Chapter 15 Sergei
SERGEI
Kirill meets me in the hall with a tablet in his hand. His eyes are tense.
“We scrubbed the camera feeds for the last thirty minutes,” he says. “There’s static in three points. The elevator camera, the service corridor near the guest wing, and the feed outside Nadia’s room. The static is clean. No artifact. No trace. I’ve seen this before.”
“Where?” I ask.
“In the old warehouse war,” he answers. “The Baranov crew used the same block when they hired that outside contractor. The one we never caught. They called him a courier too. Only back then, he moved guns and coordinates, not children.”
The words hit hard. I already knew the connection in my gut. Hearing it from someone else only confirms it.
“So he touched our system at three points,” I say. “He blinded the approach to her room, the corridor, and one vertical route. Did anyone see something with their eyes, not the cameras?”
“One of the laundry girls thought she heard a soft thud in the service hall,” he says. “She told her supervisor after the blackout but no one checked. They thought it was a dropped basket.”
“She still here?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Keep her close,” I answer. “I want every detail later. For now, I stay here.”
A funeral can’t wait. Death has its own clock in this world.
Vera’s body lies in the cold room off the private wing, under a white sheet.
Her hair is brushed back. Her hands are folded.
Her face is peaceful now, but I can still see the strain in the muscles of her jaw, the last fight she put up in that safe room.
She held the gun until the end. She sat between my child and the door and did not run.
Anastasia stands by the door when I enter, as if she knew I’d come. She’s removed her apron and put on a simple black dress. Her hair is tied back. Her eyes are red but dry. She inclines her head.
“I called Father Ilya,” she says. “He is on his way. I didn’t want to wait for your permission. I hope that’s alright.”
“It is more than alright,” I say. I look down at Vera. “She deserves more than this room.”
“I’ll handle the payments,” I say. “Her family will not worry about bills. They’ll have a place at the house in the country if they want it. I want a stone for her in the private plot. Not just a line in the staff records.”
Anastasia nods. “She loved Nadia,” she says. “She would’ve given her life for that child.”
“She did,” I say.
We stand in silence for a moment. The cold air bites at my lungs. The white tile reflects the harsh light.
“Go back to Nadia after this,” I tell Anastasia. “Stay there through the night. When Father Ilya comes, I’ll see him myself. We’ll do the prayers before morning.”
“She asked for you in her sleep,” Anastasia says. “Nadia. She whispered your name and Raina’s and Vera’s. She’s too young to carry this weight.”
“She won’t carry it alone,” I answer.
I leave the cold room and head back to my daughter.
The hallway outside her bedroom is guarded now. Two men on each side of the door. One at the end of the hall. Another at the junction with the main corridor. Their posture is tight, rifles across their chests, eyes watchful. They move aside when I approach.
Inside, the nightlight is on. It paints soft color on the wall. Nadia still sleeps, curled around her bear. Her small brows are drawn in, even in sleep. She clings to the toy like it’s the only anchor she has left.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight. Nadia stirs and murmurs something half-formed. I reach out and smooth her hair back. Her eyes flutter and then open halfway.
“Papa,” she whispers.
“I’m here,” I say. “Right here.”
She blinks, trying to pull herself out of sleep. Her gaze moves from my face to Anastasia and back.
“Where is Mama?” she asks.
The question cuts through me, but I keep my voice even.
“She had to go fix something,” I say. “She had to go do something so you can stay safe here. She didn’t want to wake you. She asked me to watch you.”
Her lower lip trembles. “She said she would stay until I slept.”
“I know,” I answer. “She stayed as long as she could. She asked me to tell you she loves you.”
That part is always true, even if it isn’t literal. Raina never leaves this child without that word on her tongue.
Nadia looks at her bear and squeezes it. “Will she come back?” she asks.
I feel my throat tighten. I force the answer out steadily.
“Yes,” I say. “She’ll always come back to you, my love. I’ll make sure of it.”
She studies my face. She’s too smart for her age. The world made her that way. After a moment, she nods.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll wait.”
She holds out her small hand. I give her my fingers. She curls hers around mine and pulls my hand to her chest.
“Can you stay?” she asks.
“I’ll stay,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She closes her eyes again. It takes time for her body to relax. Her breath comes in uneven bursts at first, then grows steady. I sit there for a long time, my hand in hers, my other hand resting on the blanket near her legs.
Anastasia watches in silence. She doesn’t fidget.
She doesn’t look at her phone. She just sits, ready to move if Nadia calls for water or the bathroom or another bear.
At one point, she quietly places a glass of water on the bedside table for me and another for herself. She doesn’t speak. I nod once.
After a while, Nadia drifts deeper into sleep. Her grip loosens a little, but she doesn’t let go fully. I shift my hand so I can move without waking her and stand slowly.
“I’m going to the chapel,” I say. “We’ll do Vera’s prayers. I’ll be back before she wakes.”
Anastasia nods. “I’ll stay right here,” she says. “I’ll call you if she stirs.”
“Use the direct line,” I tell her. “Not the house system. The one in the drawer.”
She nods again. She knows which one I mean. We set that phone years ago for emergencies that don’t touch the main grid.
We lay Vera to rest before the first light touches the river.
Father Ilya stands at the head of the small chapel, white hair bright under the candles.
My men line the walls in dark suits, heads bowed.
Anastasia and two of the other women from the staff stand near the front, eyes red.
They washed Vera, braided her hair, and dressed her in a blue dress.
The prayers roll through the air, and while I’m not a devout man, but I listen to every word. Vera gave her life for mine and for my child. I owe her more than money and a stone. I owe her a clean road out of this world.
Afterward, I walk behind the coffin as we carry her to the private plot. The ground is hard from the cold. The men move slowly and carefully. We lower her down with ropes. I take a handful of earth and drop it in. It hits the wood with a soft, hollow sound.
“You did your job,” I say under my breath. “I’ll do mine.”
When we walk back, the sky over the city has a faint, pale line. It isn’t dawn yet, but it’s heading there.
I don’t sleep. I can’t. I go straight back to Nadia.
She’s awake now, propped up against her pillows, hair tangled, eyes swollen from crying.
Anastasia sits beside her, reading from one of the picture books.
She’s doing the voices. It’s a small thing, but it matters.
When they see me, Nadia’s face crumples for a second, then steadies. She’s trying to be brave.
I go to the bed and sit. She reaches for me right away. I pull her into my lap, blanket and all. She tucks her head under my chin. Her hands grip my shirt.
“Did you put Vera in the ground?” she asks in a small voice.
“Yes,” I say. I don’t lie about this. “We said good words over her. We thanked her for loving you. We put her where no one can hurt her again.”
“Will she wake up?” Nadia asks.
“No,” I answer. “When people die, they don’t wake up here. But we remember them. We talk about them. We tell stories. That way, they stay with us in a different way.”
She presses closer. I feel her body shake. She doesn’t sob. She just trembles.
“I’m tired of people going away,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say. “I’m tired of it too.”
I pull the small wooden box from the shelf. It holds the pieces of her old life that we kept. A photo of Vera holding her in the snow. A ribbon Raina used to tie her hair when she was a baby. A button from a coat she loved.
“We’ll add something for Vera,” I say. “You choose.”
She reaches out with slow, careful hands and picks up a tiny silver earring. It’s one of Vera’s old ones. Anastasia must’ve placed it there this morning. Nadia turns it between her fingers.
“Here,” she says. “She wore these at the market. She laughed when the wind made them jingle.”
She puts the earring into the box. I close the lid and set it back on the shelf within her reach.
“We’ll open it whenever you want,” I say.
Nadia nods, then lifts her face to mine.
“Promise you’ll bring Mama back,” she says again. “You promised already, but I want you to say it again.”
“I promise,” I repeat. This time, I let the full weight of the words sit between us. “I’ll bring her back or I’ll die trying. I won’t stop. Not ever.”
She studies me, searching for any crack. She doesn’t find one. After a moment, she relaxes a little.
“Can you stay and play boats?” she asks. “Just a little.”
I look at the clock. My men will keep searching whether I’m in the control room or not. Kirill knows the systems better than anyone. Vlad knows the streets. Right now, my child needs proof that this house hasn’t lost every steady thing it had.
“Yes,” I say. “We can play boats.”
We sit on the floor with her wooden set. She lines them up in a neat row. Each one has a name. One is Vera. One is Raina. One is me. One is her. She pushes them across the rug, making small wave sounds with her lips. At one point, she picks up the boat with Raina’s name and holds it up.
“She is far,” Nadia says. “But the boat knows the way home.”
“Yes,” I say. “The boat knows.”
Anastasia watches from the chair, hands in her lap. There’s a strange mix on her face. Relief that Nadia is playing. Grief for Vera. Worry for Raina. Fear of what comes next. Loyalty sits there too, quiet and stubborn.
After a while, Nadia’s movements slow. The night and the weight of the last hours start to drag at her again. She yawns and rubs her eyes with her fists.
“You can sleep again,” I tell her. “I’ll talk to the men while you rest. We have people to find.”
She nods and climbs back into bed. I tuck the blanket around her and place the bear in her arms. She holds it close and smiles, just a little.
“Tell Mama I kept my fists up,” she whispers. “She always says that.”
“I will,” I say.
She closes her eyes. This time, sleep takes her faster. Her body is exhausted. Her mind has run in circles all night. I stand there and watch until I’m sure she’s gone deep.
When I turn to leave, Anastasia stands too.
“I’ll stay,” she says. “I’ll call if she wakes. I’ll make her tea when she does.”
I look at her for a long moment. There’s a small smear of cocoa on her sleeve from when she carried the cups earlier. There’s dirt at the hem of her dress from the burial plot. There’s fatigue in the line of her shoulders, but she doesn’t ask to go lie down.
“You’ve done enough for one night,” I say. “Go rest after you’re sure she’s settled. I’ll have another woman swap with you in a few hours.”
She shakes her head. “I want to be here when she opens her eyes. She trusts me. It helps her.”
The simple truth of that sits between us.
“Then you stay,” I say. “But you eat something. And you drink water. I don’t need another body dropping to the floor today.”
A faint smile touches her mouth. “Yes, Pakhan,” she says.
I step into the hall. The lights are brighter now. The house is awake. Men move with purpose. Voices crack through radios. Doors open and shut. The machine I built turns in a new direction.
This is not just a business problem anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time, but tonight stripped the last mask off. The Courier walked through the rooms where my child sleeps. He took something I cannot replace.
I walk toward the control room where Kirill waits with maps and feeds and lists of names.
Vlad sends updates from the ground. Andrei tracks the outer cameras.
Every screen shows a piece of my city. I don’t intend to lose this battle, but to end it.
For Vera, Raina, and the little girl asleep with her bear and her boats.
Taking a slow breath in, I put my hand on the control room door and step inside.