Gavriil (Stepanov Mafia)

It would just take time.

Chapter Twenty-One

Samantha

As soon as the car pulled up in front of the house, I threw open the back door and ran up the steps. The entryway looked as pristine as ever, the white marble shimmering in the moonlight coming through the window. I peeked into the kitchen and saw a few glasses sitting on the island, and a pair of Gavril’s shoes placed neatly next to the table, but otherwise, everything was in its place.

It felt bizarre. It would have been less strange if I’d walked in to find the entire house ransacked and everything tipped over onto the floor. My world felt like it had turned upside down, so I expected to see that reflected in the real world.

My expectations were met when I got upstairs. There was a bundle of bloody fabric sitting in the middle of the hallway, the white runner soaking up the red, and drops leaving a trail down the hall and into Gavril’s bedroom. I walked slowly, trying to prepare myself for what I was about to walk into. The men in the car had said Gavril was fine but had they only said that to keep me calm? Were they just trying to make sure they didn’t have to drive a hysterical woman twenty minutes across town?

I was standing outside the door, my open palm hovering in front of the wood, looking for the courage to push it open, when I heard a familiar voice cry out in pain from behind the door.

“I asked if you wanted any anesthesia.”

“And I said no,” Gavril said. “I don’t want to be whacked out of my head when Samantha shows up.”

“Does she know you were shot?” I was now able to place the second voice as Dr. Johnson.

“I’m not sure,” Gavril said before immediately crying out again. “Jesus Christ.”

“Forgive me,” Dr. Johnson said, his annoyance barely restrained. “But if you recall, I’m a gynecologist. I’m a little out of my depth here.”

“Relax. This is off the books. You don’t need to worry about a malpractice lawsuit from me. Just stitch me up.”

I smiled. Gavril was fine. He sounded more like himself than ever, and it gave me the courage I needed to push open the door. Gavril was sitting on my side of the bed with no shirt on. There was blood running down his side and staining the waistband of his jeans, but it looked old and dried. Dr. Johnson had cleaned a large circle with an alcohol swab and was in the middle of working a curved needle into Gavril’s flesh.

Gavril looked up when the door opened, startled, and then his face softened. He tried to move, but the doctor pushed him back down on the bed and shook his head.

“I’ll come to you,” I said, rounding the bed and crawling onto his side of it. I knew he was being stitched up, but I couldn’t stop from throwing myself onto him and burying my face in his chest.

His free arm wrapped around me, his hand landing low on my back. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Are you?”

I felt him nod too.

We stayed there, curled around one another, not talking until Dr. Johnson snipped the thread and packed up his bag.

“Keep it clean, go to the emergency room if either wound feels hot to the touch or hurts, and the stitches can come out in two weeks. Though, I suspect you’ll probably take them out yourself.”

“Most likely, yes,” Gavril said.

Dr. Johnson shook his head. “Never tell me what happened. The less I know, the better. Also, find a new doctor to call. I’m done taking your money.”

Gavril smiled as the doctor left the room.

I leaned over him to look at the raw wound on his side, held together with three black stitches. “What about the bullet?”

Gavril sat up and pointed to his back just three inches behind the entrance hole. “I thought the bullet went into me and didn’t come out, but as soon as I was able to clean the blood off, I realized it was a flesh wound. It nicked a rib, but otherwise, it was a clean in and out.”

I sighed. “Thank God.”

Then, without warning, I began to cry again.

Gavril laid back and cradled me on his chest again, smoothing back my hair. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

The admission shocked me, and I sat up again. I furrowed my brows. “That isn’t why I’m crying, Gav.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner. “Gav.”

Somehow, he managed to pull a smile out of me. It fell away just as soon as it appeared though.

“I don’t blame you for what happened to Devin. He brought it on himself. I’m crying because I can’t believe how close I came to losing you.”

Gavril reached out and grabbed my hand, running his thumb across my knuckles. “But you didn’t lose me. And I didn’t lose you. We are okay.”