22. Sasha #2
Across from me, Alina’s breath shudders out of her in a sharp, broken sound she can’t quite contain. Her hands twist around the linen napkin in front of her, fingers curling so tightly, the fabric creases and strains beneath her grip, her knuckles blanching white.
There is no confusion in her expression now.
No uncertainty. What stares back at Viktor Morozov is something far more devastating—clarity sharpened by betrayal.
Rage coils beneath her composure, barely leashed.
Her jaw sets hard as her eyes glisten with tears she refuses to let fall.
If she cries, it will not be here. It will not be for him.
When she finally speaks, her voice is steady. “Is that true?”
Viktor flinches like the words themselves have struck him. His gaze snaps to her, wide and frantic, searching her face for something—mercy, maybe, or another opening he can exploit.
“Alina—”
She cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, before he can poison it with lies or false concern or whatever hollow excuse he thinks might still work on her.
“Was that bomb meant for me?”
I feel something twist in my chest as her words echo through the room.
Pride, I realize faintly.
Viktor’s throat works visibly as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as sweat beads along his temple. He looks anywhere but at her before finally forcing himself to meet her gaze again.
“No,” he says too quickly. “Of course not.”
It’s a lie.
We all hear it.
Alina does too.
Her lips part slightly, a quiet inhale pulling into her lungs as she’s bracing herself for the answer she already knows. “Don’t lie to me, Papa.”
Viktor doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. His silence is enough of a confession on its own.
Alina lets out a breath slowly, steadying herself. Her grip on the napkin loosens, the fabric slipping from her fingers as if she no longer has the strength to hold onto anything else. For the first time since she walked into this room, she doesn’t look scared.
She looks resolved.
At the head of the table, Nikolai pushes his chair back.
The scrape of wood against stone slices through the room. Every muscle in my body locks as he rises unhurriedly. He doesn’t look at Viktor or at Alina. He simply lifts one hand and holds it out, palm up.
The gesture is casual, and unfortunately, familiar.
Within seconds, one of his guards peels away from the wall silently. There is no hesitation, as if this moment has been rehearsed a thousand times. The guard unclips a handgun from his utility belt and places it carefully into Nikolai’s waiting palm, grip-first, like an offering.
His fingers curl around the handle, flexing them once, testing the balance, the familiarity of steel in his hand. The sight makes my spine go rigid, heat flooding my chest as instinct screams at me to move, to do something. Anything .
I don’t.
I already know where this is headed.
“I’m glad the truth has finally come out,” Nikolai says lightly. He tilts the gun, pulling back the barrel just enough to check the chamber. When he snaps it shut again, Alina flinches. “Don’t we all feel better now?”
Viktor’s breath comes fast and shallow, his hands trembling where they grip the edge of the table as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes dart between the weapon and Nikolai’s face, searching for an angle to exploit that no longer exists.
Across from me, Alina hasn’t moved.
She sits unnaturally still like a figure carved from marble. If I didn’t know her better, I might think she was untouched by what’s unfolding in front of us. But I do know her. I see it in the tight set of her jaw, he way her eyes never leave her father’s face as if she’s committing it to memory.
Nikolai’s attention drifts to her at last.
“I’ve thought about your proposition,” he says.
My heart hammers.
Proposition?
What proposition? What did she offer him? My mind races, grasping for context I don’t have, dread blooming fast and viciously.
Nikolai takes a step toward her. I’m on my feet instantly, chair screeching back as instinct takes over. “Don’t.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Not a glance or a slight pause. I might as well not exist at all.
To my shock, Alina shifts in her chair. She turns her body to face him fully, lifting her chin just a fraction, meeting his gaze head-on like she isn’t staring down the most dangerous man in Moscow.
“And what’s your answer?” she asks.
Her voice doesn’t shake.
That scares me more than anything else in this room.
Nikolai studies her, faint amusement ghosting across his features. Not out of mockery, but with interest. As if she’s just surprised him in a way few people ever do.
“How about a counteroffer?” he says.
Alina doesn’t answer right away. She watches him in silence, eyes narrowing slightly as she weighs his words, measuring whatever the cost of this game he’s playing will have against her. I’m too stunned to move, confusion rattling around inside me rooting me to this spot.
“I’m listening,” she says finally.
Nikolai’s lips curve. Without warning, he extends his arm and holds out the gun to her. Not the barrel, but the grip. The gesture is strangely intimate.
“Your life,” he says calmly, eyes locked on hers, “or your father’s. Your choice.”
My blood runs cold.
Viktor makes a small, broken sound. “Alina, no. Don’t. Please .”
I move again, rounding the table before I even realize my feet are carrying me forward. Fury and terror collide in my chest, ripping through me like shrapnel. “Nikolai, this is insane?—”
“Why?” Alina asks.
That one word stops me dead in my tracks.
He seems to read the questions underneath what she’s really asking. Why me? Why put the decision in my hands? Why give me the power to shift the narrative in any way I choose?
He tilts his head slightly. “To survive in this world, we all need a little blood on our hands. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The words make my vision go red.
I want to scream and lunge and tear the gun from his grasp and put myself between Alina and every monster in this room including me. To keep her away from the truth that this world only respects and breeds violence and sacrifice.
Alina doesn’t look at me when she makes her decision. Instead, she inhales slowly, her shoulders lifting slightly with the motion. Then, she reaches out slowly and wraps her fingers around the grip of the gun.
Her thumb settles along the frame as she takes it in.
Her grip tightens, testing the weight the way Nikolai did moments before.
I can see it now in her expression, in how devastatingly composed she seems despite the nature of the task that’s been placed directly into her palms, that this moment is going to carve a permanent scar into her.
Nikolai releases the weapon completely.
The transfer is silent.
Final.
Alina lifts the gun in her hand and stares at it for another long moment.
Then she turns and points it directly at her father.
Her hand is steady, the barrel unmoving while aimed at its target.
There is so much in her eyes, it nearly brings me to my knees.
Grief. Rage. Love. Resolve. A terrible, crushing clarity.
Viktor stares down the barrel. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
“Alina,” I say hoarsely, taking a step toward her, my voice breaking despite every effort to keep it steady like her hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
For the first time, she finally looks at me.
“I know,” she says softly.
Then she turns back to her father. I don’t move to stop her this time.
“You made this choice for me years ago when you killed her. When you traded my life like I was just another object to cut yourself a better deal. You did this to yourself.” Her finger settles fully over the trigger, flexing. “Remember that when you are burning in hell.”
Nikolai watches, utterly enraptured.
The shot is deafening.
The sound tears through the room, sharp and absolute. The bullet leaves the chamber with a violent crack, the recoil snapping Alina’s arm back as it strikes Viktor square between the eyes.
There is no time for him to react.
The force pitches him backward out of his chair, the legs scraping uselessly against the floor as his body slams backward with a sickening thud. His head cracks against the chair, a loud gasp leaving his lungs.
Alina stumbles from the recoil, her breath tearing out of her as if she’s been struck too. Before she can fall, Nikolai’s hand is suddenly there, iron-strong, snatching her upright before she can. He holds her in place, keeping her on her feet.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then, I do.
My vision tunnels as I glance down over the edge of the table, finding Viktor’s unblinking stare focused on the ceiling.
His mouth is frozen in a silent scream. Blood blooms beneath his skull, seeping into the stone like ink onto paper.
His chest shudders once, twice, each movement smaller than the last until a final rattling breath escapes him.
“He’s gone,” I say quietly.
Alina sags in Nikolai’s grip the moment the confirmation leaves my mouth, the tension draining out of her all at once.
Whatever had been holding her together snaps.
She doesn’t resist when Nikolai gently pries the gun from her hand, passing it off to the guard at his side to return the borrowed tool.
I’m there before her knees buckle and she can hit the floor.
I catch her carefully, sweeping her up into my arms as if she weighs nothing at all. Her body is rigid at first, locked in shock, then it begins to tremble violently, every muscle shaking as the adrenaline crashes through her system.
Her face presses into my shoulder and I hold her tighter.
“It’s okay,” I murmur in her ear, my voice low. My hand moves in slow, grounding circles along her back, anchoring her to something solid and real. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She makes a small, broken sound that’s between a sob and a breath of relief before clutching my shirt like a lifeline.
She turns and buries her face in the crook of my neck, refusing to let go.
Not that I would ever let her. Not after all of this, after all we’ve gone through to finally be together again.
I brace myself instinctively, waiting for the inevitable second act. For him to retrieve the gun again and turn that cold, calculating attention on me next and force my hand the way he forced hers. To demand blood as payment for defiance, loyalty, love, whatever this has become.
I’m ready for it.
But it never comes.
Instead, Nikolai steps back.
It’s subtle, almost easy to miss, but the shift is unmistakable.
He gestures once, lazily. His guards move immediately.
Two of them peel away to Viktor’s body, lifting it with practiced ease as if he weighs nothing more than a sack of discarded clothing.
Others fan out, already cleaning the floor, wiping away blood, righting chairs, erasing the evidence of what just happened with terrifying efficiency.
“I expect you at our monthly meeting,” he finally says, turning back to me. “I look forward to however you plan on spinning this… tragedy to the public.”
My brow furrows despite myself.
That’s it?
No ultimatum? No execution? No demand that I prove my loyalty by breaking the last thing I have left? I wait for the other shoe to drop, my grip tightening instinctively around Alina as if she might be taken from me even now.
Nikolai catches the confusion on my face. A faint, bemused smile touches his mouth, there and gone in the same breath, replaced by that familiar glacial composure. “Do not make me regret this decision, Sasha.”
The weight of those words settles heavily in my chest.
“I won’t,” I say quietly, meaning it with every fractured piece of myself.
He nods only once. His gaze drifts to Alina again, something almost approving in his eyes.
“Quite the fire she has,” he remarks.
I say nothing in return.
He steps back further. “Be sure not to dampen it. It would be such a shame otherwise. Not many women like her are left these days.”
The comment chills me more than the threat ever could.
Then he turns.
Just like that, he leaves the dining room, his guards falling into step behind him in perfect formation. Their boots echo briefly against stone before the sound fades, leaving only two stationed quietly at the edges of the room.
Alina shifts in my arms, trembling still. Slowly, she lifts her head. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, her lashes clumped together, eyes glassy.
“Is it over?” she whispers.
I press my lips gently to her cheek, unable to help myself. “Yes.”
Her shoulders sag with relief, exhaustion crashing through her all at once.
I tighten my hold and adjust her weight against me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Let’s go home.”