My eyes drift to the other marks on his body, noting all the violence he’s survived. My heart once again races, wondering how long he can keep this up. But again, that isn’t a conversation for now. Today, I need to hold my shit together for him.
I apply antibiotic ointment, cover the wound with gauze, and secure the bandaging with tape. My fingers linger against his skin a moment longer than necessary, taking in this moment that he’s fine. He survived. He’ll live.
“There,” I say, stepping back. “All better.”
“Thank you,” he says, and I can hear the fatigue in his voice.
The exhaustion hits him now that the adrenaline has faded. I can see it in the slight droop of his shoulders, the heaviness of his eyelids.
“You should rest,” I say, packing away the medical supplies. “Do you need anything for the pain?”
“No.” But he moves toward the head of the bed.
I hesitate, unsure if I should reach out to help, but before I can decide, he’s settled himself in.
I leave the medical kit by his bedside table in case he needs a painkiller later. To my surprise, he scoots over. Our eyes connect, and he gives me a small, wary smile.
“I’m not sleepy,” he says, searching my eyes to see if I’ll accept his invitation for company. “Just tired.”
I nod with a smile and sit on the edge of the bed, facing him as he leans against the bedrest.
I reach out and place my hand over his. Surprise flashes across his face, and his eyes snap from mine to our hands before reaching back for mine.
“I’m glad you’re alright,” I say.
“Me too,” he sighs. “All thanks to you.”
I shake my head. “What happened tonight, anyway? Who was behind the attack?”
I’d been curious from the start, but I knew my questions could wait. Now seems like an okay time to ask.
Agafon stares at me for a moment, as though deciding if he should answer. I don’t push him. I simply let him think it through, knowing that Agafon has carried everyone’s worries for so damn long, that he finds it hard to share information. Instead, I simply squeeze his hand in support.
Then, he takes a deep breath before he begins to speak, but as he does, his eyes turn away from me, settling on our hands and looking distant as though he’s getting lost in his thoughts.
“The Sokolovs were responsible for what happened tonight,” he starts. “They’ve been old rivals of the family’s. They've been quiet for years, but apparently they've decided to... reassert themselves. Tonight, they wanted to steal a valuable shipment of arms.”
“I've heard the name,” I admit. My brothers occasionally mentioned the Sokolovs—another Bratva family. They were once powerful but are becoming weaker now due to reckless decisions.
“They've always been reckless. Unpredictable.” A look of worry crosses his eyes, as though he’s afraid of what trouble the Sokolovs might bring his way next.
I listen intently, my hand tightening around his without realizing it. He squeezes back, and what he says next leaves me shocked.
“Nikandr was involved with them, back in time.”
“Nikandr?” I can’t help but whisper out on hearing that name on Agafon’s lips. For so long, I tried to ask where he might be, waited for someone to say something, and what little information I received about him was through Katya and Tatiana.
Agafon, on the other hand, would bristle and grow angry at any chance a conversation could steer toward the topic of Nikandr. Hearing Agafon now divulge information about his brother, the man I once dated back in college, is not only surprising and shocking but also, in a strange way, a sign of progress between us.
“Involved how?” I ask, treading carefully, not wanting to scare him off from talking about Nikandr. He might realize he made a mistake; he might shut down.
Agafon’s gaze now fixes behind me, on the wall. I can tell he’s in some emotional pain and inch closer, letting go of his hand to gently rub up and down his arm in support.
“Nikandr...” Agafon's jaw tightens, his words carefully chosen. “Nikandr used to run with them. He started off as a customer, and we worried for him. We had to control him, so I made some decisions that might have led to where we are now. I... I refused to give him money, thinking he’d only buy drugs. Next thing we knew, he turned into a courier for the Sokolovs. We were furious, but he never listened. I should have seen the signs, but I thought he’d turn his life around as long as I stayed by his side. But he never did. He was getting into all forms of trouble and fights.”
I shift on the bed, unconsciously moving closer as his story unfolds. “What happened then?”
“What didn't happen? Fights. Overdoses. Disappearing for weeks. Showing up bloodied or worse.” His hands flex against the sheet. “I tried everything. Threats. Bribes. Rehabilitation centers. Nothing worked.”
