Chapter 22
Sofiya
SONG: LOVESONG BY SNAKE RIVER CONSPIRACY
The bullet buries itself in the wall three inches to the left of his head.
Daniil doesn't flinch, doesn't even move.
He just stands there with plaster dust settling on his shoulder and his eyes locked on mine like he's trying to memorize every detail of my face.
Like he expected to never see anything again, but the world has surprised him by continuing to exist.
"You missed." His voice comes rough, unsteady in a way I've never heard from him.
"I didn't miss." I lower the gun, letting my arm hang loose at my side because I can't hold it up anymore.
Eventually my grip releases entirely, unable to maintain the weight of a weapon that almost took everything from me.
"I chose." I say as it clatters to the floor, the sound deafening in the silence between us.
The distance between us evaporates. I don't know who moves first. Maybe both of us at once, pulled together by something stronger than gravity, stronger than the decade of pain and planning that should have kept us apart forever.
His arms wrap around me, and I bury my face against his chest, breathing in gunpowder and blood and the scent that belongs only to him.
"You did?" he asks against my hair. His hands shake where they press against my back, mindful of my injuries, careful even in his desperation, not to hurt me.
"I chose you." The words come easier now. "I choose us. Whatever that means. Whatever comes next."
He pulls back just far enough to see my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, smearing blood and tears into patterns I don't care about, then he kisses me.
Not desperate this time. Not angry or afraid or tangled up in all the complicated emotions that have defined everything between us.
Just soft. Gentle. A beginning instead of an ending.
When we finally separate, the room still smells like death as Father's body cools on the expensive carpet. The evidence of our violence still decorates every surface. But somehow none of it touches this moment. This fragile bubble of possibility we've carved out of the wreckage.
"We should go," Daniil says. "There are arrangements to make."
I nod, taking his hand. I don't look back at the bodies as we leave.
The meeting happens three days later in a restaurant that's been in my family for generations. Well, Father’s family. I will never, nor have I ever been, a part of this family.
Dimitri chose the location, which I understand is a statement.
He's claiming his inheritance publicly, establishing himself in spaces our father built, making it clear that the transition of power has already begun. He’s smart.
Ruthless in ways that remind me uncomfortably of the man I killed.
But Dimitri's eyes are different. Warmer.
There's actual humanity there beneath the careful mask of a man who knows he's about to rule an empire soaked in blood.
He sits across from us in a private booth, flanked by men I don't recognize. His sister, our sister, Apolena, perches beside him, looking younger than her twenty years despite the designer dress and careful makeup. She keeps sneaking glances at me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve.
"So"— Dimitri folds his hands on the table— “you killed my father."
"Yes." No point in denying it. "Does that create a problem between us?" I lean forward matching his stare. I don’t expect a fight, but I won’t back down. My happiness, my freedom with Daniil is worth any price I may be forced to pay.
"Depends on your perspective." His lips quirk into something that's almost a smile. "From where I'm sitting, you solved several problems I was beginning to think were unsolvable. Father was...difficult. In ways that made the organization unstable."
"He was a monster," Apolena says quietly. Her voice carries the particular weight of someone who knows exactly what she's talking about. Of someone who is full of memories they never want to see the light of day. "I'm glad he's dead."
The confession startles me. I expected fear from her, but honestly, I had assumed she was Father’s princess after he got rid of their mother without trying to kill them. Maybe his attempt to murder me was actually an act of mercy. Not this quiet relief that mirrors my own.
"There are complications," Dimitri continues.
"Mariya, our stepmother, has fled. She took a significant payout and disappeared somewhere we're choosing not to look.
She's pregnant with what would have been Father's new heir, but I've decided that particular problem is better solved through distance than violence. "
"Generous," Daniil observes.
"Practical." Dimitri shrugs. "A war over succession helps no one. Better she raise her child far from here, believing whatever story she wants to believe about what happened."
I process this information, trying to fit it into the framework of what I know about Bratva politics. Mariya never seemed kind, but I didn’t know her. She was also barely more than a child herself when Father claimed her. Another in his long line of victims.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With the organization?"
"I am now Pakhan." Dimitri's voice hardens slightly. "Though stating it that way implies a smoothness that won't exist. There will be challenges. Men who think they deserve the position more than me. I’m still relatively young in a lot of the mens’ eyes. There will be violence, probably significant violence…” He pauses to give me an ironic grin.
“Until my authority is established beyond question.
" His eyes shift to Daniil. "Which brings me to a proposal. "
Daniil's hand tightens on mine under the table.
"Come back. Not as Volk. That name carries too much weight, too much association with what happened. But as yourself. You know this organization better than anyone alive. Your skills, your experience, your connections. I could use someone like you while I'm consolidating power."
The offer hangs in the air, and I feel Daniil considering it, feel the pull of the life he knows against the life he's promised me. A future of violence versus a future of peace. The familiar versus the unknown.
"No." The word comes without hesitation. "My focus is Sofiya now. Whatever life we build, it won't be in the Bratva's shadow."
Something eases in my chest. Something I didn't realize I'd been holding tightly.
Dimitri nods slowly. "I expected that answer, but had to ask anyway.
" He leans back, studying us both with eyes that see more than they reveal.
"Then consider this my first act as Pakhan.
Daniil Vasiliev and Sofiya Vasiliev are under my protection.
Anyone who threatens them threatens me directly.
The conflict between our families ends here, tonight, with this declaration. "
"Vasiliev?" I don’t miss that he gave Daniil and I the same last name. A clear message and a sign of respect.
"I only want the best for you Sofiya," Dimitri says gently.
"You were a legitimate daughter, whatever lies he told about your parentage.
That makes us siblings, you and I. Half-siblings, technically, but siblings nonetheless.
" He pauses. "I know we didn't grow up together and you have every reason to want nothing to do with this family, but the offer stands.
You have a brother now “—he looks at Apolena who nods enthusiastically—“and a sister too if you want one. "
Emotion threatens to overwhelm me. A brother. A sister. Family I never knew existed, reaching out across the wreckage Father left behind.
Apolena leans forward, her eyes bright with something that looks like hope. "I always wanted a sister. Someone to talk to who wasn't... involved in all this." She gestures vaguely at the restaurant, the implied empire it represents. "Will you stay in touch? Maybe visit sometimes?"
"I'd like that." The words surprise me by being true.
"Excellent." Apolena beams, and the expression transforms her face into something radiant.
Behind her, a man I hadn't noticed before shifts slightly, as if preparing himself to pounce.
Tall, dark-haired, with the stillness of someone trained to observe everything and react to anything.
His eyes track Apolena's movements with an intensity that goes far beyond professional obligation.
"Is your bodyguard always this attentive?" I ask, nodding toward him.
Apolena glances back, confusion flickering across her features.
"Maxim? He's very dedicated. Daniil assigned him to me two years ago, and he takes his duties extremely seriously.
" She says this with the obliviousness of someone who has no idea that dedicated isn't quite the right word for the way this man watches her.
Maxim's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, and I see everything he's not saying.
The longing, the frustration, and the absolute devotion that has nothing to do with professional duty and everything to do with a heart that belongs entirely to a woman who doesn't notice.
I recognize that look. Saw it in Daniil's eyes before I understood what it meant.
"Very dedicated," I agree, keeping my face neutral. "You're lucky to have someone so...committed."
Apolena nods, entirely missing the subtext. "He really is wonderful. I don't know what I'd do without him."
Maxim's expression flickers. Pain and hope and resignation all tangled together. Apolena turns back to the conversation, utterly unaware of the effect her casual praise has on the man standing guard behind her.
Some stories aren't mine to tell. But I suspect this one will tell itself eventually.
Dimitri rises, signaling the end of our meeting. "Stay safe. Both of you. And remember, you're always welcome here. Whatever you need, whatever happens, you have family now."
We exchange handshakes that feel like more than business. Apolena hugs me impulsively, her arms tight around my neck, and I find myself hugging back despite everything I’ve ever told myself about keeping distance and maintaining walls.
Daniil and I walk out into the afternoon sun, leaving the Bratva and everything it represents behind us.
The SUV waits at the curb. Nondescript. Forgettable. Perfect for two people trying to disappear into ordinary life. Daniil opens my door, and I slide into the passenger seat as he circles to the driver's side. When he settles behind the wheel, neither of us moves.
"Montana?" he asks.
"Montana," I confirm.
He pulls away from the curb, and the city slides past, familiar streets giving way to highways, highways giving way to open roads.
Each mile puts distance between us and the life we're leaving behind.
Each mile brings us closer to something I never thought I'd have.
A future. A real one. Not built on revenge or survival or the desperate need to destroy the people who destroyed me.
"What do normal people do?" I ask after an hour of comfortable silence. "With their lives, I mean. When they're not planning elaborate revenge schemes or infiltrating criminal organizations."
Daniil laughs. The sound is warm and unexpected and makes something flutter in my chest. "I have no idea. I've never been normal."
"Me neither." I lean my head against the window, watching the landscape transform from desert to mountains to endless stretches of green. "I suppose we'll figure it out together."
"Jobs," he offers. "Normal people have jobs. The nonviolent kind."
"I could be a personal trainer." The idea strikes me as funny. "All those years of training. I could put it to use teaching soccer moms how to stay in shape."
"I could be a security consultant." He glances at me with amusement dancing in his eyes. "The legitimate kind. Helping businesses protect themselves from threats that don't involve actual assassins."
"We could get a dog."
"A big one. Something intimidating that's actually a complete softie."
"And a garden." I warm to the fantasy that is quickly becoming a reality. "I've never grown anything in my life, but I've always wanted to try."
"You'll kill every plant within a week."
"Probably." I grin at him. "But I'll enjoy trying."
The highway stretches ahead, empty and full of possibility. Behind us, Father's body is probably being prepared for whatever funeral Dimitri arranges. Behind us, the Bratva reorganizes under new leadership, old alliances shifting, new powers emerging from the chaos we created.
None of it touches us. Not anymore.
"Daniil." I say his name because I can. Because it's real now, not a secret buried in old files.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
Reaching across the console, he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles with a tenderness that makes my breath catch. "I love you too, Yelena."
My real name. Spoken by someone who knows everything I am and chooses to love me anyway.
The mountains rise ahead of us, snow-capped and ancient, promising a life we're only beginning to imagine. Quiet mornings. Safe nights. Days that don't require weapons or vigilance or the constant calculation of threats and escapes.
Normal. Whatever that means.
We'll figure it out together.
The road unspools before us like a ribbon leading somewhere I've never been. Somewhere clean. Somewhere new. Somewhere the girl who died in the desert and the woman who rose from her ashes can finally, finally rest.
I close my eyes, letting the motion of the car rock me into something like peace. Daniil's hand warm in mine, an anchor, a promise, a beginning.
Behind us, the past fades into distance. Ahead, the future waits.
And for the first time in ten years, I'm not afraid to meet it.