Page 33 of The Last Hope

He stopped in front of me, his towering frame looming over mine, the scent of his cologne—fresh, warm, with a hint of something sharp—filling my lungs.

He raised a hand toward my face, and instinctively, I flinched, closing my eyes and tensing. His fingers brushed against my chin, tracing the line of my jaw, tucking my hair behind my ear. His breath fanned across my forehead, making me shudder as I finally forced myself to look up, meeting his gaze.

His fingers traced the bruise on my cheek, then ghosted over the cut on my lip. His eyes lingered there before returning to mine.

“How long ?” he asked, still gently caressing my cheek with his knuckles. My lips trembled as his question forced memories to the surface—memories dark and painful.

I shook my head and tried to pull away, but his hand moved quickly, sliding around the back of my neck, holding me in place. His thumb stroked the side of my throat.

“No. Answer me,Solnyshko(Sunshine).”

I lifted my damp eyes, trying to steady my breath, “eight.” I whispered the word, my voice trembling.

He took a deep breath, leaning in closer until our noses almost touched. We held each other’s gaze for several long seconds before he tilted his head and brushed his lips against my bruised cheek.

I closed my eyes, inhaling shakily as my throat tightened. It was such a soft, tender gesture. One I had never received before.

He pulled back just enough to reach into a nearby drawer, retrieving a small tube.

“For the bruises on your face,” he said, showing it to me. I lifted a hand to take it, but he pulled it away.

“Let me.”

“I can do it myself,” I argued, trying again, but he shook his head and stepped back. “I know you can, Selina. But you don’t have to, not anymore.”

He moved forward again, caging me in against the counter with his hands resting on either side of me.

“You’re not alone anymore, Selina. You don’t have to fight alone.”

His eyes held mine, steady and certain. And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to believe in something, in him.

Nikolai

Selina looks at me for a few more seconds with those stunning green eyes, hesitant, before finally lowering her hand, abandoning her attempt to take the tube. I nod in satisfaction, uncap the cream, and squeeze a small amount onto the tip of my index finger.

“Don’t move,” I say, as she instinctively pulls her head back the closer my hand gets.

She presses her lips together and closes her eyes, staying still. She flinches when the cool cream touches her skin as I apply it to the bruise on her cheekbone.

My jaw tightens at the sight of the numerous marks on her face—and on her legs, particularly her calves. Pale scars stand outagainst her sun-kissed skin. I move to the cut on her cheek, which is already turning a deep purple.

She lets out a soft whimper, making me wince.Blayt’.

Finally, I reach her lips. Her eyes snap open, and fuck, this is worse than every bullet I’ve ever taken.

I finish applying the balm to her wound, her breath escaping from her slightly parted lips, brushing against my fingers.

“There,” I murmur, stepping back to put the tube away and wash my hands. “Thank you,” she exhales behind me.

I hear her footsteps retreat, but then they stop. I sense her hesitation—and, unfortunately, her fear—before she finally speaks.

“For how long ?” she asks softly. “For how long will I not have to fight alone?”

My fingers tighten against the marble countertop, my eyes staring blankly ahead.

I don’t answer. Not when the shadow of the Italians looms over my family. But then I hear it—a quiet sniffle.

And retreating footsteps. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I move.

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