Chapter 14 Alina
ALINA
Iwoke up thinking it was going to be just another day.
I had no reason to think otherwise. I’d heard Sergei moving around in the kitchen, and I was pretty sure I’d heard him talking with Bog.
Just like they did every morning, I imagined they were having their coffee and planning out their day.
I took a few minutes to shower and put on some fresh clothes, then I went to join them.
I’d barely made it down the hall when I spotted a gift on the kitchen table. Sergei was leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk. I continued towards the table as I asked, “What’s this?”
“Something for you.”
“For me? Why? What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
My hands itched with curiosity as I stepped up to the table and started opening the package.
The paper gave way with a soft rip, revealing a sketch pad, a set of pencils, a leather-bound journal, and, of all things, a laptop.
For a moment, I just stood there, utterly confused.
The items looked so ordinary and simple, but together, they felt like an intimate treasure that was meant just for me.
Sergei stepped up beside me as he said, “I remembered you used to like to draw and write poetry. I thought they might help you pass the time.”
He was right. There was a time when I loved wasting hours away with sketching and writing poetry.
I was a moody teenager, and it was almost therapeutic to put my words and illustrations on paper.
It helped me make sense of a world that often felt too heavy and dark.
And when it grew too heavy and too dark, I set them aside, convincing myself that they had no place in a world like mine.
I blinked hard, trying my best to ease the sting at the corner of my eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“It was nothing.”
“Even if you didn’t mean it to be, it was much more than that.” I brushed my fingers over the smooth cover of the sketchpad. “Thank you, Sergei. It was very thoughtful of you.”
His gaze softened in a way that made my throat tighten. “Glad you like them.”
I was flipping through the pages of the journal when Sergei reached for the computer and said, “There is something you should see.”
“Oh?”
Without saying anything more, he opened the laptop and began typing away. A few seconds later, he turned the screen to me and started playing a video of a popular news station in New York.
There was a young reporter standing in front of a blackened shell of a house and smoke was billowing behind her.
It was difficult to see, but there was something oddly familiar about the area where she stood.
I dropped the journal on the table, and as if I was in some kind of trance, I leaned in closer.
The camera spun back, revealing the home behind the news reporter.
And just like that, my heart stopped beating.
It was my house. It was once a large, beautiful estate, and now, it was nothing more than mortar and ash.
I reached over and turned up the volume just in time to hear, “Trouble continues on the streets of New York. Another vicious attack occurred last night, and the remains of the estate leave little behind but questions. Sources confirm that Alek Morozov and his wife, Alina Morozov, are presumed dead, along with two of the Morozov guards who were on duty last night. Investigators are already pointing to a terrorist Albanian group as the likely culprits of the brutal attack.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t possible.
Alek seemed invincible and now he was dead.
And even more surprising, they believed I was dead right along with him.
I had no idea how any of this could’ve possibly happened, and then Sergei came up behind me.
And just like that, it all fell into place.
I turned and looked up at him, and his expression was completely unreadable as I asked, “Did you do this?”
He didn’t confirm or deny. He just kept his eyes trained on the computer screen and said, “You don’t have to worry about Alek anymore.”
It should’ve been a relief. I should’ve felt free and ready to claim my new life, but I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to go. Fearing Sergei might send me away, I asked, “What happens now?”
“That’s up to you.” Sergie looked down at me, and his expression was unreadable as he added, “You’re welcome to stay, or I can find you somewhere to go. Somewhere safe where no one would know who you are or where you’re from. You’d have a fresh start.”
After everything, after Alek and the fear and being told that I was basically dead to the world, Sergei was offering me freedom.
Real freedom. A chance to start a new life and put my past behind me.
I should’ve been excited by the thought, but the thought of being alone and starting over in some strange place terrified me more than I cared to admit.
“And if I stay?” The words came out in barely a whisper. “What does it mean for me?”
“It means whatever you want.” He didn’t smile or offer comfort of any kind, but there was something in his eyes that looked a little like hope. “I could help you build a new identity. A new name. New anything. A clean slate. You can be anything you want to be. You choose, and I’ll make it happen.”
His words settled over me like a promise, but it wasn’t just a simple promise. I had my freedom. It was there within reach, but so was the responsibility of shaping a future I hadn’t dared dream about until this very moment.
“I’ll have to change my name?”
“I’m afraid so.” Sergei’s eyes softened, but his tone stayed grounded.
“Alek might be gone, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear.
Men like him don’t die clean. They leave shadows.
Friends. Family. Followers. Enemies. There’s always a chance those shadows will come crawling back, and if they do, they’ll be looking for you. ”
“I understand.”
His eyes held mine, dark and unyielding. “Stay here or go. It doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure none of them touch you.”
“How will you do that?”
“Like I said, you’ll have a new name. A new license. Even a new social.”
“This is a lot.”
“Yes, it is. But we have time to figure it all out.” His answer was quick, like he understood the storm of thoughts that were rushing through my head. He let out a breath before closing the laptop and said, “I have to get to the casino.”
“Oh. Okay.”
My chest sank at the thought of him leaving. Before he had a chance to move, I reached up and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him. I thought he might resist, but instead, his arms came around me and pulled me in tight. I rested my head on his chest as I whispered, “Thank you.”
At first, he didn’t move, and I thought he might pull back. But he continued to hold me. Hard and fierce. Protective like steel. He wasn’t gentle. He held me as if the world was trying to rip me from his arms and he wasn’t going to allow it.
I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck, and when he inhaled a deep breath, it sent a shiver down my spine.
He wasn’t just hugging me. He was taking me in, and I was doing the same with him.
I felt safe in a way I never had before.
Not with any man. His touch wasn’t about possession or control.
It was about protecting me from a world that wanted to pull me under.
And God help me; I didn’t want to let go.
When Sergei finally pulled away, I felt the loss immediately.
It surprised me how much. It was like stepping out into the cold after being wrapped tight in a warm blanket, and it only grew colder when he grabbed his coat and walked out of the apartment.
I heard the door close behind him, and then, the silence came.
I didn’t move. I was still trying to process everything that had happened.
Alek was dead. I couldn’t believe it. While he had made my life a living hell for years, it was still such a shock to think he was actually gone.
That I was actually free. I wound my arms around myself, trying to hold onto the feeling of Sergei’s embrace, but it was already gone.
I let out a slight sigh, and Bog asked, “You okay over there?”
I gave him a small smile and shrugged. “I’m trying to be.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Everything will be okay. Sergei will make sure of it.”
I gave him a slight nod, then carried the gifts Sergei had given me into the living room.
Sergei had lit a fire in the stone hearth, and it was burning low, giving the room a soft glow.
I curled up on the couch and pulled a blanket over my legs.
I opened the journal to the first page and let my mind wander.
At first, I wrote simple things, like possible names I could use:
Samantha.
Regina.
Felicity.
Tabitha.
Amelia.
None of them felt right, so I started a second list:
Painting.
Writing.
Traveling.
Going back to school. (Maybe it’s too late.)
Cooking.
The words looked empty and almost silly. It looked like a list made by a girl who had no idea who she was. But ever so slowly, the list blurred into thoughts, and as one line fed into the next, I felt a part of me open that had been locked away for years.
I once had a heart full of light.
I dreamed in color and danced to music only I could hear.
I held my arms open wide and hoped for a future built on fairy tales.
One by one, those colors grew dim.
Each dream slipped away.
I believed the voices that said I wasn’t enough.
I learned to bow and to obey.
And piece by piece, the girl full of light withered away.
I was left to wonder if that girl was simply a ghost.
An illusion that was never meant to be.
Or did she still linger, deep within?
Was she still there, waiting for someone to pull her back into the light?
I stared at the words, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt a little lighter.
I couldn’t believe it. Getting the words on paper was actually kind of therapeutic.
It was almost like I’d taken some of the heaviness out of myself and pinned it on the paper, preventing it from swallowing me whole.