“Explain yourself. Since when do you work for Sergei?”

  “I don't work for Sergei.”

  Lev huffs. “You’ve got balls walking in here pretending you're a choirboy. If you weren't working for our uncle, you could've contacted us. Why didn't you?”

  “He was locked up with Viktor.” The woman guard steps in. “I saw them together. He couldn't get out either.”

  “And you believe him? Just because he’s soft-faced and...”

  Nikolai’s grip snaps around Lev’s wrist. “Lev. Enough. Let go.” Lev jerks, but Nikolai holds firm. “Babushka hired him. She trusted him.”

  Lev stares at me. “She knew? You all fucking knew? You should have told me, man.”

  “She didn't tell you because she knew you'd run at Sergei,” Nikolai continues. “She was protecting Viktor and you. If Sergei suspected you knew, you'd both be dead.”

  Lev freezes. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Well, he's home now. We're not losing him again.” He turns fully toward me. “You. You take care of him. You keep him breathing. Whatever you were doing before, keep doing it. But everyone in this house is watching you now.”

  I nod. I don't have a choice. I don't think I'd want one even if it were offered.

  “If you fuck this up.” Lev steps closer. “There won't be warnings.”

  “You'll bury me with him. Alive.” I sigh. The exhaustion is finally heavier than the fear. “Babushka said the same.”

  Nikolai’s shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle. “The nurse has a sense of humor. I think I like him.”

  Lev doesn't smile. He looks back at the bed. “I hope he has more than that. Because when my brother wakes… we start.”

  “Start what?”

  Nikolai meets my eyes. His expression goes cold. “War. Welcome to our world now, Jonah the nurse.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  VIKTOR

  “Viktor.”

  Father is on the ground. We’re in the basement. Blood runs from his temple into his hair. His knuckles are raw, the skin shredded from a fight he couldn't win. His lip is split. “Help me, son.”

  I try to take his hand, but my feet won’t move. The concrete has swallowed my boots. No matter how hard I fight the paralysis, he stays too far away. Two men step out of the shadows. The Morozov bear glints in the low light. When one swings, I know they aren't ours anymore. The betrayal is a blade in my gut. “Father!”

  His head snaps with the punch. He gasps, trying to lift himself, eyes searching for mine in the dark. “You’re next, Vitya…” His voice breaks. “Don't let him take the seat. Don't let him take the family.”

  Another blow. His face hits the stone floor. Blood smears the concrete in a streak. “Father!”

  His fingers reach for me, trembling, scratching at the stone. “You…”

  “Father!”

  I open my eyes on a rattling breath. Father’s gone. The basement’s gone. My knuckles claw at the silk sheets. My head throbs and my throat is sand.

  “Viktor. Hey. You’re okay.”

  Jonah is in the chair, reaching for me. His eyes are wide. Glassy. He looks like he hasn't slept in years.

  “Water,” I rasp. My voice sounds like swallowed glass.

  He scrambles for the glass. He slides a cold palm under my head to tip the rim. The water is sharp. Freezing. It cuts through the bitterness coating my tongue—the ghost of Sergei’s sedatives. The liquid burns down my throat, the only honest thing I’ve felt since the street. I drink until the glass is empty, my pulse finally slowing. “Slow. You scared everyone.”

  Everyone?

  I take another mouthful. The shaking in my hands eases. The pounding in my skull dulls to a throb. My chest still hurts, but the pain is further away now, a threat instead of a blow. I can feel the damage in my ribs, a heat that reminds me how close I came to the ground.

  “Doctor said they gave you something for the pain,” Jonah says, his voice a steady anchor. “And something to steady your heart. She said you’d feel clearer once you woke up and drank. She said you were strong.”

  I press my palms into the mattress and test my arms. They hold. Whatever they put in me is still there, slow in my veins, warm enough to blunt the agony. It’s keeping me upright. I look around the room. I’m in my bedroom. The curtains are drawn. The air smells of wood and Jonah’s soap.

  Jonah looks down at his sweatshirt. He pinches the fabric, looking at the stains. “Okay. You’re awake.” He exhales. “I’m going to take a shower. I feel gross. I need the smell of that house off me.”

  “I want a shower too.”

  The words come out before I think. The idea of waking up alone puts something cold under my skin. I won't let him leave the room. Not after I saw the shadows take my father. Not after I almost lost the light.

  Jonah hesitates. “Are you sure? You just woke up. Your legs might not hold you. I could get you something to eat instead. Maybe some broth.”

  “How long?” I need the timeline back.

  “Since we escaped?” He swallows. “A little over a day. Your brother has been a wreck. He’s been pacing the hall. And Nikolai.” His mouth tightens. “He’s… a lot. He almost took the door off the hinges an hour ago.”

  Yeah. Lev. And Nikolai. I look at Jonah’s fingers circling my pulse. I notice the dried blood on his skin—rust-colored. Flaking. He follows my gaze, eyes filling with raw emotion. “It’s yours. It wouldn't come off.”

  I realize then that while I was fighting shadows in my head, Jonah was sitting in a silent room with the blood of a Morozov on his hands. He’s not just a nurse. He’s the person who dragged my body through the blood in that hallway. I look at his face and see a hard edge. I did that to him.

  The sight loosens something in my chest. He stayed like that, slumped in a chair with my blood drying on his skin, waiting for the dead to wake up.

  “Come here.”

  He hesitates. “You should rest, Viktor. The doctor said.”

  “Jonah. Come here.”

  He lets out a shaky breath and climbs onto the bed beside me, moving with care to avoid my side. I grab his hoodie and pull. He falls half onto me, bracing a grip beside my shoulder so he doesn't crush my ribs.

  “Viktor.”

  “Better.”

  I bury my face against his neck, breathing him in. The nightmare recedes, replaced by his heat.

  I kiss him. It’s clumsy because my lips are dry, but none of it matters. His mouth opens under mine and the taste of him hits me. Toothpaste, sleep, and the edge of fear. He makes a broken sound that lands in my chest while his fingers curve into my shoulder. I grip his jaw, angling his mouth. The heat of him overrides the sedative. My blood feels like it's finally moving again. He kisses me back like he’s finally allowed to breathe air instead of ash.

  My body wakes. Heat rolls through me, heavy and demanding. My hand slides under his hoodie, feeling the line of his back and the tension in his muscles. I try to pull him closer, but pain spikes in my ribs. It’s a sharp, white reminder that I am still broken.

  He pulls back, his eyes narrowing. “Viktor, stop. Your heart is racing too fast. It can't take this yet, and your ribs are barely holding.”

  “Let it stop, then,” I growl. “If it’s going to fail, I want it to happen while I’m touching you.”

  He stares at me, caught between logic and the pull of the bed. Then he surrenders. He doesn't move away. He moves over me, careful, shielding my chest with his arms as he settles between my legs. It’s not a rough fuck. It’s slow. He moves with focus, watching my face for the moment the pleasure turns to pain.

  I let him lead. I have to. My body is a wreck, but the friction of him is the only thing making me feel like a living man. Every thrust pulls at my stitches. He moans into my neck, a sound of relief. I grip his hips, my thumbs digging into the bone, anchoring myself.

  When I come, my vision goes white. My heart slams against my ribs, irregular and loud. Jonah doesn't pull away. He presses his ear to my chest, counting the beats until they level out. He’s my accomplice. My nurse. Mine.

  He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “You’re hurting.”

  “I’m alive.” I catch his hoodie again and drag him back down. “Get back here.”

  He gives a wet laugh that is half sob and half relief. He bends to kiss me again, softer this time. Slower. His thumb brushes my jaw like he’s checking I’m real, tracing the bone as if to verify the pulse beneath.

  “You okay?” he asks softly.

  I let my head fall back against the pillow. My side burns and my throat feels shredded. “I’ve been better,” I rasp. “But I’m alive. I’ll take the sore ribs as a win.”

  He nods, his eyes shadowed. “You should lie down.”

  I shake my head. “Nah. I’ll go shower with you.” I don't want him more than an arm’s length away. I can't trust the silence of this house yet. As if he hears my thoughts, his palm anchors my hand. “Let me help you then.”

  “I can do it myself.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Slow, though. If you fall and crack your head open, I’m calling Lev and letting him deal with you.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Whatever works.”

  “Careful, Jonah. Blackmail is a dangerous game to play with a man who owns the police.”

  “You can't even walk to the bathroom without leaning on me. I think I’ll take my chances.”

  I stand, leaning on the dresser as the room rights itself. Jonah is at my side instantly, his shoulder bracing my weight. We move in silence toward the bathroom. He turns to the shower, adjusting the handle until steam fogs the glass.

  I lean against the marble wall and let the cold stone brace my spine. I let him help me out of my clothes, his movements steady. When the fabric is gone, I step into the spray and pull him in. The water beats down over our shoulders and over the fresh bandage. I drape my arms over him, letting him take my weight. I don't want the friction tonight. I want the silence. I want the heat of the water to wash the memory of that basement floor off my skin.

  “Viktor?” his voice is a question, vibrating against the stone.

  “Just stay,” I rumble, closing my eyes. “Just wash me, Jonah.”

  He settles against the wall. Reaching for the cloth, he doesn't rush. He works the soap over my shoulders and down my back. His touch is a grounding force.

  I sink onto the marble seat. Jonah settles between my knees, the water beating against his back. He pours oil into his palms, the scent of sandalwood rising with the steam.

  He finds the knots in my shoulders, his thumbs pressing with strength. My head drops forward. God, I’m tired. The kind of tired that gets into the bone. My pulse starts to level out. The rhythm of the nightmare fades behind the steady pressure of his hands. Every muscle in my back is a locked wire, but Jonah’s fingers don't care. They find the tension and force it to give.

  “You’re too tense,” he murmurs.

  “I have a lot of people to kill. It’s a stressful profession.”

  He huffs a short breath. “Try to kill them with a lower heart rate. It’s better for your stitches.”

  There is no rush for an ending. There is only the slide of his hands over my wet skin and the slow relief of letting someone else carry the weight. I watch the water swirl around his feet, rinsing the grime away, while he works until my breathing finally levels out.

  “Better?” he whispers, his hands finally coming to rest on my thighs.

  “Exactly what I needed.” I pull him into a hug, burying my face in the crook of his neck. Jonah turns the water off.

  We step out onto the mat. He rubs me down first and then himself. In the mirror above the sink, I catch a glimpse of myself; the bruise dark along my jaw and the fresh bandage cutting across my side. Jonah stands behind me, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead.

  He helps me into clean shorts and a soft T-shirt. He tapes a fresh bandage over the wound. Then he pulls on his own clothes, moving with a quiet grace.

  “I’m here,” I say, watching him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  That does something strange to my chest. A claim I didn't see coming, and one I'm not ready to let go of. We go back to the bedroom. By the time we reach the bed, my legs are shaking. I lie down. I hook an arm around Jonah’s waist and haul him in against me until his back presses to my chest.

  “Sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  Footsteps hit the hall before the door swings open without a knock. I’m awake before I can place the sound, my hand already searching for a weapon that isn't there. Lev fills the doorway and then stops. His gaze goes to the bed and to Jonah, his mouth tightening a fraction. Nikolai stands just behind him. “So you’re not just a nurse, are you?”

  “Careful,” I rumble.

  Lev waves me off. “Don't mind me. Fuck, it’s just... it’s been a lot, Vitya. I'm seeing ghosts everywhere.”

  Lev comes to the side of the bed. Grabbing his jaw, I tilt his face up to mine. “Look at me, mladshenkiy.”

  His eyes meet mine. They’re glittering and he looks like he hasn't slept in days. “I thought you were dead. Your fucking face was on the news. I saw you on the pavement, Vitya. You weren't moving.” He rubs his face. “I just can't get past it. You were bleeding, and everything went wrong at once.”

  Jonah’s fingers curl into the fabric at my hip. He’s not letting go. He’s staking his own claim in the middle of my family. “You remember the club? The street? Anything at all?”

  I try to shrug. “Bits. We walked out. There was a car. Headlights. Then noise. Heat. Then the ground. Sirens. After that, it's a blur of drug-dreams.”

  Lev swallows hard. “They shot you in front of me. You went down. There was blood everywhere. Nikolai and I tried to get to you, but those black cars blocked us in. One of our guys took a bullet to the chest. Then the sirens were coming. Everything went too fast. People were filming with their phones. You weren't breathing. The cops would have had us pinned. I had ten seconds to choose between your body and the rest of us. I thought you were gone. I swear to God, Vitya, I thought you were gone. I left you. I left you there on the street like trash.”

  I squeeze his hand. “Lev, I’m here now. I’m here now. You made the only choice you could.”

  “But then... who did I bury?” He turns back to Nikolai, his voice rising. “Who the fuck did we put in the ground in that closed casket?”

  I see it in flashes. His face above me in rain and streetlight. Water streaking down his hair. “I wouldn't have left you behind alive. You know that, right? I didn't just leave you, Vitya. I left my soul on that asphalt.”

  Jonah’s fingers tighten around my wrist. “It seems Sergei got to me first. That son of a bitch didn't miss. He wanted the world to think I was dead so he could break me in private. He staged the whole funeral to bury the truth.”

  “He staged the shooting from the start,” Nikolai comments.

  Lev starts pacing. He breathes like he’s trying not to throw up. When he faces me again his eyes are wet. “I left you,” he says again, quieter now. “I left you on the road while he picked you up. He stole you from under my nose.”

  “You had seconds,” I counter. “You chose to keep Nikolai alive. You chose to keep yourself alive. I would have ordered you to do the same.”

  “I still left you.”

  “Stop it now, mladshenkiy. I survived. Once I’m feeling well enough we kill that bottle of Beluga. I take it you haven't finished it yet?”

  “Fucker.” Lev punches my shoulder then looks so guilty I grin. “Of course not. It's been sitting in the freezer like a tombstone."

  “Good. Then we can show Jonah the Russian style.”

  His gaze flicks to Jonah who snuggles closer. “Thank you, I suppose.”

  “You should thank your grandmother. She hired me,” Jonah stammers.

  My grin widens at the choice of words. As if he had a choice.

  “We’ll talk about Sergei later.” Lev steps away from the bed. “When you’re well rested and taken care of by your nurse.”

  Nikolai snorts.

  “Stop calling him the nurse,” I call after him. “He has a name. Jonah.”

  I feel Jonah’s fingers dig into my skin as he registers the brand I’ve just put on him. I’m not just protecting him because I’m making it clear to the only men I have left that he is off-limits. I don't want the rest of the world when I can have the one who watched me bleed and didn't look away.

  In our world, a name is a claim of ownership and I am making sure everyone knows he belongs to me from now on, whether he likes it or not.

  “Yes, big brother. I hear you.” He moves to the door. Nikolai opens it for him. Lev looks back one more time. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here to yell at me for it.”

  “If you keep standing in the doorway, I’ll start yelling now.”

  He huffs out something that's almost a laugh, closing the door behind them.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  JONAH

  Viktor’s house is massive. I didn't take it in when we arrived because everything happened too fast. From the inside, it feels old. It has high ceilings and heavy moldings. Stairs branch into different wings. Too many doors. Most of them are locked.

  I left Viktor asleep upstairs because I felt restless. Now I walk the corridors without a destination. My steps are quiet against the floors. He’s safe. That should mean my part in this is done. I should feel relieved, but my chest feels hollow. I’m thinking about the hospital, the trailer, the life that probably already moved on without me. Someone else is likely sleeping in my bed. Everything I owned fit inside that metal box, and now it’s gone.

  My bare feet sink into the thick carpet when I reach the first floor. I pass a closed door, then another one left slightly ajar. I slow down. I shouldn't be opening doors that aren't mine. The last time I let curiosity win, I was traded like a piece of livestock to settle my father’s debt.