“Marcel will take care of him, won’t he?” I ask Klara.
“Yes,” she says, firmly. “He knows what he’s doing.”
She’s quiet a minute, then she says, “Marcel was from a wealthy family in Poland. That’s why he sounds so posh. His father was a surgeon, and his grandfather. He could have done the same.” She laughs softly. “He never would have looked twice at me in Warsaw.”
“Yes he would!” I tell her. “He looks at you about a hundred times a day here. He can’t pay attention to anything else when you’re in the room.”
Klara flushes. She doesn’t smile but her dark eyes look pleased.
“He shot Simon,” she says, still shocked. “Simon was choking me . . .”
She touches her throat where the bruises are already starting to appear.
“This is so insane,” I say, shaking my head. “Everyone’s gone mad.”
“We all have to choose where our loyalties lie,” Klara says. “Mikolaj chose you.”
Yes, he did.
And I chose him, too.
I was only minutes away from my family’s house.
I turned around and ran back to him.
I knew he was in danger, because of me. I had to help him.
Will I make the same choice, once he’s safe?
I don’t know what a future with Mikolaj would look like. He has a darkness inside of him that terrifies me. I know he’s done awful things. And his resentment toward my family is still burning.
On the other hand, I know that he cares about me. He understands me in a different way than my mother or father or siblings. I’m not just a sweet, simple girl. I feel things deeply. I have a well of passion inside of me—for things that are beautiful, and for things that are broken . . .
Mikolaj brings out that other side of me. He lets me be so much more than innocent.
We’re only just scratching the surface of this bond between us. I want to dive all the way in. I want to lose myself in him, and find myself all over again—the real me. The complete Nessa.
And I want to know the real Mikolaj: passionate, loyal, unbreakable. I see it. I see who he is.
I’m more than good, and he’s more than bad.
We’re opposites, and yet made for each other.
This is what I’m thinking about, while the hours drag by. The time seems horribly long. Klara is quiet, too. I’m sure she’s thinking of Marcel—wishing she could help him with more than just thoughts.
Finally the door cracks open. Marcel emerges from the makeshift operating room. His clothes are bloodstained and he looks exhausted. But there’s a grin on his handsome face.
“He’s alright,” he says to us.
The relief that washes over me is indescribable. I leap to my feet.
“Can I see him?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Marcel says. “He’s awake now.”
I run into the cramped room. Cyrus is still washing his hands in the sink, next to a pile of blood-stained gauze.
“Careful,” he croaks. “Don’t hug him too hard.”
Mikolaj is laying in the dentist’s chair, half-reclining, half propped up. His color is still awful. His shirt has been cut away, so I can see the many places where Cyrus and Marcel stitched and taped and bandaged him.
His eyes are open. They look as clear and blue as ever. They find me at once, pulling me over to him.
“Miko,” I whisper, taking his hand and raising it up to my lips.
“You were right,” he says.
“About what?”
“You said I wouldn’t die. I thought I would. But you’re always right . . .”
He winces, still in pain.
“We don’t have to talk now,” I tell him.
“Yes, we do,” he says, grimacing. “Listen, Nessa . . . Jonas, Andrei, and the others . . . they’re going after your brother. Not just them, the Bratva too. Kolya Kristoff . . .”
“I’ll call Callum,” I say. “We’ll warn him.”
I can tell it’s hard for him to speak, because he’s still so drained. But he’s determined to make sure I understand the danger.
“They want to kill him.”
Mikolaj wanted to kill my brother, too. Now he’s doing his best to save him. For me. Only for me.
He chose me over his desire for revenge.
He chose me over his brothers.
He chose me over his own life.
“Thank you, Miko,” I say.
I lean over him, careful not to press against his injured body, and I kiss him softly on the lips. He tastes like blood, smoke, and oranges. Like our very first kiss.
“Come on,” Marcel says from the doorway. “I’ll take you to your brother.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say to Mikolaj, clinging to his hand.
“We’ll stay together,” Miko agrees, trying to sit up.
“Hey! Are you crazy!?” Cyrus shouts, hurrying over and trying to make him lay back again. “You’ll rip out all your stitches.”
“I’m fine,” Mikolaj says, impatiently.
He’s not fine, but he seems determined to will it into reality.
“We can’t hang around here, we’ve got too much to do,” Miko says.
“You almost just died,” Marcel reminds him.
Mikolaj totally ignores that, as if it’s already in the distant past. He’s pulling himself upright, grimacing, but not thinking about the pain. His mind is working a million miles a minute, strategizing, formulating our next steps. Half his men may have turned on him, but he’s still the same leader and planner. He’s still the boss.
“We’ve got to go to the west side, to Cook County Jail.”
“What are you talking about?” Marcel says, clearly thinking that Mikolaj has lost his mind.
Mikolaj groans, putting his feet down on the ground and slowly hoisting himself up.
“We’re going to get Dante Gallo,” he says.
27
Miko
I feel like I’ve been run over by a garbage truck. There’s not a part of me not throbbing, burning, or immobile. Cyrus warns me that if I’m not careful, I’ll tear open my wounds and start bleeding all over again.
I’d like to go to sleep for about a week. But there’s no time for that.
Jonas and Kristoff have surely met up by now to plan their final assault against Callum Griffin. I don’t know if they’ll still try to attack him at the library opening, or if they’ll switch to something else.
What I know for certain is that the Griffins are going to need all the firepower they can get to fend them off. Which means I need to round up any of my men who are still loyal, and free Dante as well. When it comes to strategic defense, you need your sniper.
As we drive over to the west side of the city, Nessa calls Callum from my phone. I can hear both sides of the conversation in the small confines of the car.
“Cal, it’s me,” Nessa says.
“Nessa!” he cries. I hear the intense relief in his voice. “Thank god! Are you alright? Where are you? I’ll come get you!”
“I’m fine,” she assures him. “Listen, I have to—”
“Where are you? I’m coming right now!”