Dmitry woke to a dull ache in his side and the sterile scent of disinfectant lingering in the air. His vision cleared slowly, and he realized that the room around him was dimly lit, its cold white walls lined with medical equipment. He hated hospitals, hated the vulnerability that came with being in one. But this wasn't a hospital. The space was too discreet, too private, lacking the usual clamor of doctors and nurses.
As he stirred, his gaze landed on a figure sitting in the corner of the room. Alina Morozov sat with her legs crossed, her dark eyes scanning through a tablet, her expression neutral. She barely glanced at him as he shifted on the bed.
"You're awake again," she said without looking up, her voice even and detached. "Your body's been through a lot, but you're recovering well."
Dmitry forced himself upri
"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice low, demanding.
"Thirty-six hours," Alina replied, setting the tablet down on a nearby table. She approached him, her movements graceful yet efficient. "You lost a lot of blood. I had to perform emergency surgery to stop the internal bleeding."
Dmitry's eyes narrowed. He hated the thought of being at someone else's mercy, of being helpless for even a moment. The knowledge that she had seen him so weak, so vulnerable, stoked a fire of irritation within him.
"Where am I?" Dmitry's tone was cold, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the room.
"Safe house," Alina said, her voice still calm, but there was a hint of impatience there. "One of your men brought you here. I was called to tend to you."
Dmitry's jaw clenched. He didn't like this. He didn't like her—this woman who spoke to him as if he were just another patient, as if he weren't the most feared man in Moscow. And yet, there was something about her that intrigued him. He couldn't place it, but it gnawed at him, making him want to peel back the layers of her calm façade.
"Why were you the one called?" Dmitry asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Alina glanced at him, her eyes unreadable. "Because your usual doctor isn't around, and I'm one of the best."
"You speak as though you're proud of it."
"I am," Alina said bluntly. "I take pride in my work."
Dmitry smi
Alina didn't flinch, didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. "I treat people. Some are criminals, some aren't. I don't discriminate."
Dmitry's smile widened slightly. "How noble of you."
Alina didn't respond to his mocking tone. Instead, she checked the bandage on his side, her touch firm but not rough. Dmitry watched her, studying her face for any sign of fear or discomfort. But she was unreadable, her expression cool and professional.
"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Dmitry asked suddenly, his voice low and dangerous.
Alina met his gaze without hesitation. "Because fear doesn't help me do my job. And I don't let it control me."
Dmitry leaned back slightly, intrigued. Most people feared him instinctively, whether they knew him personally or only by reputation. Yet Alina... she was different. She didn't seem to care who he was or what he was capable of.
"You think you're untouchable?" Dmitry asked, his voice growing quieter, almost a whisper.
Alina's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "No one is untouchable, Mr. Ivanov. Not even you."
There was a long pause, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Dmitry could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken challenge that hung between them. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before—aloof, calm, and utterly unafraid.
"You're interesting, Doctor," Dmitry finally said, his voice laced with dark amusement. "But don't think for a second that means I trust you."
Alina gave a small shrug, stepping back from him. "I don't expect you to. I'm just here to do my job."
Dmitry's eyes narrowed again as he tried to decipher her. He knew there was more to her than what she was letting on, but for now, he was too weak to press further. His mind needed to focus on his enemies, on the betrayal that had nearly killed him. Whoever had orchestrated the attack was still out there, still a threat. And he needed to recover fast if he was going to take his revenge.
"How long until I'm back on my feet?" Dmitry asked, his voice all business now.
Alina glanced at his wound, her expression thoughtful. "A few days, at least. But you'll need to take it easy for a while after that. If you push yourself too hard, you'll tear the stitches and risk infection."
Dmitry's lips twisted into a sneer. "I don't have time for that. I need to get back to my men."
"If you don't give your body time to heal, you'll be useless to them," Alina said sharply, her tone firm. "You may think you're invincible, but even you have limits."
Dmitry bristled at her tone, but he couldn't argue with her logic. He needed to be at full strength to deal with his enemies. There was no point in rushing back to the battlefield only to collapse in the middle of it.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice tight. "But I don't plan on staying here longer than necessary."
"That's up to you," Alina said, her tone neutral once again. "But if you want to survive, I suggest you listen to me."
Dmitry's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, then he closed them, letting the exhaustion take over once more. He hated this—being weak, being reliant on someone else. But for now, he had no choice.
Alina stepped back from the bed, her expression unreadable as she watched him drift off to sleep. She knew Dmitry Ivanov was dangerous—perhaps one of the most dangerous men she'd ever encountered. But she wasn't afraid of him, not in the way most people would be. She'd faced worse demons in her past, ones that still haunted her even now. And compared to them, Dmitry was just another man trying to survive in a world filled with violence and darkness.
But as she left the room and closed the door behind her, Alina couldn't shake the feeling that Dmitry was more than just another patient. There was something about him, something that stirred a long-buried part of her soul—a part she had tried to bury deep in the past.
She couldn't afford to let it resurface. Not now. Not ever.