The Red kiss - A Dark Mafia Romance

chapter nine

MAYA'S POV
My eyes widened in horror as I witnessed him vomiting blood, a sight that sent chills down my spine. Without wasting a moment, I dialled Uncle Kenji’s number, and he picked up immediately.

“Please, tell me you’re bringing a doctor,” I implored urgently, my voice quivering with concern.

“Of course, Yakuza’s plane never leaves without a doctor on-board,” he assured me, offering a glimmer of hope. Yakuza’s doctors were renowned for their skills, and I held onto that belief tightly. They had to save him. They must, or else I couldn’t fathom what I’d do to myself.

“Pakhan has broken ribs, and I fear he might have internal bleeding,” I continued, desperation in my voice.

“When I tried to give him water, he started puking blood.” Silence hung in the air for a moment, then Kenji abruptly ended the call.

“Fuck, you should have told me,” I scolded Pakhan, my fingers gently grazing his back, mindful of the painful whip’s bruises.

“That was Matthew, right? The one who did this to you?” I inquired through gritted teeth, my anger boiling over. He nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto mine, as if he saw me in a new light or had never been asked this before.

“I should have made his death painful,” I cursed, biting my lip—a habit I indulged in when grappling with the regret of choices made.

Kirill’s breathing grew increasingly erratic, and panic gripped my heart, threatening to stop it altogether. Hastily, I tore my t-shirt off, using it to gently wipe the blood from his trembling lips.

“Please, don’t you dare give up on me,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with desperation. His body felt heavier against me, as if he were leaning all of his weight onto my trembling frame. Slowly, I sank to my knees, cradling him tenderly, determined to shield him from even the slightest touch of the abrasive sand beneath us.

“Are you hearing me?” I whimpered, the waves of unfamiliar emotions crashing over me. It was a sensation I hadn’t experienced since the day I had discovered my family’s burned bodies, and now, it threatened to drown me. My breathing grew shallow and ragged. No, not now.

Please, not a panic attack.

My vision blurred, a shadowy darkness creeping across everything in sight. Still, I focused on Kirill. His eyes closed slowly, but what caught my attention was the faint, contented smile that graced his lips. It was as if he welcomed this fate, as if he was prepared to meet it with open arms.

Pulling him closer to my chest, I whispered urgently, “I’m going to get you home. Please, just don’t die.” My plea hung in the air, a desperate promise, before I succumbed to the encroaching darkness, praying that neither of us would be lost to it.

As I slowly stirred awake, I found myself cocooned in a comfortable bed, a warm blanket draped over my legs, and Uncle Kenji sitting beside me, holding my hand.

“Maya,” he sighed with visible relief, and I attempted to speak, but my throat protested with a dry, painful scratch.

“Here, drink some water. You’ve been out for a whole ten hours,” he said, offering me a glass of water. I eagerly downed the entire glass, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.

“Want some more?” he inquired, and I nodded in response. This time, I sipped it slowly, allowing my mind to piece together the fragmented memories that still felt hazy.

“You never mentioned you started having panic attacks at the sight of blood again,” Uncle Kenji remarked, his gaze piercing and stern. I felt a pang of defensiveness rise within me and I shook my head in response. Those episodes were from a different time, long before my training had even begun when they used to drag lifeless, bloodied bodies through the echoing halls.