Page 115 of Secret Heir

“Alexander threatened to kill my children!” I’m standing now, even though it means disturbing Daniel. He stirs but doesn’t wake. “I tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen!”

“Because you had no proof!” Nikolai snarls, his voice raised, and several people in the waiting room turn to look. “You still have no proof and it’s your word against my man’s.”

“Then how do you explain the bomb?” I ask, my voice trembling with fear and rage. “How do you explain someone trying to kill Maksim right after he started investigating Alexander?”

“I don’t know. But I know it’s not the elaborate conspiracy you’ve convinced yourself exists.” He looks at me with something close to disgust. “Stay out of my way. And stay away from my brother.”

He walks away before I can respond, leaving me standing there with my sleeping son in my arms and fury burning in my chest.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe if I’d never told Maksim, if I’d just stayed quiet like Alexander wanted, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

I shake my head. No. Alexander threatened me and my children. He would have come for us eventually, regardless of whether I talked or not.

This was always going to happen.

I just wish Len hadn’t been the one to pay the price.

Three more hours pass.

Daniel wakes up and asks if Maksim is okay before asking for water. I give him water from the fountain and tell him the doctors are still working.

My back is throbbing where the glass cut me, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except getting through the next minute, and the next, and the next.

Finally—finally—a doctor emerges. He’s in his sixties, with gray hair and kind eyes, and when he looks at me, he’s smiling slightly.

“Are you Maksim Sokolov’s family?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m—we’re his family.”

“The surgery was successful. Mr. Sokolov is stable.” He sits down beside me, and I nearly collapse with relief. “He had three broken ribs, extensive shrapnel wounds, and a concussion. We removed all the foreign objects we could find, stitched the lacerations, and stabilized the ribs. He’ll need several weeks of recovery, but he’s going to survive.”

“Can we see him?” I whisper, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

“He’s being moved to a private room now. Give the nurses about thirty minutes to get him settled, and then yes, you can see him.”

Thirty minutes feels like an eternity. Daniel is bouncing with nervous energy, asking questions every thirty seconds. Is Maks awake? Will he be okay? Can we bring him home today?

I answer as best I can, trying to keep my own anxiety from showing. When they finally let us in, I have to stop in the doorway for a moment. Because seeing him like this—pale, bandaged, and hooked up to monitors and IVs—makes it all real in a way it wasn’t before.

Maksim is in a hospital bed. Maksim, who’s always been so strong and invincible, is lying there looking small and broken.

But his eyes open when we enter and when he sees us, he smiles. “Hey.”

Daniel doesn’t wait for permission. He runs to the bed and tries to climb up, but a nurse moves to stop him and I step forward.

“Daniel, you can’t—” I start to say but I’m interrupted.

“Let him,” Maksim says hoarsely but firmly. “Please.”

The nurse hesitates then steps back.

Daniel climbs up carefully, mindful of all the wires and tubes, and presses his face against Maksim’s chest. “Thank you for not dying. You promised you wouldn’t leave us.”

Maksim’s arm without the IV comes up to hold his son. “I’m not going anywhere, solnyshko. I promise.”

“You got hurt.” Daniel is crying again, clutching his father. “There was so much blood and the car was on fire and I thought you were dead.”

“Shh, I’m okay. I’m right here. Feel my heartbeat?” Maksim presses Daniel’s hand to his chest. “I’m alive. I’m not leaving you, Danya.”