33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Daniel
The gun recoils sharply in Daniel’s hand, sending a jolt up his arm.
As the smoke disperses into the cold night air, the sound reverberates through the mountains, echoing like distant ricochets.
Daniel’s heart races, and he silently prays he didn’t hit Aurora.
Though skilled, taking a shot at Anton’s back without a clear view of her was risky.
But he had no choice—Anton was about to kill her.
The next moments blur together, and even Daniel, with his police training and sharp instincts, struggles to keep up.
Sergei lunges for Anton’s gun while Aurora, freed by the bullet’s impact, stumbles away.
She takes one unbalanced step, then another.
Daniel watches in slow motion as she loses her footing and plunges into the pool.
The sound of her hitting the water propels Daniel forward as he races toward them, watching Sergei land a powerful punch on Anton’s face.
His gun drops to the side as Anton stumbles backward, hunched over, trying to regain his balance.
Sergei doesn’t hesitate, spinning away from him and diving into the pool to reach for Aurora.
Daniel allows himself a moment to watch Sergei disappear beneath the loose plastic cover before his focus narrows to a pinpoint as he zeros in on Anton.
He charges through the backyard like an agitated bull, his eyes seeing bloody red.
Rage surges through his veins as he crashes into Anton with a singular, burning purpose.
Revenge.
Daniel tosses his gun aside as he straddles Anton, needing no weapon for what he has in mind.
He has imagined this moment countless times—the complete destruction of the person who killed his sister.
In his fantasies, it was always Sergei’s face he saw while he meticulously planned how to deliver his justice.
Jury, judge, and executioner all in one.
“Please don’t die yet,” Daniel seethes through clenched teeth, yanking Anton up by his coat. “You took her from me! She was everything!”
Anton’s face splits into a wild smile, his teeth stained dark red. He laughs, as if Daniel’s agony amuses him.
Daniel’s fist crashes into Anton’s grinning face with the force of a hammer.
Again. Each time his fist meets his mark, a door in his mind flings open, unleashing a flood of memories.
His mother placed Alessia in his arms. She was so tiny and delicate that her skin felt like the softest thing he’d ever touched. With a full head of raven-black hair and a scrunched-up little face, he wondered if she’d been switched at birth, as she bore no resemblance to him.
And again.
Alessia, wearing a flowery dress, ran through the backyard, getting soaked by the sprinkler. Her joyful belly-laugh rang out, a massive grin revealing her missing front teeth. Their family dog, Jed, jumped alongside her, caught up in the frenzy of excitement.
And again.
Eleven-year-old Alessia stood in front of the bathroom mirror, casually cutting her long, shiny hair. Strands fell to the floor in deliberate clumps.
“What? I don’t have time to make it pretty every morning,” she said, rolling her eyes.
But Daniel knew the real reason. Their mom used to style Alessia’s hair every morning, and now that she was gone, it was too painful for Alessia to let anyone else do it.
And again.
Alessia in a flowing white dress, his arm wrapped around her as he walked her down the aisle.
Hot tears blur Daniel’s vision as his fist continues to barrel down.
Alessia handed Misha to him for the first time, her eyes shining with love as she said, “Meet Michael Daniel Chernov.” His heart swelled with overwhelming pride.
Daniel’s mind flickers through memories like a frantic mixtape on shuffle.
He thinks of their last meeting, wishing he had held her a little longer, a little tighter, a little closer.
He wishes he had kept her with him and never let go.
He longs to hear her laugh again, to tell her how deeply he loves her, how much she means to him—how much she’s his whole heart.
But he can’t. Because of him.
Daniel’s eyes come back into focus as his tears fall onto Anton’s battered face. Muffled cries in the distance cut through the chaos, growing louder yet distorted, as if his attention on Anton has dulled his other senses.
“Daniel!” Sergei’s voice cuts through the haze, sharper and more insistent this time.
He pauses, his fist poised midair, bloodied and raw, knuckles split. The voice piercing his rage belongs to the man he believed was responsible for his sister’s death, the man he envisioned countless times as the recipient of his wrath.
Daniel’s eyes lose focus again, drifting to the mountains behind the house. He knows it isn’t real, just a mirage playing tricks on his mind, but he can’t help but see Alessia’s silhouette against the backdrop.
Surrounded by a thin veil of mist, she’s dressed in a summer flowery dress, an exact replica of the one she wore as a child. Her hair is long again, as it was before she cut it. She smiles gently, waving at him.
Her lips move, and Daniel rises slightly from the ground. He barely makes out the words she whispers. “It’s okay,” she mouths, placing her hand over her chest. “It’s okay,” she repeats.
In that moment, a well breaks inside Daniel’s mind.
New tears flow out, but these are different from those he’d shed in the past months.
They aren’t born from sadness or anger, or the darkness that has consumed him, but from joy.
They are tears for the light she left behind, destined to live forever in Misha.
“Daniel!” Sergei’s frantic voice screams for him. “Help!” The raw desperation in his tone pulls Daniel back to reality.
He shoves an unconscious Anton to the ground and rushes toward Aurora’s wet body.
Sergei shrugs his jacket off and presses it hard over the bullet wound on her shoulder.
Daniel checks for her pulse. Nothing. Panic surges through him, but he knows he can’t fall apart again.
His fingers tremble, slick with blood, as he snatches his phone, barely keeping a grip.
“Dispatcher, this is Detective Custode. Badge number 1303, off duty. I need a medevac, ASAP.” Each word is sharp and urgent as he rattles off crucial details.
He throws his phone down and pushes Sergei aside to start compressions. “Breathe!” he urges Aurora, his hands pressing into her chest with a steady force.
For the next few minutes, time stretches out, every movement drawn out in agonizing slow motion.
“Daniel, I swear to God, if she doesn’t make it—” Sergei’s voice breaks, heavy with fury and desperate fear.
“She will. She has to,” Daniel grits out, pressing harder on her chest. “Who else”—he says—“will”—again—“keep”—and again—“me” —and again—“in line?”
Daniel’s breathing comes in ragged, uneven gasps. He wipes his forehead with his forearm, glancing at the spot where he saw Alessia’s silhouette moments ago.
But it’s no longer there. Alessia is gone. He won’t lose Aurora too. With that thought in mind, Daniel slams his fist into Aurora’s chest with all his strength.