14. DARIA
Chapter fourteen
T he woods were eerily quiet. I moved slowly along the length of the trench line, methodically checking blind spots and scanning the horizon, listening for anything out of place. I couldn’t pick up any humming of drones, distant voices, or signs of patrols. Just the rustle of tree branches and the occasional chirp of nocturnal birds and bugs. After nearly an hour of careful surveillance, I was satisfied we were in the clear—for now.
When I returned to where I’d left Braxton, I crouched low and called softly, “Thorin.”
He stepped out of the shadows and reached up to help me down. Once I was on solid ground, I straightened and let out a slow breath.
“I didn’t see anything to worry about,” I said, yawning, tired beyond belief. “We should be safe for the night, but I’m not taking any chances. Keep your gear close and be ready to move if we have to.”
Braxton nodded, then gestured toward the corner of the trench. “Figured we’d need some cover.”
He’d stacked some large tree limbs and brush over one section of the corner, creating a makeshift screen. It was a good improvisation and blended in well enough.
I moved toward the covered area and was relieved to find that he’d set up camp with what little we had. The plastic sheeting was laid out on the ground, with the blanket stretched over it in a reasonably dry spot near the wall. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was better than sleeping on bare dirt.
“Not bad,” I muttered, easing down onto the blanket. My feet throbbed with every move I made, and I couldn’t wait to get off them for a while. God, how I wanted to take my boots off, but I felt it unwise to do so. I needed to be ready to go quickly in case we had to bug out of here.
Braxton sat beside me and handed me one of the water jugs. “You need to drink,” he said simply.
I took it, nodded my thanks, and swallowed a few gulps.
I was so tired, I longed to curl into a ball and disappear. The last thing I wanted to do was eat, but I had to. Braxton and I both needed whatever was left to get us through tomorrow until we could find a safe place—preferably a town several hours from here—and connect with his people. Based on what I’d heard at the prison, the whole world seemed to want to know Braxton’s whereabouts. As soon as he turned on his phone and made a call, everyone who had been searching for him would head straight for us in no time. I just had to make sure whoever found us was friendly to both of us. That put me in a tricky spot, since I was in a Russian uniform with military credentials that were easy to find. Hopefully, with Braxton by my side, they’d give me long enough to pull out the Ukrainian Special Intelligence Forces ID hidden under the insole of my boot.
I handed Braxton a packet of dried fruit and nuts and opened my own. A few bites later, I took a long sip of water. I caught him glancing at me as he ate. He wasn’t pushing for conversation; he was just…waiting. He was a patient man. Most people filled silence with nervous chatter, but not him. He was willing to give me space without making it uncomfortable.
Maybe it was the exhaustion or the fact that no one had ever really wanted to listen to me before, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“I’ve done things, you know…things I’m not proud of. I’ve had to follow orders, hurt people. There are many who have died by my hands. I guess you think I’m a monster…you being a healer and all.”
His chewing slowed, but he didn’t interrupt me. He just angled his body toward mine a bit and kept eye contact, letting me know he was listening.
“I thought I was doing what I had to,” I continued, my self-hatred rising to the surface and boiling over. “Survive. Obey. Climb the ranks. I told myself it was just a job and that I had no choice. But that doesn’t erase what I’ve done. I lost my humanity a long time ago.”
“You’ve been caught in circumstances that were beyond your control…since you were a little girl,” Braxton said gently. “You didn’t get a choice. You were surviving, like you said. And you’re risking everything now to help people—to help me. To do the right thing. That counts for something. A lot, actually. When you saw the world differently for the first time, you chose a different path.”
I shook my head, a humorless smile tugging at my lips. “You think it’s that simple? One good deed doesn’t erase years of being a tool for the Kremlin. I’ve seen too much blood spill. There are too many choices I can’t take back.”
“Maybe not,” he said firmly. “But you’re still here. You’re still fighting to make a difference.”
I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. His words were vexing because they made me want to believe him—to think I could be more than what I’d been shaped into.
“You don’t get it,” I whispered. “My father…he’s not just some powerful business executive. He’s Alexey Melnichenko.”
Braxton frowned, clearly not recognizing the name. I sighed; his world was so different from mine.
“Alexey Melnichenko is one of Russia’s most powerful oligarchs. He controls an energy empire worth billions of rubles in blood money, and he’s also the Pakhan—you know, the boss—of the Tambovskaya Bratva. He’s mafia, Braxton. Mafia, Kremlin, oligarchs—they’re all the same thing in Russia. My father doesn’t just have power; he controls people’s lives. He’s ruthless, cold, and doesn’t care who he destroys.”
Braxton’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait…your father is in the mafia, and he has close ties to the Kremlin? Now I’m getting it.” He whistled, shaking his head.
“More like one of Putin’s closest allies,” I muttered. “Putin uses men like my father to maintain control—just like my father used me. And you want to know the sick part? He killed my mother because she betrayed him without even realizing it.”
Braxton sat up straighter. “What? How?”
“She was a kind, hardworking person—a principal dancer for the Estonian National Ballet—you know, a prima ballerina. Too kind for someone married to a man like him,” I said softly, my throat tightening. “She made the mistake of befriending Valentina Volkov—Viktor Volkov’s wife. He is—or maybe I should say was —the Pakhan of the Volkovi Notchi. Rumor has it Viktor’s own son killed him and Valentina only a few weeks ago. Nikolai must be one ruthless bastard to kill his parents just for control.”
Braxton sucked in a breath, his face paling in abject shock. He obviously hadn’t had much contact with mafia types before.
“Yes. My mother gave Valentina information—innocent things she didn’t think mattered—but Viktor used it against my father. And my father…he couldn’t let that stand. He had her killed to send a message: no one betrays the Tambovskaya Bratva.” I swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that was clawing its way up my throat. “I learned real fast what happens to people who cross my father—the Kremlin machine.”
“Jesus, Daria…” Braxton whispered.
“Don’t,” I warned, flashing him a defensive glare. “Don’t pity me. I may hate the mafia and everything they stand for, but I accepted my role without question—out of ridiculous self-pity. I was part of it my whole life until a year ago…when I covertly entered a town not far from here to quietly assess how precisely some missiles had struck their intended targets. What I found was a mother holding her little girl to her chest…both dead on the sidewalk in front of a school. It could have just as easily been me and my mother.”
I exhaled sharply, curling my fingers into fists. “When I was young and being trained, at first I just wanted the affirmation—the feeling of pleasing someone and getting the reward. Then, as my classmates and I started taking on more challenges, it was the competition I craved, winning at any cost just to get that hit of praise, like some kind of addict chasing a high.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “And when they finally sent me on real assignments? The reality of life-and-death encounters sent adrenaline shooting up my spine. That became the new addiction—seeing how close I could get to dying while narrowly escaping getting caught. The danger was like a fucking drug. But even still, I wasn’t the type to waste time. I wanted to get in, get the job done, and get out. No discussions. No torture. No unnecessary bloodshed. I never sought to kill anyone.”
My throat tightened. “The act of killing was always a reminder that I’d become a monster my mother would have hated. But sometimes, it was shoot or get shot. Part of the job.”
I let out a slow breath, my voice dropping lower. “Once I was out of probation, it stopped being a thrill. It was just work. And I had built such an emotional wall around myself, it was like it wasn’t even me doing it. Like I was watching a James Bond movie and playing the lead role. Until that day…”
I swallowed hard, my lower lip trembling. I had to get this off my chest. “This war is so unjust, and the death of that mother and daughter…it broke me. The more time I spent inside Ukraine working amongst their people, the more I understood that Putin loves to lie as much as he loves spilling blood. Russia invaded a peaceful country purely because of one man’s greed. He doesn’t hesitate to commit war crimes himself, and he encourages his soldiers to rape women and little girls, to torture anyone they come across. They’re using phosphorus bombs on civilians, for God’s sake! Putin has no human decency and wants to destroy all democracies around the world. Break anyone who desires freedom,” I growled. A surge of raw admiration for the fierce, indomitable courage of the Ukrainian people and their unbreakable spirit I’d witnessed first hand ignited a fire deep in my chest.
“That bastard didn’t know what the Ukrainian people were really like though. They’ve stood tall and strong through it all, despite their homes, their hospitals, and their businesses being destroyed. They don’t falter in the face of Putin’s terrorism. And, Ukrainians don’t have to commit crimes against humanity to win. They only need for the US and Europe to keep their promises. They need to be admitted to NATO as soon as possible. They want their children to be raised in a country that’s free to choose its own leaders—a democracy. No longer will they tolerate suffering under an authoritarian dictator who rapes the land like his soldiers do innocent children.”
My breath shuddered as I forced back the tears burning at the edges of my vision. What I had to say next was going to take its toll on me, but he needed to know the truth—the full, unfiltered truth. I hadn’t just been part of the machine; I had oiled its gears, carried out its orders, never questioning the cost. It had taken this one particular mistake—one devastating, unforgivable mistake—to rip the blinders from my eyes. My fingers dug into my palm, the nails pressing hard against my skin as my heart pounded. I had been on the wrong side, and because of me, lots of people were dead.
“The ballistic missile that killed the mother and daughter—and who knows how many other innocent people—was sent at my command. I got the target wrong. Their deaths are on my hands, and nothing will ever change that.”
Braxton was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke. “You’ve been through hell, but you’re still standing, still fighting. That says a lot about who you really are. Yes, what you did was wrong. But what makes you different is that you have changed. You’ve dedicated your life to rectifying the atrocities you were a part of. It doesn’t make it right, and it’s something you’ll suffer with for the rest of your life, but you’re a soldier. Morality—right and wrong—they get twisted in the hands of those making the decisions.”
He inhaled deeply. “It makes me sick to say this, but in war, it’s your job to kill. You don’t have a say in the matter. Yet you found a way to alter your destiny. And in the bigger scheme of things, your defection has probably saved more lives than you ever took.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. I hadn’t cried since the day they lowered my mama’s casket into the ground. I let out a slow breath, unsure of how to respond. Not once since my mother died had anyone spoken to me like this—like I was more than a weapon or a pawn, like I mattered as a human being.
The silence between us thickened, the enormity of what I had disclosed settling like a fog. I stared at the water jug in my hands, running my thumb along its rough surface. It was strange—liberating but terrifying—to have told him so much. I wasn’t the kind of person who let people in. But there was something about Braxton that set me at ease. Maybe it was that, even after knowing what I’d done and acknowledging that it was horrific, he still believed I was worthy of redemption. He wasn’t shunning me; he didn’t think I was undeserving of a future.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve never told anyone any of that before,” I admitted softly. “No one. Not even my Ukrainian handlers. You’re the first to know the truth—about my father, my mother…all of it.”
Braxton leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes locked intently on mine. He gave a slight nod, silently signaling he was right there with me—listening, understanding, ready to shoulder the weight of whatever I might say next. He didn’t press me for more or offer empty reassurances. He just waited, letting me find the words at my own pace.
“Maybe it’s because I have no choice now,” I continued, letting out a bitter chuckle. “There’s no going back. The Russians will hunt me down. They’ll torture me, kill me. And after my Ukrainian handlers were killed the other night, I dragged Zelenko into that house you were hiding in, and…” My voice faltered. “Now I have no one. No plan. I’m lost.” I sighed. “Or maybe this is a chance to start over—find a new life in a new country.”
I picked at my nails. “Could you see me living a quiet life somewhere far away? Maybe on some island. An artist. A writer. Just me, some paints, and solitude.” I shook my head. The thought was laughable.
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Braxton said gently. “You protected me. You could’ve walked away—hell, it would’ve been easier—but you didn’t. Most people wouldn’t have had the nerve to do what you did. If anyone can start over and survive, it’s you.”
I studied him, his kindness making something ache inside me. God, how easy it was to open up to him. I wished I could find someone like him to share my life with someday—someone good, someone who saw more in me than just the scars of my past. But men like him didn’t belong in my world. They’d get swallowed whole.
I pushed the thought away and sighed, my mind circling back to Zelenko. “You know, Zelenko…he was my friend. A fellow double agent. And I still killed him.”
Braxton stiffened. His face instantly became shrouded in discomfort. He didn’t understand. Of course he wouldn’t. He wasn’t from this world.
“I had to,” I continued, my voice steady but hollow. “He was dying—bleeding out from wounds neither of us could save him from. You know that. You saw how bad he was. He would’ve suffered for hours. And if the Russians had found him alive, or even dead, they could’ve identified him using his fingerprints, his face… And that would’ve tied him to me and our remaining fellow agents; it could have possibly exposed every operation we worked on. He knew the risks. We all did. Giving him a quick death was a mercy. And yes, I blew up the house because I had to protect myself—but it was also for him.”
Braxton’s jaw tightened. He nodded slowly. The conflict was apparent in his eyes. He wanted to understand, but he wasn’t ready for this level of darkness.
The tension between us eased slightly, though it was clear he was still grappling with what I’d said. I didn’t blame him. Mercy killings weren’t exactly part of the Boy Scout code.
Braxton shook the bag of nuts absentmindedly as he stared past me, lost in thought. His eyes narrowed slightly—not in judgment but in deep thought, the golden flecks darkening in the dim light. I braced myself for whatever he would ask next.
Taking a slow breath, he rested his arm on his bent knee, draping his fingers loosely over it. “You’ve mentioned a rival Russian mafia syndicate—the Volkovi Notchi. What did your father want with them?”
My body went rigid. Hearing him speak that name made my stomach twist. “He wants them gone,” I said bluntly. “Out of Russia, out of his way. He’s already got moles in their organization—people with access to their finances. It’s only a matter of time before millions, if not billions, are siphoned from their accounts. My father wants to crush them financially, to strip them of any power they have left.”
Braxton’s brows drew tight, and he flinched slightly, nostrils flaring in silent reaction before he schooled his face into an unreadable calm expression. His reaction wasn’t subtle, and I frowned, wondering why talking about the Russian mafia made him so uneasy.
“But why?” he asked carefully.
“Because my father and Viktor Volkov were locked in a brutal power struggle their entire lives, and if there was one man he wanted dead more than anyone, it was Viktor. He was a threat. But now that Viktor’s dead, Alexey wants to make sure his children—Nikolai and Anastasia—never gain control of the organization. Apparently, they’ve turned their backs on Russia and prefer living in the US. My father sees that not only as a betrayal of our country but also as an opportunity. He’s obsessed with wiping them out completely.”
Braxton looked away from me. A worried frown appeared on his face as he slid his finger across his lip and rested his chin on his thumb in serious contemplation. Odd. Most people reacted with fear or disgust at the mention of mafia wars, but this…this was something else.
“You okay?” I asked, arching a brow.
He gave me a tight smile. “Yeah. Just…processing. That’s a lot to take in.”
I nodded. The world of mafia Bratvas was a dark place, and most civilians struggled to comprehend how profound the corruption was. “You learn to live with it,” I muttered.
Silence fell again as I leaned back against the trench wall. Braxton shifted closer and pulled me against him, wrapping his arm around me. My body relaxed in his embrace. I wasn’t used to anyone caring about my feelings, much less understanding me. And the way he looked at me—like I was more than my mistakes—made my heart squeeze.
“Hey,” he said softly, pulling me more tightly into his. “I want to help you, Daria, be there for you. I know we can figure this out. You’re not the unforgivable soul you’ve convinced yourself you are. You’re strong, powerful, and yeah, maybe a little terrifying, but you’ve got a heart in there, even if you don’t want to admit it.”
I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. I refused to cry. I couldn’t—not now, not in front of him. But damn it, his words were ripping my heart out.
I let out a slow breath and leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. Maybe, just for tonight, I could let myself believe him. Believe that I wasn’t beyond salvation. Believe that I was safe in his arms.