Chapter 8 - The Price of Survival|
The third-floor suite was larger than my entire apartment in Brooklyn.
A king-sized bed with dark gray silk sheets, a stone fireplace crackling with warm flame, and a private balcony overlooking the roaring ocean.
Dr. Petrov—a sharp-eyed man in his fifties with a leather medical bag—had just finished wrapping a white pressure bandage around Dimitri’s torso.
Dimitri sat on the edge of a leather armchair, bare-chested, revealing a map of pale scars across his muscular back and ribs. He didn't flinch once as the doctor pulled a piece of silver shrapnel from his skin.
I stood near the fireplace, wearing a oversized black cashmere sweater and soft pants Irina had brought me. My wet hair hung in dark damp waves over my shoulders.
"He'll live," Dr. Petrov said, snapping his bag shut and looking over at me. "Though he should avoid jumping under tables for forty-eight hours."
"He didn't jump," I said quietly. "I pulled him."
The doctor paused, staring at me with newfound respect, before bowing his head to Dimitri and leaving the room, shutting the heavy oak door behind him.
Silence fell over the suite, broken only by the crackle of the hearth and the rain against the glass.
Dimitri stood up slowly, pulling a clean black shirt over his broad shoulders, buttoning it with steady, methodical fingers.
"Your landlord's name is Mr. Henderson," Dimitri said smoothly, walking over to a small bar in the corner.
I blinked. "How do you know that?"
"My men checked your public records while we were driving here," he replied, pouring two fingers of dark bourbon into a crystal glass. "You owe twelve hundred dollars in back rent. You have four hundred dollars in a savings account at Chase. Your mother died three years ago in a municipal care facility."
My cheeks burned with humiliation.
"You had no right to look at my life," I whispered, clutching my cashmere sleeves.
May you like
Dmitri walked over to me, stopping two feet away, holding out the crystal glass.
"I have every right to know who holds my life in her hands, Elena," he said softly. "You have no debt anymore. Henderson was paid ten thousand dollars twenty minutes ago. Your apartment lease has been canceled, and your belongings are being packed by my staff as we speak."
