Chapter 14
Sage burned Sergei’s nostrils as he stepped into the Little Havana botanica, boots crunching herbs on worn floorboards. Keisha’s hand tightened in his, warm against his scarred knuckles. Her trust still stunned him.
Shelves filled with candles, jars, dried herbs brushing his head. Air thick with rum, honey. “You okay?” Keisha asked, voice low, soft with concern.
Sergei nodded, throat tight.
“I had to come here,” she said, reading his silence. “Before we meet with Rivera.”
He glanced around.
“My mom loved this place,” she added, fingers flexing in his. “She always came here when shit got rough.”
He squeezed her hand, words failing. She’d taught him silence didn’t need blood. The clerk’s prayer beads clicked. She nodded at Keisha, recognition passing, then resumed her whispers.
Svetlana’s image flashed and his guilt felt less crushing now. Keisha made redemption real, not just atonement. Keisha tugged him past saint statues and red-tied herbs.
They stopped at an altar, candles dripping in prayer jars. Keisha released his hand, her absence sharp. “I came here with my mom,” she said, tracing the altar. “Post-diagnosis, before I was thrown into the system.”
Sergei watched, candlelight in her eyes, her hand’s tremor tied to memory, not epilepsy. He wanted to shield her, but ghosts needed facing.
“She believed in protection,” Keisha said, offering a cloth bag. “For you. For the hearing.”
He took it, avoiding her fingers, the bag rustling. “What’s this?”
“Insurance.” Her lips quirked, real. “For today.”
His throat caught. Her provided an official witness statement, risking her career and life.
“It ain’t about luck, Keisha,” he said, pocketing it. “I got you.”
Her eyes widened, surprise soft. “That’s almost sweet, Lisowski.”
“Almost,” he said, pulling her close, her breath warm on his chin. “Thanks.”
For trusting him, fighting with him, seeing worth in him. Her fingers curled into his jacket, holding tight. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, voice low. “Save it for when we’re free.”
The clerk’s prayers grew louder, Spanish or older, sage smoke curling. His skin itched underneath the bandage.
“You look ready to bolt,” Keisha said, light but serious. “Rethinking this?”
“You? Nah.” His truth raw. “Me being worth it? Every damn second.”
Her palm touch his cheek. “That’s my call, not yours.”
The bell chimed, Sergei tensing, scanning the entrance. An old woman with a cane nodded to the clerk, no threat.
“Rivera is waiting,” Keisha said, soft. “Let’s go.”
He inhaled sage, rum, her coconut scented hair, nodding. Her trust was his guide. Her hand found his, steady.
When they arrived downtown, they were led to a small conference room. Together. Sergei’s distrust rose even as Tomas Rivera stepped in.
Sergei’s chest tightened—Tomas’s visit meant news. “It’s done,” Tomas said, clipped. “Dmitri’s in custody. We raided at three this morning. Found enough evidence to support your claim and what’s on the flash drive.”
It felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. Dmitri, behind bars. Keisha’s hand dug into his, tremor faint, knees wobbling. Sergei shifted, steadying her subtly.
“Your evidence,” Tomas said to Keisha, “got us warrants. We found it all—adoption records, money trails, foster system comms. Six kids ready for ‘placement.’ The DA thinks this is a solid.”
Sergei exhaled. “What about the others?” he asked.
“Pavel’s locked up. We didn’t find any evidence there, but we have enough on him, too. Vera’s gone, but her network’s done.” Tomas flipped his notepad. “Now you, Lisowski.”
Sergei fought to remain relaxed.
“Your leniency hearing’s in a week,” Tomas said. “Judge Ortega is fair but tough. Your cooperation, plus the evidence we found... the DA’s pushing light charges.”
“Light ain’t none,” Keisha cut in.
Tomas sighed. “He used to be a part of Kryvaya Stal, Ms. Crawford. But his insider knowledge got us here.”
She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything that might hurt Sergei’s case. She’d built this case, risked all, stayed despite his past. Dmitri’s fall was hers. “I’ll be there,” she said. “I’ll have my statement ready.”
Rivera nodded. “Your rep helps.” To Sergei. “Tiana?”
“Safe,” Sergei promised.
“I assume you aren’t going to reveal her location?”
“Not until we know for certain, Sergei replied. “Tiana means everything to Keisha, therefore she’s invaluable to me.
Tomas tucked his notepad. “We’re all good here. Make sure you stay close. If you feel the urge to run, don’t. This is your only shot.”
Sergei’s voice failed him as Rivera left. Pavel and Dmitri were tied up, but his freedom hung on Keisha.
“Hey,” she said, tugging his hand. “We’re almost there.”
He nodded, raw. Her hand sparked against his.
“Thanks,” he said, weakly.
She straightened his collar, fingers brushing his neck. “Save it for next week. After we win.”
Her confidence steadied him.
“Let’s go,” she said, pulling him. “I’m starving.”
Sergei followed, her trust his compass, redemption closer than ever.
* * *
Unfortunately, a week flew by faster than he wanted. Sergei stepped down from the witness chair, feeling as if he’d been through another fight. He retook his seat making brief eye contact with Keisha.
“The court calls Keisha Crawford to the stand.”
She squeezed his hand before standing to make her way to the witness chair, her navy blazer sharp, eyes steady despite fatigue. Not that he’d slept much either. Today would determine if he faced a death sentence back home.
“Name for the record,” the stenographer said, keys poised.
“Keisha Crawford.”
The DA, wire-rimmed glasses, approached. “Ms. Crawford, your relationship with Sergei Lisowski?”
Her gaze flicked to Sergei. “I met him investigating foster placement scams. Thought he was part of it at first.”
Sergei’s hands twitched.
“Was Sergei Lisowski a part of the scams?” the DA asked.
“No,” Keisha said, “He’d made a clean break from Kryvaya Stal.”
Judge Ortega, silver-streaked, noted something. Sergei’s throat tightened.
“How did you and Mr. Lisowski come into contact with each other?” the DA asked.
“He found out that I was in danger because of my investigation and came to warn me.”
“Did Mr. Lisowski threaten you in any way?”
Keisha shook her head. “The exact opposite. He was concerned about my welfare because he knows how dangerous Kryvaya Stal is. Once he realized I wasn’t going to back down, he offered to help instead. He also helped to protect a teenager who was also in danger.”
“Did Mr. Lisowski help you with your investigation?”
“Yes.”
Sergei bit back a smile. His woman was smart. He knew her background as a social worker who’d had to testify in court cases meant she was prepared for today, but to see her in action made him proud...and hard.
The second thought made him shift in his seat. He needed to calm down. It wouldn’t do him any favors if he was called back to the witness chair and had to walk with a hard dick.
“How?” the DA asked.
“He gave me their structure, methods, record spots,” she said, hands folded. “All key to helping me know what to look for. It is the reason you have Pavel Orlov and Dmitri Kuznetsov in custody.”
“What about his past with Kryvaya Stal?” the DA asked.
“He told me he was an enforcer,” she said, no pause. “He’s been straight about it from the beginning.”
Judge Ortega looked up. “Why should I trust Mr. Lisowski’s change, Ms. Crawford?”
Keisha met the judge’s gaze head-on. “Sergei Lisowski risked his life for me and for a foster kid they targeted. He stayed when he could’ve run. His remorse shows in what he’s done, not said.”
Sergei’s chest burned, her belief too much.
“He found six additional kids set for illegal placement,” she said, stronger. “Gave drop points, safe houses, comms. Without him, kids would still be disappearing.”
The DA nodded. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Ortega eyed Sergei. “Your cooperation’s noted, Mr. Lisowski, but your past is tainted. You can not afford to make any mistakes. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said, voice rough.
“Ms. Crawford,” Ortega said, “you claim redemption on his behalf. What assurances can you offer that he’ll stay on this path?”
“I’ll oversee his community service with foster youth, if the court allows,” Keisha said. “Mr. Lisowski can serve as a role model to a lot of the youth on troubled paths. He can relate to them in ways that you and I can’t, which could prove to be valuable.”
Her voice twisted his gut, fragile yet real.
“Very well,” Ortega said. “Court in recess. We’ll resume in thirty minutes.”
The gavel jolted Sergei. The DA nodded, placing his papers back in his briefcase.
Keisha stepped down, shoulders relaxing as she neared him. Her hand brushed his.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied. “I just told the truth. Let’s see what comes of it.”
His chest burned, her hand too gentle for a man with his history.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “we put up a road block Kryvaya Stal never expected. Tiana’s safe. That’s what counts.”
He nodded, voice gone. She was right, but he wanted more—freedom, her. “Twenty-five minutes,” she said, glancing at the clock. “Then we know.”
Her presence soothed him, more than he’d dared hope.
When court resumed. He stepped before the judge.
“Mr. Lisowski,” he began, eyes scanning the papers, “the decision I’m making today isn’t taken lightly on my part, and it shouldn’t be on yours either. Based on the testimony and what the records show.”
Judge Ortega placed the paperwork aside.
“Your case presents a rare confluence of factors. Two years of unlawful presence after your visa expiration is no small matter. It’s a clear violation of the law.
Normally, that triggers a ten-year bar on reentry, and in proceedings like these, removal is the default.
You’ve accrued enough time to qualify for that bar, and frankly, most in your position don’t walk away without it biting them hard. ”
Sergei kept his face blank, hands relaxed at his side.
The judge gestured toward the papers. “You have a lot of people in your corner. The affidavits here contain Ms. Crawford’s testimony about your role in busting Kryvaya Stal, a letter of commendation on your work at the community center and clinic. ”
He clasped his hands together. “Your record shows model behavior. No criminal history since coming to the United States, steady contributions through your tattoo business, and credible witnesses attesting to your character. Because of this, under INA Section 240A(b), I’m granting cancellation of removal. ”
Relief hit Sergei like a fist to the gut, but he stayed still. He heard Keisha’s exhalation of relief behind him.
Judge Ortega leaned forward, tone sharpening.
“Don’t celebrate yet. This isn’t amnesty.
Your unlawful presence record stays on file permanently.
Future applications for citizenship or visa extensions will flag it, and any slip-up revokes the mercy I am exhibiting.
You’ll post a $10,000 bond within 30 days to ensure compliance; fail that, and removal restarts.
For the next year, report quarterly to USCIS.
This includes address changes, employment verification, the works.
No unauthorized work, no international travel without advance parole, which I’ll approve only for emergencies.
And if you leave the US voluntarily before your Visa renewal is processed?
That ten-year bar kicks in automatically. No waivers.”
He tapped his pen, eyes locking on his. “You’re getting a second chance because you’ve shown change, Mr. Lisowski. Don’t waste it. Final order issued—proceedings closed.”
The gavel cracked, echoing off the walls.
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Sergei continued to stand, legs steady but mind racing. Keisha slipped her hand into his as they exited the courthouse. A visa renewal. Freedom, but chained with scrutiny. One wrong move, and Kryvaya Stal’s ghosts could pull him under again.
“You’re quiet,” Keisha commented.
“Just thinking. I have something I want to show you.”
He led her to the car, noticing how different the air and sun felt. Even with danger still lurking, everything seemed lighter.
Keisha sat beside him, window cracked, breeze lifting her hair, hand resting on his thigh.
Calle Ocho’s faded storefronts looked different hope, fragile as a case note. He parked behind the parlor.
“Come on,” he said, killing the engine.
Inside, the smell of ink and antiseptic settled over him. Keisha was silent, eyes tracing his chair, ink bottles, Belarusian sketches.
“It feels different from the last time I was here,” she said, touching his work table.
Her tattoo was healed despite the insanity of recent events.
“It is,” he said.
Everything was.
He locked the door, bolt clicking, no need for exit scans. Keisha traced a phoenix sketch on his pad.
“You drew this,” she said.
“For you,” he admitted. “After the warehouse seizure.”
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
“Yes,” he said, chest tight. “It felt right.”
Her fingers traced his neck tattoo, prickling his skin. “What now?” she asked.
“It’s up to you,” he said, voice low. “I ain’t going nowhere.”
Her lips quirked. “Probation presents a little issue?”
“Not just that.” He caught her hand. “I want to stay. With you, if you’ll have me.”
Her other hand rested on his chest, over his wound. “I’m keeping my place,” she said, firm, gentle. “My job. Getting Tiana a new placement where she can thrive. My life doesn’t stop.”
“I wouldn’t want it to.”
Her fire drew him in.
“But I’ll stay,” she said. “Not ‘cause you need me, or I need you. ‘Cause I want to.”
His chest tightened with pain and joy.
I’ll stay,” she repeated.
He kissed her knuckles, wrist, elbow...each a vow. Cleo’s meow broke through, her odd eyes judging, purring as she wound around their legs.
Keisha laughed, stroking her. “Even she’s on board.”
“Took her long enough,” Sergei said, crouching. “Smart cat.”
“Some of us need time to be sure.”
Cleo purred as if in agreement.
Sergei brushed Keisha’s cheek. “You sure?”
She leaned into his touch, eyes closing. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Her certainty steadied him. “Thanks.”
“For what?” she asked, eyes direct.
“For staying. For seeing more than they made me.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “You were already more. I just reminded you.”
* * *
I hope you enjoyed reading Keisha and Sergei’s story.