1. Dominik #2
The last one tries to crawl. I put a bullet through the back of his head and finish it.
For a moment, nothing moves except the idling engine. Ana stays where she is, frozen in place, the child still locked against her chest.
I step forward and keep my voice even. “Let’s move.”
She finally reacts. “You shouldn’t be here,” she snaps.
“Neither should you.” My gaze drops to the blade in her hand, streaked with blood and still wet. She must have caught the man she drove her knee into. Good.
She doesn’t lower it. I reach out and press her hand down anyway, gentle but unyielding, guiding it to her side. Her eyes flick to the child, then back to me.
“The alert went to you,” she says. Her chin lifts a fraction, like she’s bracing for me to lie.
I nod. “What were you thinking, that I’d burn the rest of my past to keep you safe?”
“That I could handle it,” she says, flat and unapologetic.
“You couldn’t.” Irritation slips into my voice before I can stop it. Did she think staying separate would keep us harder to track by the Bratva? If that was the plan, it failed.
I take a step toward her, then stop. “Can I see her?”
Ana shifts just enough. The girl’s face turns, her arms locked around Ana’s neck, eyes wide and fixed on me. She isn’t tear-streaked. Instead, her gaze is curious, watching me from beneath thick lashes.
I crouch to her level, my gun down. “It’s over,” I say. “No one’s touching you.”
Ana’s hold tightens. “You don’t get to say that.”
Fair. I don’t argue. Honestly, there’s no time, either. Sirens sound somewhere, closing by the minute.
I gesture toward the stairwell. “We need to move. Now.”
“I have a car,” she says.
“And you think it’s not rigged by now? We take mine.”
She hesitates for a beat, then nods and shifts the child higher on her hip without breaking stride. I take the lead as we exit, eyes sweeping corners, ears tuned for engines turning over or boots that don’t belong.
The girl keeps her face tucked into the curve of Ana’s neck, fingers twisted tightly in her braid. Ana murmurs to her, soft and steady, words meant to anchor her to something ahead, something simple and safe, a beach, a ball, plenty of fun in a place where this moment doesn’t exist.
Before we hit street level, I ping Denis. Denis pulls up moments later and parks his Lada at the curb. His eyes flick to Ana, then to the child. He reads the scene and says nothing.
I open the back door. “Get in.”
Ana pauses for half a second, then climbs in, the girl locked to her chest. I close the door and get in on the other side. Denis locks the doors and pulls out. We blend into the city traffic without a ripple.
Three streets out, I lean back just enough to check the side mirrors. When I do, the child is watching me. Her eyes are dark, the same shape as Ana’s, the same stubborn set to her mouth. I look for something else and Ana catches me. Her mouth tightens. “Don’t.”
I meet her gaze. “Did you access the account?”
“I tried. I didn’t take anything. Couldn’t.”
I don’t respond. I already know what that means. She lit herself up, and the kid with her.
Denis pulls onto a side street. I ask evenly, “What’s her name?”
Ana doesn’t answer right away. I glance back. The child is watching me again.
“Mila,” Ana finally says.
Something shifts in me. The name grounds her, strips away the distance.
“How old?” I ask.
“Four.”
She says it fast, which means she’s rehearsed the answer. “It doesn’t concern you,” she adds before I can look again.
That’s Ana’s code for telling me I’m not the father, but something about this refuses to sit right with me.
I don’t answer her, but I look at Mila once more.
Dark hair like Ana’s. Same eyes. Same mouth.
Nothing of Markov in the child’s face. Nothing that points anywhere else, either.
And if she’s four… that’s slightly young to match up to when we were…
dare I say together? My chest contracts at the thought of someone else’s hands on Ana, but I say nothing.
That doesn’t settle anything. It just keeps the question open.
I don’t say much else. The road narrows. Denis drives faster than I would here. We reach the river road and merge with traffic heading north. He changes lanes twice, then again, watching reflections, counting cars that stay too close.
“It’s clear for now,” he declares.
“Take us to Repino,” I say.
Denis swings toward Liteyny Bridge and pushes us over the Neva. We clear the embankments fast and head north, the city thinning into trees.
Ana shifts in the seat. “You should’ve stayed out.”
“So should you.”
Her mouth twists. “I didn’t have a choice.”
I don’t argue. The car fills with silence. After a minute, she says, “They’ll keep coming, and they’re going to try to kill you too.”
“I know.”
She studies me. “So, why’re you here?”
I hold her gaze. “Because they crossed a line.”
Because I haven’t stopped wanting you. I buried that part of myself, and now you’re digging it up.
More silence.
Then, “She doesn’t know who you are.”
“I figured.”
“She just knows she’s safe with me.”
“I’m not asking for more than that.”
“But you’re not walking away, either.”
I grip her hand tightly. “You’re not alone anymore,” I say. “That changes things.”
She turns her face to the window. Her voice drops. “I was never alone. I was hiding. That’s not the same.”
She shifts slightly, the weight of Mila pressing between us. Her voice softens. “You could’ve let them take me.”
I glance at her, slow and direct. “No.”
She doesn’t speak after that.
We reach the safehouse by nightfall. It’s a dacha, old bones with a reinforced frame, set back from the road behind a rusted gate and two acres of peace.
The cameras are looped. The windows are narrow.
Inside, everything is spare and practical, clean walls, locked drawers, and enough space to think without being watched.
Denis parks in the garage, kills the engine, and looks back once. “Call if you need me.”
I nod. He doesn’t wait. The gate slides shut behind him.
Ana moves across the cobblestone path like her legs have finally caught up with her. The adrenaline is gone. Mila is asleep in her arms now. I check the back room and pull the old cot from storage, close to the ground, basic but clean, with a mattress, fresh sheet, and a soft pillow. It’ll do.
Ana lays Mila down and tucks the blanket around her, her fingers lingering for a while. Then she straightens and joins me in the kitchen. She doesn’t ask if I want tea. So I make it. The kettle’s old, dented. The water takes time. I set down two chipped mugs. Neither of us reaches for them.
“We have twenty-four hours,” I say. “Maybe less.”
“To do what?”
“To decide what we want to do.”
“And if I don’t want to return to this life?”
I groan inwardly. She’s just as stubborn as she used to be. “You don’t get a choice.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“They flagged you. You triggered Markov’s vault and anything tied to it.”
“And Mila.”
I nod once.
“They’ll come for both.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Then we fight.”
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You don’t win against the Bratva in a street fight.”
“Then how?”
I wait a beat, let the weight of it sit. She stares at me like she already knows she won’t like the answer.
Finally, I say it.
“We make it legal.”
Her brows pull tight. “Legal?”
“You marry me.”