Page 10 of Bribed & Bred By the BRATVA
I wake to a house that still feels like a held breath. For a second I forget the ring. Then light catches and throws a small shard across the ceiling. It lands on my chest like it’s revealing a truth I can’t hide from.
He kept his promise. That thought beats against my ribs as I dress in the clothes laid over the chair. Soft cotton. A cardigan that fits too well to be a guess. I don’t know how he knows my size. I don’t want to ask. A square of cotton is neatly folded on the bedside table with a little note on top of it.
“This is the last time I ever come without you.”
I drop the small card over the handkerchief. Curiosity tightens my stomach… is it? Could it be? I reach out to touch it, but pull my hand back when I hear a sound, my cheeks flushing with shame. No one comes in. I look back at the scrap of fabric wishing I knew what it meant.
The kitchen smells like fresh coffee and something warm. He is waiting, as if he always was, as if he never slept. A plate appears in front of me. Eggs. Toast. Fruit cut clean and bright.
“Eat,” he says.
I do. My body accepts this new order of things faster than my mind does. When I finish, he takes the keys and I follow him out to the waiting car. No driver today. Just me and Aleksei.Husband and wife.The thought nearly knocks me off my feet.The throb between my thighs a reminder of what we did last night, or a reminder of what I’m trying to force myself not to want.
The car is too quiet. His hand rests on my thigh, a weight that says mine without words. I could move it, but what’s the point?
The hospital smells the same. Disinfectant. Metal. Lives stacked in rooms with thin walls and drab curtains. The elevator is slow and hot; the kind of air that used to make me dizzy on long nights when I waited for doctors who didn’t have time for us. Today my legs don’t shake, having somehow found a new equilibrium since yesterday. My mind goes to the weight of the ring on my finger but I push the thought aside.
A nurse smiles the way people do when they have been told to. “He’s awake,” she says. “He is doing incredibly well.” The words are like water in a desert. I nod until I remember how to breathe.
Mateo is smaller than the bed and larger than life. There is color in his face where there wasn’t before. The lines of pain that made their home in the corners of his mouth have softened. His chest rises and falls. It rises and falls again. It keeps going. Strong and certain.
“Izzy,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Hey.”
I press my hands to my mouth because I am suddenly afraid that if I touch him, he will disappear. He smiles. A real one. Not the one he uses to make me feel better. I cross the room and take his fingers in both of mine.
“How do you feel?” My voice breaks on the second word.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” he says, and grins. “But also like I can breathe all the way. It feels weird. Good. Both.”
I laugh and cry at the same time. His skin is warm. His pulse is steady in his wrist where my fingers rest. For months I have beenlistening for that pulse in the dark, counting breaths, begging the air to stay inside him.
Behind me, Aleksei is a steady shape against the wall. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t leave either. I feel him like a hand between my shoulder blades, holding me upright. Part of me wants to hate him for that. A larger part of me is grateful enough to drown.
The doctor explains things I barely hear. Medication. Physiotherapy. The miracles they only perform when money fixes the math. I nod and try to keep my face from breaking. When he leaves, the room is just the three of us. My brother. Me. The man who changed the story.
Mateo’s gaze flicks past my shoulder. “Who is that?” he whispers.
“A friend,” I say. The lie comes easily and tastes like salt. “He helped.”
“Huh.” My brother studies Aleksei with the seriousness of a dog meeting thunder. “He looks scary.”
“He is,” I say, before I can stop myself. “But he does what he says and he keeps his promises.”
Mateo nods like he understands more than I meant him to. He squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Always.” The word is a promise I have been making my whole life. Saying it now no longer feels impossible. It feels like reality.
He gets tired quickly. When his eyes start to slide closed, I adjust the blanket and smooth the hair off his forehead with the same touch I used when he was little and ran fevers we could not afford medicine for. He relaxes into sleep.
I sit there longer than I need to, watching the monitor like it might change its mind. Aleksei doesn’t speak. When I finally stand, my knees are steady.
In the corridor, the world is louder. Nurses moving. Wheels squeaking. A baby crying somewhere far away. The elevator door closes and traps me with my reflection and his presence. I look at our faces in the metal, not side by side, not touching, and feel the truth settle inside of me, full and final.
“You did it,” I say.
“Yes,” he answers.
“You really did it.”
