Anka felt her heart crack at the fear in her youngest sister’s voice, understanding completely the desire to be somewhere safe and familiar after hours of terror. But the responsible part of her—the part that had been making difficult decisions for her family since she was barely older than Sofie—knew that proper medical care might be necessary.
“They can go home,” Viktor said quietly from somewhere behind her, his voice carrying the kind of authority that made the paramedic straighten slightly. “I’ll arrange for private medical supervision, round-the-clock care until we’re certain they’re stable.”
Anka turned to look at him, feeling something complicated twist in her chest at his immediate offer to help. Even after everything that had gone wrong between them, even after she’d walked out of his life three days ago, he was still thinking about what her family needed.
The paramedic looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Viktor’s expression apparently convinced him that negotiation would be counterproductive. “I’ll need signedwaivers, and someone needs to monitor them for signs of delayed shock or—”
“Consider it handled.” Viktor was already pulling out his phone, scrolling through contacts with the kind of efficiency that suggested he had resources most people couldn’t imagine. “Whatever they need, they’ll have.”
Anka wanted to thank him, to express the gratitude that was threatening to overwhelm her careful composure, but the words felt inadequate. How did you thank someone for saving your sisters’ lives? How did you acknowledge that kind of debt when your relationship was already so complicated that a simple conversation felt like navigating a minefield?
The sound of approaching vehicles drew her attention to the street, where a convoy of black SUVs was pulling up with military precision. Anka felt tension ease from her shoulders as she recognized the lead vehicle—Matvei had arrived, bringing what looked like half their security force with him.
She watched her oldest brother emerge from the lead SUV like a force of nature barely contained in human form, his expression cycling through rage, fear, and protective fury in rapid succession. Adrian followed close behind, his face carrying guilt and determination in equal measure. The sight of her brothers should have been comforting, but instead, Anka felt herself beginning to withdraw, pulling back from the center of attention as her family took control of the situation.
“How are they?” Matvei’s voice was rough with emotion as he approached the ambulance, his eyes scanning Raya and Sofie with desperate intensity.
“They’re okay,” Anka replied, stepping back to give him access. “Scared, dehydrated, but not seriously hurt. The paramedic cleared them to go home with supervision.”
She watched her brothers cluster around their sisters, noting how naturally she faded into the background now that the crisis was over. It was a familiar pattern—during emergencies, her competence and determination made her indispensable, but once safety was restored, she once again became invisible. The sister who could handle anything, who didn’t need the same protection and attention as the others.
“Viktor.” Matvei’s voice carried gratitude that went beyond simple politeness. “Adrian told me what happened. Thank you.”
Anka found herself studying Viktor’s face as he responded, noting the way his expression softened slightly at her brother’s acknowledgment. “Family protects family,” he said simply. “Your sisters are safe. That’s what matters.”
The words hit her like a physical blow, reminding her of everything they’d lost and everything she’d walked away from. Viktor still considered her family, still acted like her welfare mattered to him, even though she’d left him because his need for revenge had become more important than their marriage.
“We’ll take them home now,” Matvei continued, his attention already shifting to logistics. “Anka, you should come with us—”
“I’m fine here.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, defensive in a way that made her brothers exchange glances; she pretended not to notice. “I have my car, and I need to handle a few things before I can leave.”
It was a lie, of course. She didn’t have anything to handle except her own inability to fall apart in front of her family. The adrenaline that had carried her through the rescue was starting to fade, leaving behind exhaustion and delayed shock that she couldn’t afford to process in front of an audience.
“Are you sure?” Adrian asked, his voice carrying uncertainty that suggested he was beginning to recognize patterns he’d missed before. “After what happened tonight, maybe you shouldn’t be alone—”
“I said I’m fine.” The finality in her voice effectively ended the discussion, though she could see the concern in her brothers’ faces.
She watched her family depart with their characteristic efficiency, a convoy of protection surrounding Raya and Sofie as they were transported to safety. It should have been comforting to know they were safe, that the nightmare was over, but instead, Anka felt strangely hollow, as if the crisis had been the only thing holding her together and now that it was resolved, she was free to fall apart.
The warehouse district felt different once the convoy disappeared—emptier, more threatening, full of shadows that could hide any number of dangers. Anka stood beside her car, fumbling with keys that suddenly felt impossibly heavy in her hands.
“You should go home,” Viktor said quietly from behind her, his voice carrying concern she wasn’t sure she deserved.
“I will.” She tried to sound confident, tried to project the same competence that had gotten them through the rescue, but her hands were shaking now, and the keys felt slippery against her palms. “I just need a minute to—”
The keys fell to the asphalt with a metallic clatter that seemed unnaturally loud in the warehouse district’s industrial quiet. Anka stared at them for a long moment, as if the simple act of dropping her keys had revealed something she’d been trying to hide.
When she bent to retrieve them, a tremor ran through her entire body—a full-body shudder that spoke of shock and delayed reaction finally breaking through her carefully maintained composure. She straightened slowly, the keys clutched in white-knuckled fingers, and felt her control finally begin to shatter.
The shaking started in her hands and spread outward like ripples in disturbed water. Not the gentle tremor of cold or fatigue, but violent convulsions of a nervous system that had reached its limits and was finally allowing the body to process trauma it had been too busy to acknowledge.
Images flashed through her mind—Raya’s terrified face in that photograph, Sofie’s small voice begging not to go to the hospital, the sound of Nick Barresi’s laughter echoing off container walls. But underneath those fresh horrors were older memories, darker ones: her own kidnapping two years ago, the hours of terror and pain and desperate hope that someone would find her before it was too late.
She could feel herself spiraling, could sense the panic attack building like a storm system in her chest, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, her vision starting to blur at the edges, and she was dimly aware that she was about to collapse in a warehouse district parking lot like some kind of damsel in distress from a bad movie.
Then Viktor’s arms were around her, pulling her against his chest before her knees could give out entirely. She fought him for a moment—a brief, instinctive struggle against vulnerability—before her body seemed to recognize his touch and went limp against him.
“I’ve got you,” Viktor murmured against her hair, his hands moving in soothing circles across her back. “You’re safe. They’re safe. It’s over.”
