Page 48 of Scarred Bratva King

She glances up, her eyes blazing. “Don’t flatter yourself, Maxim. You’re bleeding all over the place, and someone has to stop it. You should have gone to hospital.”

“They’d have asked too many questions.”

She finishes bandaging me, her hands still shaking slightly.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she mutters, sitting back on her heels.

“Doing what?”

“Putting yourself in danger. Not for me. I know you want him dead. I do too, but not if it costs you your life.”

I lean forward, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Listen to me,” I say. “You’re worth the risk, Veronica. Every damn bit of it. Marco won’t stop until someone stops him. And I’m not going to let him hurt you. Ever.”

Her lips part slightly, her breath hitching as she stares at me. “Why?” she whispers. “Why would you risk everything for me?”

“Because you’re mine,” I say without hesitation. The words come out rough but they feel right.

Her cheeks flush, and she blinks rapidly, trying to mask whatever emotion is flashing across her face. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

“So don’t say anything.”

She hesitates, then sits beside me on the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “You should rest,” she says, her voice shaky.

I nod, leaning back against the headboard. “So should you.” I take her hand in mine and she shuffles up, leaning against my side. I kiss her forehead, letting my eyes close. “Thank you for stitching me back up.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “I mean it though, don’t go getting yourself killed. Listen to your wife, she knows what she’s talking about.” She scowls at me. “Hang on.”

“What?”

“You have a medical team on standby to deal with me. Why not go to them to get stitched up if you don’t like hospitals?”

I wink. “Maybe because I wanted to check out my wife’s sewing skills.”

23

VERONICA

One week later…

The water wraps around my foot like a blanket, warmer than I expect but still sending a small shiver down my spine.

I hesitate at the edge of the shallow end, staring at the gentle ripples and forcing myself to take another step.

The fear still clings to me, a shadow I can’t quite shake, but I won’t let it win. Not today. I will get used to swimming again. I will beat this fear.

Across the pool, Maxim moves like the water is his natural habitat, each stroke deliberate and powerful. His movements are smooth and unhurried, his body cutting through the water with ease.

He pauses mid-lap and turns, his wet hair dripping as his dark eyes lock onto mine. There’s heat in that gaze, but also amusement.

“You coming in, or are you just here to watch?” His lips curve into that maddeningly smug smirk that he knows gets under my skin.

I roll my eyes, trying to mask the warmth rising to my cheeks. “I’m getting there,” I say, lifting my chin. “Not everyone was born a Russian shark, you know.”

“A shark?” He raises an eyebrow, pushing his wet hair back with one hand. The action is effortless, his muscles rippling in the light as if the movement is just for me. “I prefer lion, but I’ll take it.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, light and genuine. “Big words for someone about to get soaked.”

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