by Daiko, SC
I loved Zoe. She was the right woman for me. We were worlds apart, at first glance, but deep down we had so much in common, our love for Emma being paramount. Zoe would make a wonderful mother, to my daughter and the other children I hoped would come. She’d be my helpmate and my partner… unlike Nina.
Maybe I’d been lying to myself that the tragic circumstances of my ex-wife’s illness were all my fault? It had suited me to call myself evil, kept me from having to feel. Now Zoe had opened a floodgate of emotions inside me and I didn’t even want to build a dam to hold them back.
I watched her frolicking in the waves with Emma. From nowhere, a prickling sensation of foreboding came over me. Only the ocean breeze, Taras. You’re imagining things. With a shrug, I ran across the hot sand and threw myself into the surf.
I strode through the shallow water up to where Emma was standing, playing with a beach ball. “Would you mind if Zoe and I went out on a date tonight, myshka?” I looked her straight in the eye. “There are things we need to discuss, the two of us. Will you be okay here on your own with the Abramoviches?”
My daughter squealed; she literally squealed a squeal of pure happiness. “I don’t mind. I’ve been wanting you and Zoe to go out with each other for weeks.” She jumped up and down. “In any case, Valentin and Alyona are so cool. We’re getting on really well.”
We spent the rest of the day having fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so carefree. The fact that Semion would back me in taking down the Polombo gave me such confidence.
After a barbeque lunch by the pool, Semion and I played tennis while Zoe, Svetlana and the kids went out to a place famous for its chocolate-chip-cookie-vanilla-ice-cream-sandwiches.
When they returned, Emma insisted on giving Zoe a makeover before our date. I’d barely had a moment on my own with her all day, but I didn’t mind. We’d have all the time in the world for each other in the days, weeks and years to come.
I hoped.
What if Zoe turned me down?
I shelved the idea. Wouldn’t let myself entertain it.
I gasped in admiration when Zoe emerged from her bedroom. The clothes she’d bought for our stay here looked amazing on her, but the dress she was wearing now, an ivory-colored sleeveless maxi dress, was stunning beyond belief. I went up to her, took her hand, raised it and kissed it. “You’re so beautiful. I’m incredibly proud of you.”
She blushed and brushed a kiss to my lips. “Thank you.”
I’d made a reservation at an exclusive eighteenth-century inn in a secluded location, which boasted a fine dining restaurant. After making sure Emma was happy with the Abramoviches, we set off in my armor-plated SUV. It was a safer vehicle than my limo for driving away from home territory, its bullet-proof windscreen and windows completely secure. Oleg and Demyan climbed into the front. I sat with Zoe in the back and soon we arrived at our destination.
Oleg parked up in the driveway, no valet service here, and, without following procedure, Zoe opened her door and stepped onto the asphalt.
“Get back in the car,” I growled. “Wait for Demyan and Oleg to carry out a risk assessment.”
She whirled around and faced me, her eyes wide.
The roar of a motorcycle reverberated in my ears.
What the fuck?
A screech of brakes as the bike spun to a stop. The pillion rider raised his gun and fired.
Zoe staggered momentarily and fell forward.
I bellowed like an animal in pain.
“Get those bastards,” I yelled to my men.
Everything happened at once. I went to Zoe and Demyan and Oleg leapt from the car, guns firing. The bike skidded and toppled over. Both men lay in pools of blood while my men finished them off.
People had gathered on the steps of the inn. But no one came forward to help.
I got down on my knees next to the woman I loved. Blood gushed from a wound near her left eye, splattering my dress shirt, and more blood pooled behind her head. The smell of it made me want to vomit because it was her blood.
Oh God, she’d had her back to the shooter, and he’d shot her point-blank.
The fucking bullet must have gone right through her brain.
I touched my hand to her neck, felt for a pulse. It was there, but faint, and her breaths were shallow. I took off my shirt and wrapped it around her head to staunch the bleeding. I bent and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m here, rybka,” I choked on my hot salty tears. “Hang in there, please. I want you to marry me. Only you can make me whole.”
She can’t die.
She can’t leave Emma and me behind.
SHE FUCKING CAN’T!!!
Pain stabbed at my heart and I fought to hold myself together.
Think straight, Taras.
“Call Semion,” I shouted to Demyan. “Tell him what just happened.”
Within seconds, my right-hand-man was explaining Semion would phone the nearest hospital, where there was a Level 1 trauma unit, to tell them we were on our way. He’d also get his men to pick up the bodies of the shooter and his driver before the cops arrived, or deal with law enforcement if they got here beforehand.
Demyan lowered himself next to me, held out his arms to take Zoe.
“Keep your hands off her,” I snarled. “Go open the fucking door.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Gently, I lifted Zoe and placed her on the back seat; I knew she shouldn’t be moved, but every second that passed was crucial. If we waited for an ambulance, she would almost certainly die.
“Let’s go,” I barked. “Pay no attention if anyone gets in our way. Run them over if needed. We’ve got to get Zoe to the ER. No one matters but her.”
I crouched next to Zoe. My jacket was hanging inside the door. I rolled it into a makeshift pillow, and, remembering first aid training I’d received years ago, gently raised her head and shoulders so she wouldn’t suffocate on her own blood. With trembling fingers, I carefully brushed the hair back from her face, then pressed a kiss to her cold, unresponsive lips. “I love you, rybka,” I whispered. “I hope you know that.” A raw sob tore from my throat. “I should have told you before.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Taras
I stood at the window looking down at the hospital’s parking lot. Row upon row of cars their roof-tops gleaming under the silvery moonlight. On the horizon, a thin line of ocean, shimmering under the night sky. Had it only been this morning that Zoe had frolicked in the waves with Emma and me?
We’d been carefree. So happy. Looking forward to the future.
My shoulders curled over my blood-splattered chest. I wished with every ounce of my being that I could turn back the clock and make sure my little fish was fully aware of safety protocol.
All my fucking fault for not briefing her beforehand.
I hadn’t protected her well enough.
I’d failed her by putting her in this situation.
My vision blurred and I stared at my gold Rolex. Nearly midnight. I should call her family. It would be early morning in the UK, but I couldn’t face it yet. I was too distraught and would break down.
Once Zoe was out of surgery, I’d be able to fill them in better. Not much good in worrying them until I had all the facts at my disposal. There was nothing they could do anyway. She was in the hands of the neurosurgeon, who was fighting to save her life.
I paced up and down the pristine floor of the waiting room. I’d spoken to Semion earlier, and he’d said Emma was sleeping peacefully. There would be no point in waking her. Word was already out that the Polombo were behind the attack. I’d ranted down the line that I wanted to kill the sons of bitches. The fucking lot of them.
I called Mrs. Konin next, told her Oleg was on his way to take her to the Hamptons. I wanted her to be there in time to wake Emma up and tell her what had happened. Mrs. Konin had been shocked, of course, but she hadn’t said one word of reproach, for which I was grateful. I was also grateful to the Abramoviches for agreeing that Mrs.
K. could stay in Zoe’s room.
I heard the door to the waiting room swing open. Demyan entered without saying a word. He eyed my torso, then handed me a clean dress shirt. I muttered my thanks and took the item of clothing from him. I slipped it on, covering Zoe’s blood on my chest; I wouldn’t wash it off until I knew she’d pulled through.
She’s got to make it. Fucking got to.
The entire clusterfuck started to seem unreal, like a fucking nightmare. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping I’d wake up.
No chance.
“Can I get you anything else, Boss?” Demyan’s sorrowful eyes met mine. He too had come under Zoe’s spell and was hurting.
“Just leave me alone, please,” I gritted out. “Sorry, but I can’t…”
Can’t let anyone see me in this state.
The words caught in my throat.
Demyan nodded respectfully, left me to my own devices, and I was glad of that. My right-hand-man wouldn’t have been offended; he knew me through and through. Knew I had nothing to say that would have changed anything.
The tears ran down my cheeks, unseen.
I slammed my fist into the wall.
The fear that I would lose Zoe was building, my breathing had turned shallow and fast. I mustn’t submit to it, I told myself. I had to stay in control.
She’ll be all right. I know she will. She’s got to be alright. I’ve got the best surgeon working on her.
I stalked across the room to the window and stood there, staring at nothing.
* * *
Shortly after dawn, Dr. George Patterson, the chief neurosurgeon, came in. I spun away from the glass pane, my heart thudding.
“How is she?”
“Take a seat.” The gray-haired doctor looked exhausted, his expression serious. He pulled out a chair for himself, and I sat opposite.
“As you know,” he said, his weary eyes on mine, “the bullet entered the left side of the back of Zoe’s head and traveled through her brain, exiting through her forehead.”
I nodded, waited for him to continue.
“The wound would have been much more damaging had the bullet ricocheted off the inside of her skull, or if it had remained lodged in her brain matter where it could have migrated around.”
A tiny glimmer of hope. “Are you saying she’ll survive?”
He shook his head. “We can’t guarantee anything. The next seventy-two hours will be crucial. Fortunately, you knew what to do at the scene. By keeping her head raised and staunching the bleeding you gave your fiancée a better chance of surviving the trauma.” He shot me a reassuring smile. “We’ve performed an operation called a decompressive hemicraniotomy.”
I rocked my body forward. “Can you explain?”
“We removed a portion of her skull to allow room for Zoe’s brain to swell.”
“Jesus Christ,” I gasped.
“Brain swelling creates increased pressure inside the cranium,” Dr. Patterson reassured, “and if part of the bone is not removed the compression disrupts a vital differential between blood pressure and the pressure in the brain.”
He patted my hand, a fatherly gesture that brought a lump to my gullet. “When it comes to swelling,” he further clarified, “minutes count, and the fact that the pressure in her brain was relieved so quickly was essential. By getting her here so fast, you made a huge difference.”
“Thank you, doctor.” I shot him a glance. “What does this mean for Zoe?”
“Brain injuries are complex, and it’s too early to know definitively the extent to which your fiancée will ultimately be set back or if she can make a full recovery. But the next few days will be highly critical.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve put her in an induced coma to allow her brain to rest. Potentially dangerous brain swelling tends to maximize on the third day of injury, which will be this coming Tuesday. After that point, we hope her condition will begin to stabilize.”
“And if it doesn’t?” I heard the pain in my voice.
He looked downward. “Then we’ll have done everything we could for her.”
My muscles twisted with fear. “Please save her.”
He shot me a sympathetic look. “Zoe has received the best treatment she could possibly get, and we’ll continue to do everything we can to help her.”
“Can I see her?”
My voice sounded lost.
I was lost.
“Only for a short time.”
He took me to wash my hands, then led me into the trauma unit.
Zoe lay completely still, what I could see of her beautiful face almost as white as the sheets on the hospital cot. Her head was bandaged, a tube came out of her mouth and IVs connected her to various beeping machines.
I stood next to her and the world spun around me. My heart felt as if it was about to break into myriad pieces.
“You can talk to her, if you want,” Dr. Patterson said quietly.
My chest ached as I took her hand. “I’m so sorry, rybka.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “I want you to fight for me. And for Emma. We both love you and need you so much.” I bent and kissed her fingers, tears spilling from my eyes.
I no longer cared if anyone saw them.
Dr. Patterson ushered me out of the ward, saying I should go home, get some rest and come back later. The hospital would call me if the situation changed.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, torn between staying with Zoe and seeing Emma. Zoe didn’t know I was here, but Emma would be devastated. I needed to go to her and reassure her. First, though, I’d call Zoe’s parents, tell them I’d charter a plane for them.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said to the doctor.
I went to the restroom, my legs shaking, and ran to a toilet cubicle. Nausea overcame me and I vomited my guts out. Then I washed my tear-stained face, dried it with some paper towels, and took the elevator down to the hospital entrance. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it with trembling hands.
People walked past me while I smoked. I stood there, unprotected. A sitting duck for the Polombo.
They’d targeted Zoe to get at me, the fucking bastards.
I heard footsteps behind me, and I clenched my fists, ready to punch the living daylights out of whoever it was.
Demyan, my faithful protector, approached. “What’s the plan, Boss?”
“I will get my revenge,” I growled.
He barked out a mirthless laugh. “I’ve talked to the men. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”
My phone rang in my pocket, and I pulled it out.
Semion.
“Ready for a council of war?” he asked.
“More than ready,” I said through gritted teeth.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Taras
Semion offered to mount a twenty-four-hour guard outside the trauma unit, saying he’d square it with the law and the hospital. I thanked him; this was his territory and his decision. I disconnected the call and rubbed at my brow.
The entire situation was still unreal to me.
How could Zoe, always so vibrant and full of life, be lying inert as a corpse on that hospital cot?
I shook my head, tried to clear the heart-wrenching image from my mind.
She would recover. She fucking HAD to.
I turned to Demyan, standing next to me. “Once I’ve set off for the Abramoviches’, stay on guard outside the trauma unit until Semion’s men arrive.” I pressed my lips together. “When they get here, I want you to go to that warehouse and extract information from Justin Ward. I don’t care what you do to him. The cunting motherfucker is a lily-livered squealer. Find out where the Polombo hold their secret meetings, then finish him off.”
I tapped Oleg’s name on my cell, told him to come and pick me up. Then I paced up and down the area in front of the entrance to the hospital, scrolling through my contacts for Luke Addison’s number. With a heavy heart, I placed the call.
This was going to be fucking hard. If what had happened to Zoe had happened
to Emma, I’d want to kill the fucking bastard who’d put my daughter in such a dangerous situation.
“Luke Addison,” he said in a London accent. “Who’s calling?”
“Taras Melekhov.”
A brief silence.
“Why are you phoning?”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Zoe has been shot and…”
“Shot? What the hell are you on about?”
He sounded incredulous.
Of course, he was incredulous.
“She’s in the hospital,” I said as calmly as I could. It wouldn’t help matters if I fell apart now.
“What the fuck…?”
“A shooter fired a bullet in the back of her head.” There was no other way to say it.
“How?” The question sounded like a howl of pain.
“She opened the car door before my security had carried out a risk assessment,” my voice cracked. “It was my fault for not briefing her beforehand.”
“Oh God,” his breath caught on a sob. “I tried to persuade her to quit her job when I found out she was working for you. But she refused to come home. I should have boarded a plane and dragged her back myself.”
Zoe wouldn’t have gone with him. But I guess he already knew that, otherwise he would have done what he’d threatened.
“She’s stable and out of surgery,” I kept my tone level, explained the procedure she’d undergone, aiming to exude a sense of calm and focus.
Every now and again, Addison interrupted me with a query, which I tried to answer as well as I could. “She’s in the best hands,” I said finally, as if that would mitigate the horror. “But the next seventy-two hours will be critical.” I paused, gathered my thoughts. “Zoe is a fighter… she’ll pull through.”
I’d injected as much optimism as I could into those words.
“We’ll come right away,” Addison said.
I could hear other voices in the background. I guessed he was telling Zoe’s mother and their partner what had occurred.
