Aria’s POV
Romeo hit the floor before anyone could catch him.
I lunged forward on instinct—he was still my brother, whatever else he was—but Romanov’s arm blocked me, solid as a gate slamming shut.
“Guards,” he barked, and two men were there instantly, hauling Romeo up between them while Romanov crouched to assess the damage with the cold detachment of a man used to seeing blood. “Get him cleaned up. I want him conscious and coherent in fifteen minutes.”
“Coherent?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “He can barely stand.”
“Then we’ll wait fourteen minutes,” Romanov said, without looking at me.
They half-carried Romeo down the hall, his blood smearing faint red across the marble, and I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself, feeling sick in a way I didn’t fully underst
