve struggled to comprehend for over a decade. Roman didn't force him to my side with the brutal tactics most men in our industry use daily. He was there of his own accord.
“Why?” I sound angry. I’m not. Anger is just my go-to emotion when I’m unsure how to process what’s happening. Watching my children be born was way fucking more than I could have ever imagined. Now my head feels like it is about to explode.
Dr. Goyette steps closer to me, ensuring his words are only for my ears. The fact he never ratted me out all those years ago reveal he isn’t a tattler. He didn’t need to prove his loyalty more. “The knife wounds to your stomach and chest were badly infected. You had a fever higher than my thermometer went. I begged Roman to take you to the hospital—”
“I refused,” I interrupt when I recall the stubbornness that almost got me killed. I was admitted at a hospital when Carmichael I’m-going-to-gut-him-alive Fletcher wooed me with false promises and a guarantee of a life without further abuse. I wasn’t returning to that level of hell for anything.
The doctor nods again. “Roman moved you not long after that. I guess he was worried I would force your hand.” He swallows like he’s suddenly worried. “I wasn’t. When I arrived at an empty warehouse, I assumed you had…” He stops before he articulates what we both know would have occurred if he hadn’t recognized the infection that almost claimed my leg and my life.
“Where did you get the medication you gave me?” As stated earlier, my head was so fucked-up after Vladimir’s punishment, I lost more than a few days’ worth of memories, but I do recall the blissful high that comes from medically certified drugs.
After floating his eyes over the midwife acting as if she’s not eavesdropping on our conversation, Dr. Goyette steps closer to Justine’s bed. “I borrowed supplies from the hospital I was interning at. I didn’t think they’d be enough." His smile reveals he's happy to accept the consequences that come from his confession. "Clearly they were.”
While nodding like he’s giving himself a mental pat on the back, he squeezes my shoulder like Roman always does. I’m anticipating for the pride in his eyes to be quickly replaced with dollar signs, so you can imagine my shock when he shifts his eyes to Justine and our twins, praises my Ahren for a job well done, then exits the room without so much as a request for a favor.
It doesn’t matter if you are in my industry or not, being in my favor will do you wonders. I can line your pockets with money even quicker than I can fill your brand new penthouse with whores. Your every want will be taken care of by me, so why the fuck isn’t Dr. Goyette milking it for all its worth?
I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.
My son may have very well died.
I owe him more than a favor.
I owe him everything.
Proof Justine knows me better than anyone is exposed when she mumbles, “He didn’t help you because he wanted something, Nikolai. He did it out of the goodness of his heart.” She waits for my eyes to sling from the door to her before adding, “Don’t look at me like that. Every man has a little bit of good in them. Even the men like you who have the percentages royally fucked-up.”
Ignoring my warning glare that I’ll wash out her filthy mouth with my cock if she curses in front of our children again, Justine pokes out her tongue before she directs her focus to the lone midwife still lingering in her room like a bad smell. “What is Dr. Goyette’s first name?”
I have no clue where she’s going with this, and neither does the midwife. “Toby. Why?”
“Toby,” Justine repeats, her tone softer and more nurturing than the midwife.
She works Dr. Goyette’s given name through her head a handful of times before she raises her eyes to mine. The sheer admiration projecting from them means there’s no fucking chance I’ll ever deny her, so I keep my mouth shut when I instantly agree with what she says next, “Toby is a fitting name for a little boy who’ll never stop fighting no matter how bad the odds.” After lowering her eyes to our children still staring at her in fascination, she adds, “Toby Alexander Elias and Mila Elizabeth Rose. Those are names suitable for the prince and princess of the Russian Mafia. They’re perfect in every way.” She returns her eyes to mine. The pride in them nearly knocks me on my ass. My queen is on her throne, ruling her empire. “Just like their father.”
Dimitri’s series is a spin off of both the Enigma Series and Russian Mob Chronicles.
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Acknowledgments
There are so many people who deserve a special mention when you finish the painstaking task of writing a new book. The main: my family! This doesn’t solely include the sexy-ass man I married twenty+ years ago or my five kiddies. It includes my readers as well. You have followed me throughout this journey as much as my family. You’ve watched me grow and saw me stumble, but you stuck with me.
For that alone, I will be forever grateful.
Then there are people in my community who have my back no matter what. Emilia, my alpha readers, my cousin Tammy who will straight up tell me if my story is shit, and the hundreds of authors who know firsthand how much effort goes into every story produced, much less be brave enough to share it. This industry isn’t easy, but my love for it grows everyday.