Page 95 of Obsessed Bratva King

Maxim and Dmitri exchange a glance, some silent conversation passing between them, then they both turn toward the door.

“We’ll leave you to recover,” Maxim says.

Dmitri just shakes his head as Veronica and Elena join him.

“Take care of her,” Elena says, pointing at Ivan. “Got it?”

He nods. “Of course.”

The door clicks shut behind them all.

And suddenly, we’re alone.

I turn back to Ivan, a thousand things on the tip of my tongue.

But before I can say a single word?—

He pulls me onto the bed, one strong arm tugging me against his side, careful but insistent.

I barely have time to brace myself before he shifts, his forehead pressing against mine, his fingers threading into my hair, sliding down my spine, settling at the base of my neck.

A shiver rolls through me, my entire body going still.

His voice is rough.

“I told you,” he murmurs. “You’re mine. And I never give up what’s mine.”

The exhaustion hits all at once.

His lips brush my forehead, slow, deliberate, and the tension that’s been living in my body for weeks finally starts to unravel.

“Rest, printsessa,” he murmurs against my skin.

I should argue. I should tell him he’s the one in a hospital bed, recovering from multiple gunshot wounds, that he should be the one resting. But I can’t find the energy to fight, not anymore.

Still, I try.

I tilt my head up slightly, my eyes half-lidded, heavy, but determined.

“I should be taking care of you.”

Ivan smirks, just a little, the amusement flickering in his tired blue eyes.

“You think I’ll let you lift a finger?”

He shifts, his fingers brushing through my hair, moving slowly, methodically, like he’s memorizing every strand. His other hand rests on my back, his thumb stroking in calming, steady circles.

I don’t respond, because I don’t need to.

The exhaustion pulls me deeper, dragging me toward sleep, but just as I start to drift, his voice cuts through the quiet.

“You’re safe now. We’re safe.”

I barely manage to tighten my grip on his shirt.

His breath is warm against my hair, his body solid beside mine.

“I’m glad you’re not going to Chicago,” I say quietly.

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