Chapter 29 - Alina
ALINA
Katya stumbles forward, and I catch her before she hits the tarmac. We collapse together, my arms wrapping around her small frame as sobs tear from both our throats. She's shaking so hard I can feel it in my bones, her fingers clutching at my sweater like I might disappear if she lets go.
"I've got you," I whisper into her dark hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo beneath the smell of fear and sweat. "I've got you, Katya. You're safe now."
She makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob, and buries her face in my shoulder.
I hold her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed against her spine.
The cold concrete beneath us seeps through my jeans, but I don't care.
Nothing matters except the fact that my sister is alive, breathing, here in my arms.
Around us, Dimitri's men are securing the area. I hear their voices speaking in low Russian, the sound of bodies being moved, vehicles starting. But it all feels distant, muffled, like we're in a bubble where only the two of us exist.
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, I pull back enough to look at her face.
My hands frame her cheeks, and I study her in the harsh security lights.
There's a bruise blooming along her left cheekbone, purple and angry.
Her bottom lip is split, crusted with dried blood.
More bruises circle her wrists where zip ties cut into her skin.
Rage burns hot in my chest, but I push it down. Later. I can be angry later. Right now, Katya needs me calm.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I ask, my hands moving to check her arms, her ribs, looking for injuries I can't see. "Did they… did they do anything to you?"
She shakes her head quickly, understanding what I'm really asking. "No. They just… they kept me locked in a room. They hit me when I tried to fight, but they didn't..." Her voice breaks. "They said they were saving me for something. I didn't know what that meant."
Relief floods through me so intense it makes me dizzy. "It doesn't matter now. You're safe. I promise you, Katya, no one is ever going to hurt you again."
She looks at me with those brown eyes that are so much like our father's, and the question I've been dreading spills from her lips.
"Where's Papa? Where's Mama? What happened at the church?
Everyone said you were dead, that Dimitri Morozov killed you, but then those men came and took me and I didn't know what to believe. "
I don't know how to answer. How do I tell my sixteen-year-old sister that our father orchestrated a massacre at my wedding? That he sold me to his enemies? That he tried to have me killed? That I put three bullets in his chest and watched him die?
How do I tell her that our mother knew, or at least suspected, and did nothing?
"It's complicated," I say at last, the words feeling inadequate. "Papa… Papa made some bad choices. He got involved with dangerous people, and things went wrong."
"Is he dead?" Her voice is small, frightened.
I can't lie to her. Won't lie to her. She deserves the truth, even if it's ugly. "Yes."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I see her processing this information. Tears well in her eyes, but she doesn't look surprised. Maybe she already knew, on some level. Maybe she'd seen the darkness in our father that I'd been too blind to recognize until it was too late.
"And Mama?"
"She's alive, as far as I know." I swallow hard.
My sister's face crumples, and fresh sobs shake her body. I pull her back into my arms, rocking her gently like I used to when she was little and had nightmares. Back when our biggest fears were monsters under the bed, not the monster living in our own house.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this. But I promise you, everything is going to be okay. You're going to live with me now, where you'll be safe and protected and loved."
"With you and…" She pulls back, her eyes darting past me to where Dimitri stands a few yards away, giving us space but watching carefully. "With him?"
I follow her gaze. Dimitri looks every inch the dangerous Bratva boss he is.
His tactical vest is stained with blood and gunpowder residue.
The dragon tattoo on his chest is visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt, a mark of his rank and power.
His green eyes are hard as he surveys the scene, making sure every threat is neutralized.
But when those eyes shift to me, they soften. Just a fraction, just enough that I can see the man beneath the monster everyone fears.
"Yes," I say, turning back to Katya. "With him. He's my husband now."
Her eyes widen. "You married him?”
I take her hands in mine, feeling how cold her fingers are. "I know you've heard stories about Dimitri. I know he has a reputation. But he saved my life, Katya. He came for me. And he came for you tonight. He's the reason you're alive."
Dimitri chooses that moment to approach, his footsteps careful and measured. Katya tenses, pressing closer to me, and I feel her trembling increase. I keep one arm around her shoulders as I look up at him.
He stops a respectful distance away and crouches down so he's at our level. The gesture surprises me. This man who commands armies, who kills without hesitation, is making himself smaller, less threatening, for my terrified sister.
"Katya," he says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "I'm Dimitri. I know you're scared, and you have every right to be. But I give you my word that no one will hurt you while you're under my protection. You're family now."
Katya stares at him, her brown eyes wide. I can see her taking in the details—the scar above his left eyebrow, the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples, the dragon tattoo on the left side of his neck that marks him as hostile to authority. Everything about him screams danger.
But then she looks at me, sees the way I'm leaning slightly toward him, the way my body relaxes in his presence despite everything. She's always been perceptive, my little sister. She can read people better than anyone I know.
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay."
Dimitri nods once, then stands and extends his hand to help us up. I take it, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip, and pull Katya up with me. She sways slightly, exhaustion and shock catching up with her, and Dimitri steadies her with a hand on her elbow.
"Let's get you both home," he says.
Home. The word should feel strange, but it doesn't. The estate has become home in the short time I've been there. Or maybe it's not the place but the man standing beside me that makes it feel like home.
The drive back is quiet. Katya sits pressed against my side in the back seat, her head on my shoulder, her hand clutching mine.
I stroke her hair with my free hand, the repetitive motion soothing us both.
Dimitri sits in the front passenger seat, his phone pressed to his ear as he coordinates cleanup and damage control.
I catch fragments of his conversation—body disposal, witness management, political fallout.
This is my life now, this world of violence and strategy, of blood and power.
But looking down at my sister's bruised face, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing as exhaustion pulls her toward sleep, I know I made the right choice.
In Dimitri's world, we're protected. We're safe. We're together.
Dawn is breaking over the city as we approach the estate, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Katya has fallen asleep against me, her breathing deep and even. I'm grateful for it. She needs rest, needs time to process everything that's happened.
The gates swing open, and we drive through onto the familiar grounds. The fountain sparkles in the early morning light. The gardens are perfectly manicured. Everything looks peaceful, normal, like the past few hours of violence and terror never happened.
Then I see it.
A silver Mercedes parked in the circular driveway, gleaming in the dawn light. I know that car. I've ridden in it hundreds of times, sat in the back seat while my mother drove me to ballet lessons and piano recitals and all the activities meant to make me a proper Bratva daughter.
My mother's car.
My blood runs cold.