Chapter 32
32
ATLAS
I stood in the foyer of Dominion Hall, rain still dripping from my coat, the storm’s quiet eye holding the world in a fragile pause. Anna’s parents faced me—Alexey and Irina Peters—two figures carved from resilience, their eyes sharp with a wariness I recognized. It was the look of people who’d run from shadows and built a life over the cracks. I’d seen it in my own father’s face too many times.
The air smelled of wet stone and candle wax, the backup lights casting long shadows across the hardwood. My brothers lingered behind me, a wall of silent strength—Marcus, Ryker, the others—watching but not interfering. Anna stood a step to my left, her hand brushing mine, her breath uneven. She didn’t know what I was about to ask, but she trusted me.
“Mr. and Mrs. Peters,” I said, voice low but steady, cutting through the hum of the generator beneath our feet. “We need to talk. Now.”
Alexey’s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening like a man bracing for a fight he’d hoped to avoid. Irina’s hand slipped into his, her fingers curling tight, but her gaze didn’t waver. They were a unit, forged in something harder than most people ever faced. I respected that. Didn’t mean I’d back off.
I stepped closer, boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. “I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to protect you. But I can’t do that blind. I need the truth. What’s your connection to the U.S. government? To the CIA?”
Silence stretched, thick and heavy. Alexey’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, I thought he’d stonewall me—shut me out with that academic calm he wore like armor. Irina shifted, her free hand smoothing the edge of her shirt, a nervous tic she probably didn’t even notice. I waited. I was good at waiting. Good at reading the spaces between words.
Then Alexey exhaled, slow and deliberate, like he was letting go of something he’d held too long. “All right,” he said, voice quiet but firm, the faint trace of his Russian accent threading through. “You want the truth? I’ll give it to you.”
Anna’s breath hitched beside me. I didn’t look at her—couldn’t, not yet. My focus stayed on her father, every muscle in me coiled, ready for whatever came next.
“It started in Belgium,” he said, eyes drifting to some point beyond me, like he was seeing it again. “A conference. Computational neuroscience. Anna was barely a year old—still in Moscow with Irina’s mother while we traveled. I met American scientists there. Good men. Brilliant men. We talked over coffee, then beer, then late into the night. It wasn’t espionage or cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Just a working friendship. Ideas shared over bad hotel food.”
He paused, glancing at Irina. She nodded, a small encouragement, and he went on.
“Back in Russia, things were … tightening. After the Soviet collapse, everything was chaos—opportunity for some, a noose for others. I was a researcher, not a spy, but my work caught eyes. The wrong ones. Criminals, not government—men who saw profit in controlling minds, not just bodies. They pressed in. Made threats. Subtle at first, then not. I knew we couldn’t stay. Not with Anna so young. Not with what they might do.”
His voice hardened there, a flicker of the man who’d fought to keep his family whole. I understood that fight. Lived it every damn day.
“So I went to my American friends,” he continued. “Told them everything—our situation, the risks. They listened. And they acted. It was all above board, as much as these things can be. Russia’s intelligence was a mess then—fractured, distracted. We had a window, a narrow one, where we could slip out without raising flags all over Moscow. Thousands left in those years. We were just part of the swell.”
Irina’s hand tightened in his, her knuckles whitening. “We packed what we could carry,” she said softly. “Left the rest. My mother cried, but she understood. She told us to run and never look back.”
Alexey nodded. “The CIA was waiting on the other side. They didn’t care about my politics—I didn’t have any worth a damn. They wanted what I knew about Russian science, their systems, their minds. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. We made a deal. Citizenship. New names—Petrov became Peters. A position at MIT, close enough to Langley for day trips when they needed me. My research stayed mine, but it belonged to them, too. A fair trade, I thought. Still do.”
I absorbed it, piece by piece, letting it settle into the puzzle I’d been building since Pennington’s blood hit the floor. It fit—cleaner than I’d expected. No deep conspiracy, no double agents. Just a family running from one cage into another’s shadow. Smart. Practical. The kind of move I’d have made in their place.
“You ever hear of Department 77?” I asked, keeping my tone even, watching his face for any flicker.
Alexey frowned, lines deepening around his eyes. “No. Never. Not in my dealings with the CIA. Not after.”
“Think hard,” I pressed, stepping closer. “Anything—whispers, rumors, something that didn’t sit right?”
He shook his head, firm this time. “Nothing. My contacts were narrow—scientists, analysts, a handler who liked his coffee black and his meetings short. If this Department 77 exists, it’s beyond what I touched. But …” He hesitated, glancing at Irina, then back to me. “I could ask. If you need it. I still have names. People who’d remember me.”
I studied him, searching for a lie. Didn’t find one. His offer hung there, genuine but cautious, a man who’d learned to weigh every step. “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I said. “Hopefully my brothers and I can end this clean. For good.”
He nodded, slow and deliberate, like he was measuring me, too. “I hope so, Atlas. For all our sakes.”
The room went quiet then, the storm’s distant roar seeping back in, a reminder that the eye wouldn’t last forever. My brothers shifted behind me—Marcus crossing his arms, Ryker’s boots scuffing the floor—but they stayed silent. This was my moment, my fight. Anna’s hand brushed mine again, her fingers trembling just enough to pull my gaze to her. Her eyes were wide, green and searching, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. I felt her anyway—her trust, her fear, her everything.
I turned back to her parents, softening my voice, letting the edge bleed out of it. “There’s something else I need to say.”
Alexey raised an eyebrow, waiting. Irina tilted her head, curious but guarded.
I took a breath, steadying myself. This wasn’t war. This was something else—something I hadn’t done since I’d stood at that altar years ago. But this time, it was real. This time, it mattered.
“Anna means more to me than I’ve got words for,” I said, low and rough, the truth scraping its way out. “I was … broken, before her. Quiet in ways that weren’t just habit. Dark in ways I didn’t think anyone could touch. I’d built a life around walls—missions, my brothers, this house. That was enough. Until her.”
Irina’s eyes softened, a faint shimmer there she didn’t try to hide. Alexey stayed still, but his grip on her hand eased, like he was listening harder now.
“She walked into that dinner party,” I went on, “playing ‘Clair de Lune’ like it was my personal lifeline, and I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe right. She’s got this fire—this light—that cuts through everything I thought I was. Fixes things I didn’t know were broken. A hole in me I’d carried so long I forgot it was there. She filled it. Didn’t even try—just did.”
Anna’s breath caught, a small sound that hit me like a bullet. I didn’t look at her—couldn’t, or I’d lose the thread. I kept my eyes on her parents, letting them see me, all of me—the soldier, the monster, the man who’d kill for their daughter and die for her, too.
“I love her,” I said, plain and simple. “Fierce. Unconditional. The kind of love that doesn’t bend, doesn’t break. I’d burn this city down to keep her safe—yours, too, if it comes to it. And I need you to know that. Need you to see it.”
Irina pressed a hand to her mouth, tears slipping free now. Alexey’s face didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes—recognition, maybe, or respect. He’d heard vows before, I figured. Made them himself. He knew what they sounded like when they were real.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, my voice dropping lower, softer, but no less sure. “So, I’ve got one more thing to ask, Alexey. Irina. Not today, not tomorrow—when the time’s right, when she’s ready. If she’ll have me …” I paused, letting the weight settle. “Would you grant me the honor of marrying her? Of being your son?”
The words hung there, raw and unguarded, the most vulnerable I’d been since I’d walked out of that church years back, my heart in pieces. But this wasn’t that. This was Anna—my anchor, my war, my home. And I’d fight for her until my last breath, whether they said yes or not.
Alexey stared at me, long and hard, his eyes piercing through the dim light. Irina’s hand found his arm, squeezing gently, a silent conversation passing between them. My brothers didn’t move—didn’t breathe, it felt like. Anna’s fingers tightened around mine, her pulse racing against my skin.
Finally, Alexey spoke, voice steady but thick. “You’re a soldier, Atlas. A man who’s seen more than most. Done more. I see that in you. And I see what you’ve done for her—for us—already.”
He glanced at Irina, then back to me. “If Anna chooses you, if she wants this … you have my blessing. Our blessing. Because I believe you’ll protect her. Love her. Like we have.”
Irina nodded, tears still wet on her cheeks. “You’re a good man, Atlas. Fierce, yes. But good. And she deserves that.”
Relief hit me like a wave—quiet, deep, washing away something I hadn’t named. I nodded once, sharp and grateful. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Anna let out a soft sound—half sob, half laugh—and stepped into me, her arms wrapping around my waist. I pulled her close, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in—rain and warmth and everything I’d fought for tonight.
Outside, the wind picked up again, the storm’s second half stirring, ready to roar back to life. But in here, in this moment, it didn’t touch us. Not yet.
I’d walked into hell tonight—killed, bled, bargained with a snake like Kemper. But standing here, with Anna in my arms, her parents’ blessing ringing in my ears, I knew one thing for damn sure.
This was worth it.
Every cut, every shadow, every war I’d ever waged.
She was worth it.
And I’d spend the rest of my life proving it.