We make love again that night at 10:00 PM—slower than the study floor, with the weight of what's coming pressing on us both. I'm gentler than usual, reverent, mapping every inch of her body like I'm memorizing coordinates.
She notices. I can tell by the way she touches me back—reassuring, showing me with her body that she's strong enough for what's coming.
"I'm not fragile," she whispers when I'm inside her, moving slowly.
"I know."
"Then stop making love to me like I might break."
"I'm making love to you like you're precious. There's a difference."
We finish together—slow, intimate, both of us holding on tighter than necessary.
I trace their names again, lying in the dark afterward, and choose to believe in resurrection.
Chapter eleven
Bloodlines Revealed
Sonya
Tuesday morning, I wake up at 6:00 AM in Maksim's bed—our bed now, after two weeks at the safe house and two days back in Philadelphia. Five days until we face Anton.
The countdown is constant, pressing, inescapable.
I slip out of bed without waking Maksim and head to the third-floor studio at 7:00 AM. My body needs the routine, the familiar patterns of barre work and center combinations. Dance has always been my meditation, my prayer, my way of processing the world.
This morning, I work through Giselle choreography. Act II variations, the Wilis sequences. Every movement must beperfect. Flawless. Not because Anton demands it, but because I'm transforming his weapon against him.
Maksim appears in the doorway around an hour later, coffee in hand, settling into his usual spot by the window. He doesn't speak, doesn't interrupt. Just watches me dance with quiet intensity.
This has become our pattern. My morning practice with his silent vigil. Together but separate. Preparing in our own ways.
By 10:00 AM, I've finished. Stretched, cooled down, toweled off the sweat.
"We have the video call with Alexei in twenty minutes. You should shower first."
Right. The call. I'd almost forgotten.
I shower quickly, dress in comfortable clothes, and meet Maksim in his study. He's setting up the large monitor, testing the connection. Sergei must have installed this specifically for coordinating the Lincoln Center operation.
At 10:30 AM exactly, the video connects.
Alexei appears on screen beside his wife Mila. I've seen photos of her, but this is my first time seeing her in real-time. Alexei is imposing even through a screen—dark hair, sharp eyes, the kind of presence that commands attention. Mila beside himis smaller, delicate-looking, but her eyes are just as sharp. Together they built Chicago's reform movement, cleaned up corruption, and forged federal alliances. Now they're using those skills to track Anton.
"Sonya." Alexei's voice is formal but warm. "We need to clarify the family connection officially before we discuss operations. My mother's father and your grandmother were siblings. That makes us second cousins—distant enough that we didn't grow up together, but close enough that you're part of my mother's bloodline. In Bratva terms, that makes you family worth protecting."
I process this. I knew Alexei was "cousin" somehow, but the specific connection was never mapped out clearly. "Second cousins through your maternal grandfather."
"Exactly. Which means Philadelphia's fight is Chicago's fight. You're blood." His expression turns serious. "And Anton Kozlov has been targeting what we call 'Bratva princesses' for at least fifteen years. Daughters, wives, cousins of powerful men. Elena was married to Maksim. You're my blood relation. This is a pattern."
The revelation chills me. I'm not just Anton's random obsession—I was selected because of my family connection to the Morozov power structure too, however distant.
"He collects us, that’s what he was referring to all those times when he said that," I realize slowly. "Each one chosen for who we're connected to, not just for being dancers."
Mila leans forward, pulling up files on her screen. "I've been investigating Anton's history using some... specialized computer skills. We've identified at least seven possible victims over fifteen years, including Elena and you."
She shares her screen. A spreadsheet appears with names, dates, locations, outcomes.
