18. Aria #2
“No. They don’t.” Nikolai straightens, and I see some of his usual command returning.
“But action might. I’m telling you now—whatever it takes, we’re going to find Alexander and end this.
I’ve pulled every resource we have. Every contact, every favor owed, every piece of intelligence we’ve gathered over the past twenty years. We will find him.”
“And when you do?” Maksim asks, his body still.
“We bring him before the Bratva council. We lay out his crimes—all of them. The embezzlement, the attempted murders, the murder of Len, the treason.” Nikolai’s eyes are as hard as diamonds.
“We let Aria testify about what she witnessed eight years ago. We present the evidence Maksim gathered, then we execute him for treason against the brotherhood.”
“I want to be there,” I say automatically. “When he dies. I want to watch.”
Nikolai looks at me, and something like respect flickers in his expression. “You will be. You’ve earned that right.”
I should feel vindicated that Nikolai finally believes me and he’s taking action. Instead, I just feel empty and desperate for my son to wake up.
Because what good is revenge if Daniel dies? What good is justice if I lose my child?
I'm dozing in the chair on the third day of Daniel’s coma. It’s the first sleep I’ve had in seventy-two hours, and even that is just exhausted micro-sleeps where my head drops forward for a few seconds before jerking back up.
I’m dreaming about Daniel as a toddler, running through the park, laughing. I’m chasing him, and I can almost hear his giggles, can almost feel the warmth of the sun—
Then I feel a change in the room. Something shifts in the air.
My eyes fly open, and I see Daniel’s eyelids fluttering.
“Maksim.” My voice is sharp, urgent, cutting through the quiet. “Maksim, he’s waking up.”
Maksim is on his feet instantly, moving to Daniel’s side despite the obvious pain in his ribs. We both lean in, hardly daring to breathe, watching as our son’s eyes slowly open.
He blinks slowly, like his eyelids are too heavy. His eyes are unfocused at first, clouded with confusion. They dart around the room to look at the white walls, the medical equipment beeping and humming, the IV in his arm, and the monitors showing his heartbeat.
I can see him trying to piece together where he is and why.
Then he focuses on me.
His eyes lock onto my face and recognition flickers there, followed immediately by fear.
“Mama?” His voice is barely a whisper, rough and raw from the breathing tube they removed this morning. It sounds painful just to speak.
He’s awake. He’s alive.
“I’m here, baby,” I sob, tears running down my face faster than I can wipe them away. “Mama’s right here. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital, but you’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”
His eyes are still clouded with confusion and fear. He tries to sit up, but his body doesn’t respond the way he wants it to. His arms are weak, trembling with the effort. Panic flashes across his small face and the heart monitor’s beeping gets louder.
“It’s okay,” I tell him quickly, my hand on his chest, gentle but firm. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your body is just weak from being asleep for a few days. The doctors say everything is fine. You just need time to get your strength back. I promise.”
He’s breathing faster now, close to hyperventilating. His eyes are darting around again, looking for danger.
Then his gaze shifts to Maksim on the other side of the bed.
And everything goes still.
For a long moment, Daniel just stares at his father. He takes in Maksim’s haggard appearance—the hollow cheeks, the bloodshot eyes, the days of stubble, the way he’s bracing himself against the bed like he might collapse without the support.
I can see Daniel trying to understand if this is real. If any of this is real.
His eyes fill with tears.
“Papa?”
The single word is so small. So uncertain. A question wrapped in hope wrapped in fear. Is it really you? Are you real or am I dreaming?
The effect on Maksim is instantaneous and profound.
His face crumples. This enormous man—six-three of solid muscle and feared by hundreds of men—breaks down completely at that one small word.
Tears stream down his face. His mouth opens but no sound comes out. His whole body is shaking.
I know what this means to him. Daniel has refused to call him anything other than “Maks” and I know it’s been killing Maksim. But this…this is Daniel claiming him officially as his father.
“I’m here, solnyshko.” Maksim’s voice is thick with emotion, breaking on every syllable. “Papa’s here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe now. I promise you’re safe.”
“I’m scared.” Daniel’s lower lip trembles, and fresh tears spill down his temples. “I don’t—I don’t remember what happened. My stomach hurt then everything got fuzzy and I couldn’t breathe and—” His breathing is getting faster, panic setting in.
“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t need to remember.
” Maksim leans over the bed despite the obvious agony in his ribs.
I can see him biting back a grimace of pain, but he presses his forehead gently to Daniel’s, his hand cupping the back of our son’s head.
“Papa won’t let anything happen to you ever again. I promise. Do you believe me?”
Daniel’s small hand reaches up, his arm trembling with the effort and touches Maksim’s face. His fingers are cold and small against Maksim’s stubbled jaw like he needs to confirm his father is real.
“I believe you, Papa.”
Papa. Such a simple word loaded with all the trust a child can give to someone. The word has always belonged to him and it’s been waiting all this time for Daniel to be ready to say it.
I’m watching them together with Maksim’s forehead pressed to Daniel’s, both of them crying. Maksim’s hand is so gentle on the back of Daniel’s head while Daniel’s small fingers touch his father’s face—and I’m sobbing so hard I can barely breathe.
Because I know what this moment means. This is Daniel letting go of his fear and choosing to trust again, to love again, to believe that Maksim won’t leave him.
This is the moment my son fully claims his father.
Maksim is still crying, his forehead still pressed to Daniel’s, and he’s whispering in Russian. I catch fragments and, even though it’s been years, I can still understand what Maksim is saying even if I don’t understand the words—my son, I love you, I’ll never leave.
Daniel’s other hand finds mine, his small fingers wrapping around my thumb like he used to do when he was a baby.
“Mama, don’t cry,” he whispers weakly. “I’m okay now. Papa’s here. You’re here. I’m okay.”
Hearing the certainty in his small voice even after everything he’s been through, I let myself believe it.
My son is going to be okay.
We’re all going to be okay.
Over the next few days, Daniel physically recovers. The doctors run tests and check his reflexes, his cognitive function, and his memory. They monitor his heart, lungs, liver and kidneys.
Everything comes back clear. There’s no permanent damage or cognitive deficits. His heart is strong and his lungs are clear. His organs are functioning normally.
It’s a miracle, Dr. Petrov says, his kind eyes warm with relief. If they’d waited even five more minutes to treat him, if the convulsions had lasted any longer, if his heart had stopped one more time—the outcome would have been very different.
But while Daniel’s body heals, his mind is still wounded.
The nightmares start the first night he’s off the ventilator.
I’m dozing in the chair beside his bed when I hear him screaming like he’s being murdered.
“Papa! Mama! I can’t breathe! Help me, I can’t—”
Maksim and I are both on him in seconds. Maksim gathers Daniel into his arms, pulling him against his chest and I stroke Daniel’s hair, my other hand on his back, both of us talking over each other trying to calm him.
“You’re okay, solnyshko. You’re okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”
“I’m here, baby. Mama’s here. You’re not dying. You’re right here with us. You’re safe.”
“Papa, I couldn’t breathe!” Daniel is sobbing, his small body shaking violently. “I was trying to breathe but I couldn’t and you weren’t there and Mama wasn’t there and I was alone and I was dying—”
“You’re not dying. You’re right here with us,” Maksim says fiercely. He presses Daniel’s hand to his chest. “Feel Papa’s heartbeat? I’m here and I’m never leaving you. You’re stuck with me, Danya.”
“Promise?” Daniel’s voice is so small and broken it brings fresh tears to my eyes.
Maksim presses his lips to Daniel’s forehead and closes his eyes, pain on his features at our son’s emotional turmoil. “I promise. On my life, I promise.”
It takes twenty minutes to calm him down by holding and rocking him, reassuring him that he’s safe and nobody’s going to hurt him.
And it happens again the next night. And the next.
He won’t eat anything he didn’t see being prepared. When the nurses bring him meals, he refuses to touch them. He stares at the tray with terror in his eyes.
“It’s safe, Daniel,” I tell him gently, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Dr. Petrov checked it himself. No one’s going to hurt you here.”
“That’s what you said before,” he says accusingly, and it cuts right through me. “You said I was safe at Dyadya Kolya’s house. You said nobody could hurt me there. And someone tried to kill me.”
I have no answer for that. We promised him safety and we failed.
So now I taste all his food first and wait five minutes to prove it’s safe. Only then will Daniel touch it.
He refuses to sleep alone. He needs both of us in the room within reach. If one of us leaves—even just to use the bathroom—he has panic attacks.
“Papa, don’t go!” He’s crying, grabbing at Maksim’s shirt with white-knuckled fists. “Please don’t leave me! What if you don’t come back?”
“I’m just going to the bathroom, solnyshko,” Maksim says soothingly. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”