Chapter Thirty-Two
Aleksei
The gravel crunches beneath the tyres as the car rolls to a stop at the entrance of Blackwood Manor.
Through the tinted windows, I see Diana pacing on the front steps, her elegant figure taut with anticipation. She stops mid-stride when she spots the vehicle, one hand rising to her mouth.
Beside me in the backseat, my mother draws a sharp breath. “Is that…?”
“Diana,” I confirm, watching her eyes fill with tears.
It’s been a lifetime since they’ve seen each other. Diana was a child when our mother disappeared— still a girl with braces and dreams of becoming a concert pianist. Now she stands before us, a poised woman of thirty-five, successful and strong despite everything our father did to break her.
“She’s so beautiful,” Mama whispers, her fingers pressing against the window glass like a child longing for something in a shop display. “My little girl…”
I exit first, circling around to open her door.
She takes my offered hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her frail appearance.
The flight from Russia was exhausting— endless hours of tension and paperwork, bribes and threats ensuring our unhindered departure from a country that doesn’t easily release its prisoners.
My mother pauses as she steps from the car, taking in the sprawling estate before her. Blackwood Manor must seem impossibly grand after a lifetime in a prison cell— the manicured gardens, the symmetrical wings stretching like protective arms, the gleaming windows reflecting the late afternoon sun.
“This is where you live?” she asks, voice barely audible.
“ Da, Mamushka. It’s safe here.” I place my hand gently on her lower back, guiding her forward. “Diana’s waiting.”
We’ve taken only three steps when Diana breaks. With a sound that’s half sob, half her childhood name for our mother—“ Mamachka! ”—she rushes down the remaining steps. My mother’s legs seem to give way, and I steady her as emotion overwhelms her physical strength.
“My beautiful daughter,” Mama cries, arms outstretched. “My beautiful, beautiful girl.”
They collide in an embrace so fierce I step back, giving them space for this moment that belongs only to them.
Diana— my composed, controlled sister who rarely shows emotion— weeps openly, her face buried in our mother’s neck.
Our mother’s hands move constantly, touching Diana’s hair, her face, her shoulders, as if confirming her daughter’s solidity after two decades of separation.
“Let me look at you,” Mama says, pulling back to cup Diana’s face between her palms. “Oh, my dochen’ka . You have your grandmother’s eyes.”
Diana laughs through her tears. “That’s what you always said.”
“Because it’s true.” Mama brushes a strand of hair from Diana’s forehead with the same gentle gesture I remember from childhood— the one that always came before a kiss on the temple, a whispered word of encouragement.
I watch them, these two women who share the same delicate bone structure, the same graceful hands, the same resilience that allowed them to survive what would have broken others. Something tightens in my chest, and I’m surprised to find my own eyes watering. I blink hard.
Not now.
Keep it together, mudak.
All this time, we’ve believed her dead, fought off nightmares and rage and emptiness. And now she stands before us, older but unmistakably our mother.
“Is Vasya here too?” Mama asks, looking around hopefully.
“He’s flying in from St. Petersburg this week,” Diana answers, still holding Mama’s hands as if afraid she might disappear again. “He couldn’t believe it when Aleksei called. None of us could.”
My mother turns to me, her smile radiant despite the tears streaming down her face. “My children. All my children together again.”
The joy in her expression makes what comes next even more difficult. I hesitate, reluctant to shatter this perfect moment with the reality waiting inside. But she needs to know before we enter the house. Before she potentially encounters him .
“ Mama, ” I say carefully, “there’s something else you need to know.”
Her smile falters, eyes searching my face. She’s always been perceptive— able to read my expressions when others saw only a blank mask. Even after all the years, that hasn’t changed.
“What is it, Lyosha?”
Diana shoots me a warning glance, but there’s no gentle way to deliver this news.
“Father is here. In the manor,” I say simply.
The silence that follows is absolute. Mother’s face drains of color so rapidly that I step forward, concerned she might faint. Her fingers dig into Diana’s arm with sudden desperation.
“Rodion?” The whisper contains two decades of dread.
“He’s dying,” I continue, watching her closely. “He came here seeking… I don’t know. Forgiveness, perhaps. He’s the one who told me you were alive. That you were in Vostok.”
Mother’s legs give way completely. Diana and I catch her between us, guiding her to a nearby bench. Her breathing has become erratic, her hands trembling violently.
“No,” she gasps, “I can’t… I’m not ready…”
“You don’t have to see him,” Diana says quickly, kneeling before her. “Not ever, if you don’t want to.”
I crouch beside Diana, taking one of Mother’s shaking hands in mine. “The manor is large. Two separate wings. He’s confined to a guest room in the Left Wing, too weak to move much. You’ll stay in the Right Wing with me. He won’t come near you unless you allow it.”
Her eyes dart between us, wild with something I haven’t seen since childhood— the fear that preceded Father’s drunken rages, the fear that taught us to hide under beds and in closets.
“A lifetime,” she whispers. “A lifetime in Vostok because of him, because I threatened to expose…” She glances at Diana, something dark crossing her features before she falls silent.
I don’t press her to continue, but file away this partial revelation, adding it to the growing list of questions about why she was imprisoned. What the fuck did she threaten to expose? What secret was worth locking her away for what could have been a lifetime?
Makes my blood boil, just thinking about it.
“ Mama, ” I say firmly, regaining her attention. “Listen to me. You’re safe now. I promise you. No one will hurt you here— not Father, not anyone. Do you understand?”
She focuses on my face with visible effort. “You’re so like him,” she murmurs, touching my cheek. “The same face. But different eyes. Your eyes were always kind, even as a little boy.”
The comparison to my father stings, but I push past it. “The manor is secure. Guards at every entrance. You’ll have your own suite of rooms. Your own bathroom. Your own privacy. Father is dying— he has weeks, perhaps days. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Her breathing gradually steadies, though her hands continue to tremble. “I never thought I’d hear his name again without bars between us.”
“You don’t have to see him,” I repeat Diana’s words. “That’s your choice. Everything now is your choice.”
Diana takes Mama’s other hand. “Would you like to stay in the Right Wing with Aleksei? Or in my apartment in the Left Wing? It’s far from… from Father’s room.”
Mama looks between us, her expression clearing slightly as she processes the options.
“With you,” she says to Diana. “If that’s all right. I’ve missed so many years…”
“Of course it’s all right,” Diana says, voice breaking. “I’ve prepared the guest room next to mine. It gets the morning sun.”
I help my mother to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her waist. She’s steadier now, though the news about Father has clearly shaken her deeply. We guide her toward the entrance, moving slowly to accommodate her hesitant steps.
“You should rest,” I tell her. “Tomorrow, you can meet the rest of the family.”
She glances up sharply. “Rest of the family?”
“My son, Bobik,” I explain. “And my daughter, Polina. I told you about her.”
Wonder replaces fear in her expression. “Bobik? I have two grandchildren?”
“ Da, Mamushka, ” Diana says, smiling through fresh tears. “You’ll love them. And they’ll adore you, you’ll see.”
As we enter the foyer, Mama pauses again, taking in the soaring ceiling, the marble floors, the tasteful display of wealth and power. So different from the cold walls of Vostok.
“All this,” she murmurs, “and still he found us.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with decades of hurt.
I see the shadow of Vostok cross her face again— that haunted look I remember from childhood when Father would come home drunk.
My jaw tightens. Even my wealth, my strength, my carefully constructed empire couldn’t shield her from him.
The realization burns like acid in my gut.
“He can’t hurt you, Mamush, ” I say again, the promise solid as stone.
“Never again. I won’t allow it.” My voice drops lower, a dangerous edge sharpening each word.
The thought of that motherfucker laying a hand on her makes my blood run cold with fury.
I’ve spent years building my power, my world, precisely so no one I care about would ever be vulnerable again.
Diana’s eyes meet mine, and I see the shadow of our childhood reflected there— the sheer terror we both lived through, though she was spared the worst of it. My jaw tightens. No one touches what’s mine, especially not the man who taught me what true hatred feels like.
My mother turns to me, studying my face with the intensity I remember from childhood— the look that always made me feel she could see straight through to my soul.
“ Moy Lyosha, ” she says softly. “Always the protector. Even as a little boy.”
We continue toward the Left Wing, toward Diana’s apartment, toward the beginning of whatever comes next.
Mother walks between us, one hand in Diana’s, the other gripping my arm for support.
Each step seems to strengthen her, as if the physical distance from Russia— from Vostok, from the past— allows her to reclaim pieces of herself.
I watch her profile, noting the determination firming her jaw despite the fear still visible in her eyes.
The same determination I saw in the Vostok kitchen when she decided to leave with me.
The same determination that kept her alive for twenty years in that place.
Whatever secrets she carries— whatever caused my father to imprison her rather than simply divorce her— will come to light eventually. For now, it’s enough that she’s here. That she’s safe. That my sister has stopped crying for the first time since learning our mother is alive.
The rest can wait.