5. Dominik
DOMINIK
Icome back to myself in pieces. Her breath first, slow and even, warm against my neck. My hand rests at her waist. She’s half on top of me, hair loose, mouth slack with sleep. A faint crease stays between her brows, stubborn even in rest.
I ease my hand away and sit up without haste. The floor is cold under my feet. I reach for my shirt, then stop and listen, counting the space between her breaths. Whatever this bought us, it wasn’t peace.
I don’t wake her. I won’t be the one who steals the last stretch of stillness she gets. Padding into the kitchen, I gaze at the city outside before dawn. The streets are empty, the silence stretched thin. On any other morning, it might pass for sleep. Today, it feels alert.
My burner vibrates on the table. I pick it up on the first pulse.
I take it into the kitchen and close the door halfway. The screen lights my hands bright blue. The number is one I keep for bad hours. One man. One line.
I answer without speaking.
“You should know,” he says, no greeting. Gleb Sokolov, ex-military, old school, dry. “Your girl’s name is moving.”
“How?” I ask. I ignore ‘your girl’.
“Side channels. Committee chatter. Not formal yet.”
“Aligned with whom?”
“The council,” he says. “One faction is pushing hard to finalize her placement. They want it done quickly. Another is stalling. No one’s neutral.”
I picture the room, men seated, voices calm, hands still, reducing Ana’s life to a set of outcomes that fit their schedules.
“Timeline?” I say.
“Shortening,” he replies. “Funeral wasn’t an outlier. It was a test. You interfered.”
I don’t correct him.
“They’re talking remarriage,” he continues. “Sooner than planned. It will restore the board.”
“Restore the board with whom?” I say. I want names.
He gives me two. I file them away without comment.
“You’re exposed,” he adds. “Your presence is being read as an influence.”
“Good,” I say.
There’s a pause. “You keep pushing when you should be positioning. But you always did confuse pressure with leverage.”
“Keep your opinions to yourself,” I say. “Don’t comment on what you don’t understand.”
“Fine,” he replies. “It’s your rope. Pull it tight or let it slacken. Your choice. Just be careful.”
I end the call.
Think, I tell myself. I stand in the dark a moment longer. The plan forms fast. Routes first. Safe exits. Men who’ll answer, men who won’t. Places to disappear. Places to make a point.
I find a scrap of paper and write it all down. I’ve got a good memory, but a written list makes the shape clearer. I go over it three times until it sits tight in my brain.
In the kitchen, I flip on the gas stovetop and set the paper to flame. The edges curl, then blacken. Ash falls. I wash it down the drain and watch the swirl disappear.
I move back into the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips. The room still smells of her skin, heat, and a trace of risk that hasn’t left. Ana stirs but doesn’t wake. Her hand finds the sheet where I was and tightens.
I still don’t move.
I watch her instead. The faint bruise on her collarbone. The line of her mouth. The scar under her lip she never mentions. The marks of a life that learned to absorb impact and keep going.
I reach out and brush my knuckle along her wrist, just enough to feel her pulse. Strong and steady, alive. She won’t fall and I won’t let her. I pull my hand back and stand.
I brush my teeth and dress quietly. Shoes first, then yesterday’s shirt, given a quick shake.
The jacket follows. It’s black, broken in, easy.
I pull the Glock from the side table, check the slide, the mag, the chamber.
Then again. Once I’m satisfied, I place it in the holster at my hip, grip angled just right.
Then I grab the blade, grip scuffed from use, but perfect balance. It slides into my boot. Nothing extra, just what I trust. I take the chair by the window and sit as the sky begins to thin from black to gray.
Ana shifts, murmurs something I can’t make out. Then her eyes open. She takes in the room, the light, me sitting across from her like I never left. Her gaze hardens.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Early.”
She props herself on one elbow. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I did enough.”
She studies my face like she’s scanning for damage. “Something happened.”
“Something moved.”
Her jaw tightens. “The council.”
“Yes.”
She swings her legs over the side of the bed and reaches for her clothes. I stand before she can get the shirt over her head.
“Sit,” I say.
She freezes for half a second. She doesn’t like how it sounds. But she lowers herself back onto the bed, anyway.
“They’re debating you,” I say. “Not formally yet.”
“And you?” she replies. Her hands tremble just a little. It’s a small thing, but it’s there.
“And me.”
She scratches a dent in the parquet with her toenail. “Is this about yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Is this about remarriage?”
“Yes.” I don’t soften it. “We need to talk.”
“How fast?” she insists.
“Faster than yesterday.” I take a chair and sit in front of her.
“Look, Ana,” I say, “this isn’t just about a marriage deal.
There’s faction rivalry behind it, and someone high up is pushing this harder than tradition.
They’re not just trying to control you. They want your name folded into someone else’s and erased from the ledger. And they won’t stop at a warning.”
Ana shivers. “It’s cold,” she says.
I get up, grab the blanket, and drape it over her shoulders. She pulls it close but keeps her eyes on the floor.
I give her space.
She presses her hands to her face, rubs hard. When she looks up, her eyes are red.
“What will I do?” she asks. “I’ve got nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.” Her voice breaks.
She gets up and moves to the kitchen. I hear the jug scrape as she pours water into a glass.
When she comes back, she’s shaking less.
“I think you should go.”
“Go where?” I stare at her.
“Out,” she says, voice hard. “Out of my life.” Her eyes are too bright, lids pulled tight. Her hand slices through the air. “Just go.” Her voice cracks. “Anywhere you’ll be safe.”
“Ana.” I stand and catch her wrists, hold them against my chest. “Calm down.”
“Don’t you see?” she spits out. “You’re directly in their line of fire because of me.”
She falls silent after that. I should take the words at face value and walk out, let it end here. But I don’t move. Instinct tells me she isn’t done yet.
“You should’ve woken me,” she says after a while.
“You were resting,” I say.
“A luxury when danger sits right outside my door.” A corner of her mouth pulls down.
She looks at me hard, then says it flat and firm. “If Markov charged you with my protection, that ends now. As his wife, that’s mine to give or take.”
I pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her. It should be simple. A kiss. A promise. “You’re safe.” But she fights my hold like I’m the danger, not the shield. Her nails dig into the fabric of my jacket.
“Don’t,” she spits, evading my kiss, her voice flat and tight.
I stay still, just present.
“I don’t need you,” she says, each word clipped, aimed to cut. Her eyes flash, her face hot and twisted.
“Ana, hold yourself. You’re putting me in danger.”
“You think I’m what’s putting you in danger?” she snaps.
I don’t answer. I don’t pull away, either.
She shakes her head, breath coming fast. “I survived before you showed up. I’ll survive without you.”
Her body trembles, showing how much it costs her to say it. I let her pull at my jacket a moment longer, her hands stubborn against me, trying to break me.
When her fingers finally slow, I don’t let go. She presses her face to my chest and stays there a long moment.
At last, she looks up. “You’re not gone.”
“Not yet,” I say and ease her back onto the bed.
She places her hands between her legs and shakes out her legs. “Why?” she asks.
“Because it matters to me that I stay beside you.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You’re thinking about pulling out from the Bratva?” she says, trying to steady herself. But her teeth chatter.
“If I have to.”
I meet her eyes. “The council doesn’t get to decide what I do next.”
Her shoulders square. “That’s war. No one fights the council and walks away.”
“I’m not fighting it,” I say. “But if it comes for you, it faces me first.”
“That puts you in their line,” she says.
The room goes still around us. Ana reaches out and grips my sleeve.
“You don’t owe me this,” she says.
“I know.”
“You could walk.”
“Yes.”
She waits. I don’t rush it.
“Stay. Don't go,” she says.
“I won’t,” I say, holding her gaze. “Whatever comes next, it comes through me first.”
Her fingers tighten, not in relief, but as if it’s the only solid thing left.
“That’s a vow,” she says, her voice steady.
I shake my head once. “It’s a line.”
She nods, slow and certain, accepting it for what it is.
I know exactly what I’ve just done, and I don’t step back.