51. Vlad

CHAPTER 51

VLAD

The wheelchair creaks as Nico pushes me out of the hospital. The bright sunlight assaults my eyes, making me wince. It's been nearly a month since I've seen the outside world, confined to the plain walls inside my room.

I'm told I was in a coma for three weeks. There were some nurses who gave up on me. Nico never did.

He's been there since the moment I opened my eyes and he doesn't plan on leaving. That much I gathered.

"Why didn't you get me a pair of sunglasses?" I mutter under my breath, looking for Ivan. "Let's get the hell out of here." I'm tired of this place. I hate it. I don't want to ever come back. Hospitals are the worst. I know deep down I sound like a spoilt man child. So what?

"Easy, Vlad," Nico murmurs, patting my shoulder. His voice is abnormally soothing for a man of his station. "One step at a time. It'd be a shame if you made it through a coma and got run over by some ambulance in the parking lot."

"Apparently you still have that shitty sense of humor."

"Oh, it never went away, Hot Shot."

I can't see him but I can hear that damn, cocky smile. I imagine it on his face, imagine the tiny spiderwebs in the corners of his eyes. Imagine raking my fingers through his unruly hair.

The contrast between my usual strength and this... weakness... is jarring. My broken leg throbs under the cast. It's a constant reminder of my recklessness. And perhaps my age.

I still can't remember what happened right before the accident. That night is just... blank. Only certain thing is that I was emotional. More than usual. Over something that has no real meaning anymore.

Nico's hand squeezes my shoulder gently as if he just read my mind.

The care in his touch sends a wave of warmth through me. I spent most of my life being untouchable, impenetrable. Now, I'm as fragile as spun glass.

And I can't quite tell which one I like better. Not feeling at all or feeling everything at once.

When we reach my car, Ivan's already there, ready to help me, but Nico shoos him away and guides me inside with tenderness I'd never expect from someone like him.

That first night, he doesn't go back home. He runs his empire from my office between showers and meal prep with Costa handling errands for him outside.

More often than not, I'm struck by the domesticity of these scenes. This dangerous man, heir to a massive criminal empire, chopping vegetables in my kitchen. I wonder if he secretly took classes while I was out or if it's just something that has always been in his blood, and he finally has an opportunity to demonstrate all his hidden talents.

"You don't have to do all this," I say the first time I find him sporting an apron. "I have kitchen staff who can handle it."

Nico looks up, blue eyes meeting mine, just as intense as the night I met him. The chef's knife in his hand glints in the sun streaming from the windows. "I want to, Vlad. I said I'd take care of you and I mean it. Let me."

Something in my chest tightens. I'm not used to this. I've been serviced all my life. Yes. But not cared for.

I open my mouth to argue, but Nico silences me with a look. It's then that I realize—I'm no longer in control in this relationship. And for once, that doesn't terrify me.

I simply watch him move around my kitchen, humming softly in Italian, enjoying the feeling of the ice around my heart thawing away completely.

Later, when we're alone in my bathroom, I sit on the edge of the tub, my broken leg awkwardly extended, feeling exposed in more ways than one.

Nico adjusts the temperature. "Ready?"

I nod. He helps me maneuver, guiding me to sit on the shower chair. The hot water hits my skin and I hiss, muscles tensing.

"Too hot?" Nico's hand hovers over the faucet.

"No," I grunt. "It's good."

Nico's fingers glide over my skin, like feathers teasing the surface of a pond, as he reaches for the soap. My eyes drift shut, consumed by the intimacy woven into this fragile moment. I never pictured our first naked encounter post-reconciliation would be like this—a mosaic of awkwardness and exposure.

Self-doubt lingers in my mind: does he see me as I wish to be seen, even now when I'm far from perfect?

"Relax," he breathes softly, his voice comforting as he massages the soap until it froths. "Better me than Ivan."

The joke draws a laugh from me—unexpectedly light against the heaviness of the situation.

His hands move across my body with gentle efficiency. A shiver runs through me at his touch. I open my eyes to find him watching me, his gaze intense.

"This isn't how I pictured this," I admit.

Nico's lips quirk. "No? And how did you picture it, caro ?"

The pet name, spoken in that low, seductive tone, sends heat through me that has nothing to do with the shower. "With less medical equipment, for one." I knock at the edge of my cast I'm supposed to be getting off soon.

His own laugh echoes off the tile. "We'll get there."

And I believe him. I trust that every evening, as we sit on the terrace with glasses of iced tea and hopeful dreams of tomorrow, he means it. He will do everything in his power to fulfill his promises.

On one such night, after the cast is off and I feel emotional, I dare a question, "What are we doing here, Nicola?"

He shifts on the couch to face me, eyebrow raised, uncharacteristically hesitant. "What do you mean?"

I gesture between us. "This. Us. Can we... is this something real? Is this something we're going to try and fight for?"

Nico's expression softens. He reaches out, taking my hand in his. "It's as real as it gets, Vlad. And I'll fight for it us until my last breath."

There's a debate, right on the tip of my tongue. Because if this fight leads to his last breath, I don't want it. Now that both his cousins are out of the picture, he deserves a long, productive life. The kind of life his father or mother didn't get to live.

"We'll figure it out," Nico whispers, then pauses for a second and adds, "I have something for you." A glint of excitement appears in his eyes. "A gift. But we'll need to take a little trip to see it."

"A trip?" I frown. "Nico, I can barely make it to the bathroom without help."

He grins. "When you're better, of course."

"Can this gift be delivered to the doorstep?"

"Sadly, this gift is not easily transferred." He smirks. "Consider it motivation for your recovery."

"You're infuriating," I grumble, but I can't keep the smile from my face.

Nico leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "You love it."

And God help me, I think I do.

* * *

Ivan's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, catching mine for a second before returning to the road. Tension in the car is charged, like fireworks not truly celebrating any holiday.

Nico hasn't said anything since we left my place, but our fingers are intertwined.

I grip my cane tighter with my free hand. The cast is gone, but the memory of pain lingers. Each step is a cruel reminder of how close I came to losing everything. I hate it.

We drive for a good hour, leaving the city behind. All three of us are silent.

"We're here," Ivan announces, his accent thicker than usual.

The place where we arrive looks like a collection of several dilapidated structures. Nico helps me out of the vehicle and we start walking past the buildings and deeper into the shabby complex. There, there's an entrance to what looks like an underground bunker.

As if on cue, Costa emerges from around the corner.

"Gentlemen." He nods, unlocking a rusted door. His gaze drifts over to me. "Your package awaits, Mr. Solovey."

It all seems so well-orchestrated, like they've all been preparing this "gift" behind my back for a hot minute. But I go with the flow of the moment and follow the lead.

We descend into darkness, the air growing thick with the stench of old piss. My cane taps a slow rhythm on the concrete with each step I take. I don't like other people seeing me as less than capable, but I much rather use the cane than lean on Nico every chance I get. It makes me feel even more disabled.

The stairs end at the edge of the dark room.

Costa flips the switch and weak light illuminates the space.

And then I see him.

Shtyk. The boogeyman of my nightmares.

I stop breathing for several heartbeats. Catching him was of no importance while I was in the hospital. Ivan's orders were always simple in case something happened to me. Make sure Nico's life isn't threatened. Protect the club and the Hellhounds. Protect what matters. Forget everything else.

But now, this scum reduced to a battered shell of his former glory, is here. And I wait for excitement to come back. I wait for adrenaline. I wait for that feeling of accomplishment I always thought I'd experience when I finally catch up with the man. It doesn't come to me. Doesn't fill my blood with savage happiness.

"Solovey Junior," Shtyk croaks, managing a sneer despite his split lip. His golden tooth glints dully in the unflattering light, flashy and mocking, even here. "What brings you to my place?"

I take a step forward and lean heavily on my cane, suddenly grateful for its support. "I've come to end what you started," I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

Shtyk laughs, a wet, choking sound. "And how will you do that. With that stick of yours?"

I feel Nico tense beside me, ready to intervene. But this... this is something I need to face alone.

"Karma is a bitch." I step closer. Close enough to reach his face with my free hand but I don't want to soil myself with his blood. "Did no one ever tell you?"

Prideful defiance flickers in Shtyk's swollen eyes. "Your father, may his soul rest in peace, is probably turning in his grave right now." Shtyk spits at my shoes but misses by a small margin.

"I hope my father burns in hell. And you'll be joining him as soon as I'm finished with you."

"You're a fool, Vladimir," he says slowly in Russian. "Just like your mother was."

The world narrows to a pinpoint of rage. I don't realize what I'm doing until my cane connects with his jaw. Blood spills from his mouth and to the floor as his head lolls to the side.

Teeth clenched together, I extend my hand over to Ivan, palm up. I don't look at him. I don't ask for the gun. I don't have to. He already knows. He simply, even though he hesitates, places his firearm into my hand.

The weight of it steadies me as I level it at Shtyk's head. He stares back, stubborn even when death is knocking at his door.

"Go ahead, Junior," he taunts. "Do it… if you have the guts."

My finger tightens on the trigger. Years of pain and anger coalesce into this moment. One twitch and it's over. Justice. Vengeance. Release.

But as I stand on the edge of the abyss, my mother's voice whispers in my mind. Vladimir, my little bird. Don't let the darkness take you.

I blink, suddenly aware of Nico's presence behind me, a warmth in this cold place.

"You took everything from me," I tell Shtyk, my voice raw. "My mother. My innocence. My chance at a normal future."

Shtyk laughs again, blood dripping. "You don't have a normal future if you're a Solovey."

The gun wavers in my grip. I think of Nico, of the possibility of a life beyond vengeance. Of breaking free from this cycle of violence. "Watch me, asshole," I grit out. "It ends here and now."

As the gun visibly trembles in my hand, I feel Ivan's silent presence at my side. His eyes meet mine, a wordless understanding passing between us. Without a sound, he grabs the barrel of the gun to let me know he got it.

My grip tightens at first. Years of hatred and pain scream at me to finish this, to pull the trigger and end Shtyk's miserable life. But something else, something quieter yet more insistent, urges me to let go.

With a shuddering breath, I allow Ivan to take the gun from me. The weight lifts from my palm, and with it, a burden I've carried for far too long.

Ivan nods once, his face a mask of grim determination. He turns to Shtyk, raising the weapon with ease only a soldier can.

The gunshot echoes through the storage unit, unexpected and unannounced. I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut as Shtyk's body slumps in the chair. More blood drips to the floor at his feet.

Nico's hand finds mine, steady. "It's over, Vlad," he murmurs. "Come on. We better go."

I turn around and look at the staircase stretching upward. It seems like such a chore to climb it now with one good leg, but Nico is there, holding my elbow gently.

"One step at a time," he whispers.

We stumble out of the suffocating darkness, emerging into a world bathed in golden light. The sky stretches endlessly above us, a canvas of vibrant blue unmarred by clouds. I inhale deeply, the fresh air filling my lungs like a first breath.

"I never thought—" My voice cracks, and I realize I'm crying. Tears stream down my face, years of suppressed emotion finally breaking free. "I never thought I'd feel this... light."

Nico pulls me into his arms. His embrace is a sanctuary. "You're free now. We both are," he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. "My nightingale."

I don't let go. I can't. My body is wracked with sobs. But it's a good kind of crying. The past dissolves like mist in the sunlight, leaving only the promise of a future I never dared to imagine.

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