Headlights spill across the pier, cutting through the light in sharp white beams. Nikolai swears, his hand flying to his holster. “What the hell is that. Police?”
Lev steps in front of me, his body a solid wall of protection. “Nah. They’re too quiet for cops.”
The sedan glides to a stop at the edge of the concrete, its tires crunching over the grit. No one moves. The tension is a wire stretched to the snapping point.
“Hold,” Viktor says, his hand raising to stay his men.
The back door opens. A silhouette steps out, elegant and ancient.
“Babushka?” I whisper.
Viktor goes still beside me. Then she steps fully into the light.
“Matushka?” Sergei breathes, his voice cracking.
She doesn't look at him. She looks only at Viktor. “Vitya. You look tired.”
The woman from that first night at the Morozov table is still there. She looks like a woman who has spent every night since the shooting counting the cost of her family's blood. Babushkawalks forward. Her own guards move with her. They don't look at Sergei's men. They only look at Viktor.
“You know, when your father and I came from Saint Petersburg to America, we did it for the family,” she says. “When he worked nights at the factory, it was for the family. For you. For your brothers and sisters. For the Morozovs.” She stops in front of Sergei. “I was proud of him when he left that job and built something of his own.” Her hand lifts his chin, forcing his gaze down to hers. “Years later, I helped him choose his first Jaguar.”
She turns her head slightly, just enough that I see the shine on her cheeks. “You had Sokolov shoot your own blood, Ser?zha. You kept that boy locked in his childhood room. You let Andrei drug him until he forgot who he was. Thank God I found Jonah.”
My breath catches. She hasn't looked at me once, but she seems to know exactly where I am.
Sergei lets out a brittle laugh. “You mean you gave Viktor a fuck toy? Someone who?—”
The slap cracks through the pier. “Enough.”
Sergei brushes a hand over his cheek, blinking like he can't quite believe it. “What?” he scoffs. “You are my mother, but do you think you have the right to kill me? I am the Morozov king now. And there’s nothing in this fucking world that can stop me. Not you. Not even the whelp.”
“Do you really think I sat in my home pretending not to see how you were destroying everything we built? Do you think I was alone in tying the net around you?” she asks. Her guards move in behind Sergei’s men. There is a moment of confusion. Then acceptance. And I understand why. This woman. This brilliant woman.
Sasha steps forward. Sergei stumbles. “Sasha, you?—”
“Me.” Her lips curl as she dips her head.
Babushka doesn't turn. “Kerrill never placed her in Sergei’s crew. I did. To protect my nephew.”
Nikolai blinks, the realization settling in. “I guess I passed.”
“You did,” Babushka says. Then she finally looks at Sergei again. Her voice goes cold. “Shame the same can't be said for my own son.” She steps closer. The space between them tightens. “I’m sorry, Ser?zha. I truly am. But this is the way.”
She turns and walks back toward her car. Her pace doesn't falter, but the weight of the decision shows in the line of her back.
“Seize him,” Viktor orders.
Guards grab Sergei. I barely register it. My eyes stay on Babushka. I wonder what it would be like to order your own child’s death.
“You’re still that frightened boy in the bedroom, Vitya,” Sergei snarls, struggling against the hold. “You always will be.”
“And you’re a traitor,” Viktor says evenly. “And you die as one.”
He moves in a single, decisive motion. The blade leaves its sheath. He steps inside Sergei’s reach, grips his coat, and drives the knife under the ribs. A broken sound tears out of Sergei’s throat. His hands clutch at Viktor’s shoulder, his knees buckling. Viktor holds him for a brief beat, supporting the weight of the man who tried to destroy him. Then he pulls the blade free and lets him fall.
The body hits the concrete with a dull thud. My vision blurs. My knees soften. I’ve never seen someone die like that. Not this close. The sound of the knife entering flesh is something I’ll never forget. It’s the sound of the world shifting.
Lev’s hand steadies the back of my neck until my breathing evens out. Viktor doesn't look at me. I don't know if I’m grateful or not.
