27. Zoya
ZOYA
T he abandoned metro station breathes cold air against my face as I descend the cracked concrete steps.
Water drips from somewhere in the darkness above, each drop echoing through the hollow space.
The fluorescent lights that once illuminated this place have long since died, leaving only the pale glow from my phone's flashlight to guide me deeper underground.
I hear him before I see him—the scrape of boots against debris, the sharp intake of breath that sounds familiar. When my light finds him, I freeze.
Damir stands beneath the arched tunnel entrance, and for a moment, I don't recognize the man in front of me.
His face has hollowed out, cheekbones sharp beneath skin that looks too pale, too thin.
Dark circles ring his eyes, and a fresh cut splits his lower lip.
His jacket hangs loose on his frame, and dried blood stains the collar.
This isn't the brother who used to bring me hot tea when I worked late counting money.
This isn't the man who promised to keep me safe.
"Zoya." His voice breaks on my name, and he steps forward. "You came."
I don't move. My hand grips the file folder against my chest, and I watch him approach with careful steps.
He moves differently now—wounded, wary, checking the shadows behind me as if expecting company, and though he may deserve it, I would never purposefully lead Maksim or any of his other enemies to him.
"You look terrible," I say.
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I've had better weeks." His gaze drops to the folder in my hands, then back to my face. "I'm sorry. For all of it. I never wanted you to get pulled into this."
"But I did get pulled in." I hold up the file. "Because of you."
His eyes flicker to the documents, then away. "Whatever they told you, whatever they showed you?—"
"They didn't tell me anything." I step closer, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. "They gave me proof."
I hold out the file, and he takes it with reluctant hands.
His fingers shake as he opens it, but he barely glances at the pages inside before snapping it shut.
He has no light, so it's not like he can see it down here, but he doesn't seem to want to know.
"This is forged. All of it. The Vetrovs are turning you against me, Zoya. They're using you to get to me."
"The payment trails are forged?" I ask. "The voice message where you order them to take me?"
Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of recognition, of guilt. His jaw tightens, and I see his hand drift toward his jacket. The movement is subtle, but I catch the glint of metal beneath the fabric.
My breath catches. "You're armed?"
"I have to be." He drops the file at his feet, papers scattering across the dirty concrete. "They're hunting me, Zoya. The Vetrovs want me dead, and they're using you to flush me out."
"Did you ever care about me?" The words tear out of my throat before I can stop them. "Or was I always just part of your plan?"
His face crumples. "It's not—it's not that simple."
"Yes or no, Damir." I step back, putting distance between us. "Did you ever care?"
He reaches for me, but I'm already moving. "Zoya, please?—"
The stairwell door explodes open above us.
"Zoya!" Maksim's voice cuts through the underground space with brutal authority. His boots pound down the steps, and I see the dark outline of his gun raised in front of him. "Get down!"
Damir's hand goes to his weapon, but I'm already throwing myself sideways. The rusted column is thick enough to shield me, and I slam against it as the first shot rings out. The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, bouncing off concrete walls and metal fixtures.
"You fucking bastard!" Damir's voice is raw with rage. "She's pregnant!"
Another shot. Then another. I press myself against the column, arms wrapped around my stomach, as bullets tear through the air above my head. Chips of concrete rain down, and I taste dust and fear in my mouth.
Two figures emerge from the shadows at the far end of the tunnel—Damir's men, guns already drawn. They race toward us, flanking Maksim as he advances down the platform. The muzzle flashes illuminate their faces in brief, violent bursts.
"Three of them," I whisper to myself, counting the shadows. "Three against one."
But Maksim doesn't hesitate. He moves forward through the gunfire, his own weapon steady in his hands. The first man goes down clean—a shot to the chest that drops him instantly. The second tries to dodge behind a support beam, but Maksim is already there.
The fight turns brutal in seconds. Maksim tackles the shooter into the concrete wall, and I hear the sickening crack of bone against stone.
The man's gun skitters across the floor, but Maksim doesn't give him a chance to recover.
His fist connects with the man's jaw, then again, then again.
Blood spatters the wall behind them. It's all so dark, but I trust what I see. Maksim's rage is out of control.
"Zoya!" Damir's voice is closer now. "We have to go!"
I look up to see him approaching my hiding spot, his gun still in his hand. His face is desperate, wild with panic. "Come with me. Now. Before he kills us both."
"No." I don't move from behind the column. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"He's Bratva!" Damir's voice cracks. "He'll use you until you're no good to him, then throw you away. Is that what you want for your child?"
"Better than what you had planned for me." My eyes flick toward Maksim, who's locked in a brawl with Damir's second goon.
His face goes white, and for a moment, he looks exactly his age—young, lost, broken. "I never meant for you to get hurt."
"But you did hurt me." I stand up slowly, keeping the column between us. "You sold me out. You gave them my location, my schedule, everything they needed to take me."
"I had to!" The desperation in his voice is raw, animal. "They would have killed both of us if I didn't cooperate. At least this way, you had a chance."
"A chance at what? Being murdered in a warehouse fire?"
His gun wavers in his hand. "I didn't know they were going to?—"
"You knew enough." I step out from behind the column, and he immediately raises his weapon. "You knew they wanted me dead."
"Put the gun down, Damir." Maksim's voice is cold, controlled. He stands at the other end of the platform, his own weapon trained on my brother. Blood drips from his split knuckles, and his shirt is torn, but his grip is steady.
"You don't get to tell me what to do," Damir snarls. "Not with my sister."
"She's not your sister anymore." Maksim takes a step forward. "She's my wife."
"A marriage you forced on her!"
"A marriage that saved her life" —another step— "from you."
Damir's face twists with rage. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know you're Karpin." Maksim's voice cuts through the space between them. "I know you've been working for them since the beginning. I know you set up the drug deal that killed our soldier."
"Prove it."
"I don't have to." Maksim nods toward the scattered papers at Damir's feet. "She already did."
My brother's gaze flickers to the documents, then back to Maksim. "Those are forged."
"The bank records? The phone logs? The witness testimony from your own contacts?" Maksim's voice is calm, deadly. "All of it forged?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you here, Damir?" I ask. "If you're innocent, why are you running?"
He turns to me, and I see the moment he breaks. His shoulders slump, and the gun in his hand drops a few inches. "Because I'm tired of lying to you."
The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy and final. I feel something inside my chest crack open—not surprise, exactly, but the confirmation of what I've known since I opened that file.
"How long?" I ask.
"Since the beginning." His voice is barely a whisper. "Since before you started working at the track. They approached me when I was seventeen, said they could make me rich if I helped them get inside the Bratva's operations."
"And me?"
"You weren't supposed to be part of it." His eyes fill with tears. "You were supposed to stay clean, stay out of it. But when you started working at the track, they said you could be useful. They said if I didn't use you, they'd find someone else who would."
"So you used me."
"I tried to protect you!" The words tear out of him. "I kept you away from the worst of it, gave you safe jobs, made sure you never saw anything that could get you killed."
"Except you almost did get me killed..." I step closer, and he flinches. "Or you tried to."
"I didn't know they were going to?—"
"Stop." I hold up my hand. "Just stop lying."
He looks at me for a long moment, then nods. "I knew. When they told me to give them your location, I knew what they were planning. But I thought… I thought if I warned you somehow, if I gave you a chance to run?—"
"You thought wrong."
"I know." His voice breaks completely now. "I know I did. But I was scared, Zoya. They said if I didn't cooperate, they'd kill both of us. At least this way, you had Maksim. He could protect you."
"He did protect me." I look back at Maksim, who hasn't moved from his position. "From you."
Damir's face crumples. "I never stopped loving you. Even when I was lying to you, even when I was using you, I never stopped being your brother."
"Yes, you did." My words march off my tongue in a single-file line like good soldiers going to war. I'm done being pushed around by him. "You stopped being my brother the moment you chose them over me."
He stares at me, and I see him realize that there's no coming back from this. No apology that will fix what he's broken. No explanation that will make me trust him again.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"I know."
He raises his gun again, but not toward me. Toward Maksim. "I can't let you take her."
"You don't have a choice."
"I'm her brother."
"And I'm her husband." Maksim's voice is ice. "Which means I'm the one who gets to decide what happens to the people who hurt her."
Damir's finger moves toward the trigger, but I'm already stepping between them. "No."
"Zoya, get back." Maksim's voice is sharp with command.
"No." I look at my brother, this broken man who used to bring me tea and promise to keep me safe. "He's not worth it."
"He tried to have you killed."
"I know." I don't take my eyes off Damir. "But I'm not going to let you kill him in front of me."
"He's Karpin," Maksim says. "He's a threat to the family. To you. And he killed Alexei."
"He's finished." I step closer to Damir, and he lowers his weapon. "Look at him. He's already dead."
It's true. Whatever fight was left in him has drained away, leaving behind a shell of the man who raised me. His face is gray, his hands shaking. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.
"You're right," he says quietly. "I am finished."
"Then walk away." I hold out my hand. "Give me the gun and walk away."
He stares at me for a long moment, then slowly places the weapon in my palm. The metal is warm from his grip, heavier than I expected. I hand it back to Maksim without looking.
"Where will you go?" I ask.
"I don't know." Damir wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Far away. Somewhere they can't find me."
"They'll find you," Maksim growls, but he's not shooting and for that I'm grateful. I'm shaking, terrified that any second, that boom of Maksim's weapon will sound and blood will pour out of my brother, but it doesn't come.
"I know."
He starts to turn away, then stops. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you chose him. He'll keep you safe."
"I didn't choose him because he'll keep me safe." I look back at Maksim, who's watching us with careful eyes. "I chose him because I love him."
Damir nods slowly. "I hope that's enough."
"It is."
He walks toward the far end of the platform, and every footstep sounds like a nail in a coffin. I watch him disappear into the shadows, and I know I'll never see him again. The brother I loved died years ago, replaced by this stranger who wore his face and spoke his name.
"We need to go," Maksim says. "His people will be looking for him."
I nod, but I don't move. Not yet. I stand in the abandoned metro station, surrounded by the debris of my old life, and I let myself grieve. Not for the man who just walked away, but for the brother I lost long before tonight.
"Zoya."
I turn to find Maksim beside me, his hand extended. I take it, feeling the warm strength of his fingers around mine.
"I'm ready," I say.
We walk toward the stairs together, leaving the shadows behind.