Chapter 39 Petyr
PETYR
It’s a clear, cool morning when I drive to the recovery facility.
The sun is bright but soft, the kind of light that makes the city look cleaner than it really is. The air carries that early chill that reminds me summer is done.
It’s been months since I last visited. Too long.
The building sits on a quiet street, surrounded by trimmed hedges and security gates. Not a place for ordinary patients. This is where people with names, money, and enemies go to disappear while they heal.
I park, take a breath, and step out.
The guilt hits before I even reach the door. I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve made time.
I tell myself that, every day since Dimitri’s awakening, there has been another fire to put out: Sima’s disappearance, the war with the Danilos, and now, the baby.
Excuses, all of them.
Still, I’ve been waiting for this moment. I’ve wanted to tell him. He deserves to know everything.
Inside, the air smells like disinfectant. I’ve grown to hate it. Every day I went into the hospital while Dimitri was still comatose, that fucking smell hit me. It’s the only thing I remember clearly from those days.
That, and the guilt.
A nurse leads me down the hall to the common room. My shoes are too loud against the tile.
Dimitri is sitting by the window when I walk in, engrossed in a chess match with an older resident. He’s thinner than I remember. Paler.
But awake. Alive.
That’s what matters.
His eyes shift toward me. I wonder if he’ll recognize me.
“Hey, Mitya,” I say quietly.
Dimitri blinks. I brace myself for the inevitable disappointment of his clouded state of mind. Kira’s been warning me, after all.
But then, against all expectations, his face breaks into a grin. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
His sudden cheer throws me for a loop. He looks so much like his older self, I can feel myself getting whiplash. Most of all, he clearly recognizes me.
I school my face and take the chair beside his bed. “You’re looking better.”
He lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough. “You fucking liar. I look like shit.” He turns to his playmate. “Don’t I look like shit, Igor?”
“Da.”
Dimitri’s voice floors me. Because it’s his voice. The one that used to fill every room he entered. Strong, booming. Still veiled by a hint of hoarseness, but otherwise instantly recognizable.
I force myself to shrug and act casual. “Maybe a little.”
I look hard at his face: the hollows under his eyes, the tremor in his hands when he reaches for his water. It hurts to see him like this. He was always the strong one. The leader. The one who never faltered.
But he’s way better off than I imagined, and I can’t help the rush of warmth that comes with that.
“I have news,” I say. “You’re an uncle.”
His brow furrows as he processes it. “Did Mikh get some poor girl pregnant?”
“Not Mikh.” I fight down a smirk. “I got married.”
“No shit.” His jaw practically wipes the floor. He pushes aside his chessboard—“Oh, fuck off, Igor!”—and stares at me like he’s trying to guess whether I’m fucking with him.
Tough shit. I’m not.
He must see it on my face. “You dog!” His arm claps onto my shoulders. It’s a little uncoordinated, the blow way too light, but it still lands. “When were you gonna tell me?”
“Technically, I did tell you.”
“Telling me while I was in a fucking coma doesn’t count.”
“Then I’ll tell you again.” I take Igor’s vacated place and settle across from him. “I’m married. My wife’s name is Sima. Yesterday, our little girl was born.”
“You’ve got a daughter.” I can hear the slight stammer in his speech, but frankly, it’s nothing compared to what I was expecting.
“Fuck you, man. You never do shit when I’m around.
Then I go to sleep for a couple of months, and suddenly, you’re a dad?
” He attempts a low whistle and fails. But the sentiment is there.
“I should get myself sniped more often.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“I’m the patient. I get to joke about my shit all I like. Ain’t that right, nurse?”
The nurse shakes her head at the door, but she’s fighting down a smile, too.
Typical Dimitri. Everywhere he goes, he’s a magnet. He commands the room. Even like this, everyone’s hanging onto his every word. Drives me fucking nuts.
Goddammit, I missed him.
“Well?” he demands. “How’s my niece?”
“She’s healthy.”
“That’s good, but I didn’t ask that.” He holds out his hand. “You’ve got pictures, I assume. All dads’ brains turn to mush when they’ve got a new baby to flaunt.”
“You think I’m a cliché?”
“No, but I know my brother. He likes to keep his treasures close.” His palm stays where it is, outstretched.
Wordlessly, I pull out my phone.
Dimitri’s face splits into another grin. “Attaboy.”
He scrolls unsteadily through my camera roll until he finds a picture of Sima and the baby, a selfie she took and sent me. The light hits them just right against the cream wall of the nursery.
My brother’s expression softens. “Look at that. You’ve got a family.”
Family. After the shootout, I didn’t think I’d ever have that in my life again.
But then Sima happened. Dimitri woke up. My baby girl was born.
I don’t believe in miracles, but my family feels like one.
“What did you call her?” He hands me back my phone. His grip seems shakier. Like he can’t hold up anything for longer than a couple of seconds at a time.
“Lilia.”
“Lilia.” His throat works. He looks out the window again, blinking fast. When he turns back, his eyes are wet. “Mom would have liked that.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think so, too.”
Dimitri sets the phone down on the table beside him. For a moment, he just sits there, breathing slow, eyes on the chessboard he abandoned. I can see the effort it takes to keep his hand steady.
“So,” I say, “how are you doing? Really.”
He shrugs, like the question barely matters. “Ups and downs. The doctors say I’m making progress, whatever that means.”
I raise a brow. “You don’t believe them?”
“Oh, I believe them,” he says. “I just don’t like how slow it feels.
But they keep telling me it’s normal. Brain needs time to rewire.
Muscles need time to remember.” He glances down at his legs, covered by a thin blanket.
“They make me walk every day now. I look like a drunk trying to find his car keys.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “I bet you still curse them out every time.”
“Every single time.” His grin returns. “They say it’s good for morale.”
“Yours or theirs?”
“Both.”
He takes a sip of water. The cup trembles in his grip. “You know what’s weird? Sometimes, I wake up and think I’m still in the hospital. I look around and wonder where the machines went. It takes a minute to realize I’m here.”
I nod. “That’s normal.”
“Yeah. So they tell me.” He pauses, eyes unfocused for a moment. “How long’s it been since you last came?”
I hesitate. I’m tempted to lie or make excuses, but I don’t. “A few months.”
“No way.”
“Unfortunately, way.”
“You shitty brother.” But there’s no heat in his words. “Oh, well. At least you showed up. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of my darling wife since I got stashed here with the retirees.”
My brow knits. “What do you mean?”
“Kira.” He looks at me like I’m the one whose brain needs rewiring. “Haven’t seen her in months.”
“That can’t be.” My frown deepens. “She’s here almost every day.”
He blinks at that, confused. “No, that’s… It’s been months, I’m telling you.”
That makes me go still.
This is it. What Kira warned me about. She told me Dimitri’s progress hasn’t been everything she wished for. I was letting the physical leaps and bounds he’s made blind me to the truth: that his mind isn’t what it used to be.
Dimitri looks away. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, like he wants to change the subject. “Time gets mixed up.” He forces a laugh, tries to downplay it. “Guess I’m not all the way back yet.”
“You’re getting there.” I say it with conviction. I need to believe it, too. “Don’t rush. Things will come back to you.”
His expression softens. “I’m glad you’re here, Petya. Next time, bring your wife and kid, yeah? I’d love to meet ‘em.”
“Will do.”
We relax into the quiet. The light shifts against the window, catches in the faint scars that run along his neck.
He’s stronger than I thought. Kira made it sound like he could barely stand without help. But he’s alert. Engaged. Making jokes.
Still, the way his gaze drifts worries me. The way he mixes up days, memories, visits.
He’s healing, but the road’s long. At least now, it’s a road he’s walking.
Finally, a nurse clears her throat next to us. “Visiting hours will be over in ten minutes, gentlemen.”
“Bummer. I’m afraid we’re gonna have to cut this short.” He rises unsteadily, with both palms flat on the table.
I watch him reach for a walker and fight the temptation to get it for him. This is still my older brother, and he’d fucking hate it if I showed him any pity.
Eventually, he gets to it. His clenched jaw eases with relief. “It was good to see you, brother. Next time, don’t be a stranger so long, yeah?”
“I won’t.” This time, I mean it. “See to it that you come home soon. So you can watch your niece learn to walk.”
“Maybe we can get there together, then.” His head jerks towards his walker. “Fucking hate this thing.”
“We’ll burn it once you’re done with it.”
“Hah! I like the sound of that. Can’t imagine it’ll be soon, though.”
“It will be.” I don’t let my tone falter. “The doctors will clear you, and you’ll be back before you know it.”
He smirks. “And deal with Kira again full-time? You sure that’s good for my health?”
“She loves you, you idiot.”
“I know.” He chuckles weakly. “I just like giving her a reason to yell.”
For a moment, I see my brother again. Whole, steady, sharp. The man he used to be.
It’s more than I expected. It’s Dimitri, my brother, alive.
It’s hope.