Throne of Power: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Throne Duet Book 1)
Throne of Power: Chapter 27

“Kyle!”

I run to him and drop to my knees beside his unconscious body, my heart hammering so loud I hear the pulse in my ears.

The chaos surrounding us, the gunshots, the whimpering sounds, the shouts in Russian—it all fades into the background. The only thing I can focus on is the man lying on the ground.

The man whose eyes are closed as blood soaks his shirt then oozes out of him at a frightening speed, as if life is abandoning him.

I place shaky fingers on the hole and press as hard as I can.

“Don’t go…don’t you dare go…” My voice chokes at the end, but I sniffle, focusing on my task.

He can’t leave, not anymore. He promised he’d stay. He fucking promised.

“Get Dr. Putin! Now!” I shout at the top of my lungs to anyone who can hear. I can’t replace the will to cut off my attention from Kyle. I feel like if I take my eyes off him even for a second, he’ll vanish into thin air.

Katia pulls herself from the front lines and nods, rushing to the entrance.

If it were up to me, I would take him to the hospital, but we don’t have that luxury in our world, not when every gunshot is reported and will sure as hell cause a ruckus later on.

The brotherhood has its own doctor who’s paid generously enough that he comes when asked to.

Ruslan stands beside me with his gun raised to protect me. “Do you want me to move him?”

“No. It could make his wound worse.” My breathing is deep, controlled, but it hints at being on the verge of a breakdown. “Give me your jacket and cover my back.”

Ruslan doesn’t hesitate as he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to me. I press it on Kyle’s chest, hard. I might not know what to do to save him, but I know the bleeding needs to stop.

With every passing second, his pulse decreases, and my heart rate picks up at a frightening speed as if it’s about to stop altogether.

The gunshots halt, but I don’t lift my head. I can’t.

“Rai!”

I meekly direct my gaze upward at the sound of my name. Sergei stands in front of me, frowning. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“No. I’m not leaving him.”

“We don’t know if there are other armed men. How are you going to help him if you’re hurt yourself?”

“I’m not leaving his side.”

Sergei shakes his head, but he orders his guards to form a circle around us even though there’s no more shooting.

“His pulse is weak and he’s lost so much blood.” My chin trembles. “What am I going to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do except press down and don’t release the cloth,” Sergei says. “Let Ruslan do it.”

“No.” The idea of leaving Kyle’s side, even for a moment, terrifies the fuck out of me. If I do, I will lose him, just like seven years ago—only this time, it will be for good.

This time, I won’t be able to hang on to the hope that he’ll come back.

I don’t know how long it takes for the doctor to come, but it’s long enough that Ruslan’s jacket is soaked in blood and Kyle’s pulse is almost non-existent.

I try to stay close by as Dr. Putin does his job, but Sergei forces me up to my shaky feet so I don’t get in the way.

My gaze keeps following the doctor’s movements with hawklike concentration. I’m vaguely aware of guards cleaning up the dining room and stern Russian commands from the elite group, especially Vlad. He orders two of Sergei’s guards to take Ana and the other women to another room.

Everything else is a blur. For a second, I’m not sure if this is a dream or reality. I can’t feel my own body or breaths.

It takes Dr. Putin a long time to get the bullet out of Kyle’s chest. I don’t look away from the gruesome scene, the needle cutting through Kyle’s skin and the blood that’s being transfused into his body.

I don’t even look away from the pool of blood surrounding him as if it’s his death bed.

Shaking my head internally, I continue watching the whole thing. It takes so long that Sergei grabs a chair and sits on it.

I don’t.

If I move even an inch, I’ll start hyperventilating.

Finally, Dr. Putin stands and addresses Sergei. “He lost a lot of blood, but he was lucky. If the gunshot was a little to the side, he wouldn’t have survived. He’s feverish, so it can be dangerous tonight. He needs constant monitoring until the fever disappears. I’ll prescribe antibiotics that he needs to take on time.”

Sergei thanks the doctor and tells one of his men to drive him back.

I snatch the prescription from the doctor’s hand and shove it into Katia’s. “Make it quick.”

“Yes, miss.” She nods and sprints out of the mansion.

Since the doctor told us how to safely move him, I order Ruslan and another of Sergei’s guards to place him on a tall coffee table then carry it upstairs.

I follow after, even though my feet are shaking. I stare at the blood on my hands, a deep, crimson red. His blood…Kyle’s.

As soon as I’m inside the room, I rush to the bathroom and yank the faucet on. I rub my trembling hands together over and over again and taste salt. That’s when I know tears are cascading down my cheeks.

I wipe them with the back of my hand, then wash my face before I come out of the bathroom with a wet towel.

Ruslan stays by the bed on which Kyle is lying. My husband is only in his pants after the doctor cut through his bloodied shirt. A bandage is wrapped around his chest and slung over his shoulder.

“Go help outside, Ruslan,” I manage to say. “And tell Katia to get in here as soon as she has the meds.”

“Yes, miss.”

With one last look at me, Ruslan leaves the room.

All the energy I used to remain standing abandons me. I fall to my knees at the side of the bed, then carefully wipe the blood that’s marring Kyle’s abs.

He shouldn’t be bleeding or hurt. He’s too professional and methodical for that.

And yet he is.

Because no matter how professional he is, Kyle is still human. Humans bleed and die.

Like he almost did today. His words from our wedding day rush back to me, the part where he told me not to wish to become a widow because that might come true sooner than expected.

I cup his jaw with my fingers and lean in to place a kiss on his lips, my shaking mouth lingering there for an extra second before I murmur, “You’re not allowed to leave again, asshole.”