"I want to know what it's like," she says finally, voice barely audible. "To be normal. To wake up next to someone and not calculate how they could kill you. To eat breakfast and go to work and come home and just...exist. Without rage. Without plans for violence. Just exist as a regular person living her life."
The confession breaks something in me. Something I didn't know still had the capacity to break.
"If we survive," I hear myself saying , " if we somehow make it through tomorrow, I'll give you that." Fuck it, I’ll give her all the hope in the world if it’s what she needs.
"How?"
"We can disappear. Leave the Bratva. Become people with fake American names and boring jobs and neighbors who think we're normal." I pull her tighter to me. "I'll make you breakfast and drive you to work every day until we're old and gray and death comes naturally instead of violently."
"You know none of that is possible."
"Maybe. But it's a good dream." I press my lips to her forehead. "And if we're dying tomorrow, anyway, I want you to have it. I want you to know what I'd give you if the world was different. If we were different."
She half-laughs half-sobs. "Normal doesn't suit you. You'd be bored in a week."
"Probably. But I'd be bored with you."
She kisses me then, soft and gentle. The opposite of everything we just did. The kiss of someone saying goodbye even though we're still here. Still breathing. Still pretending the future might not end us both.
When we break apart, I scan her face, memorizing the details. The small scar above her left eyebrow , the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she almost smiles, and the exact shade of green that's haunted me since I first saw her.
"My phone's going to ring soon," I say. Reality returning like it always does. "The Pakhan will want updates on the explosion. On Anatoly's suspicions. On everything that went wrong last night."
"What will you tell him?"
"Whatever keeps you breathing." My hand traces patterns on her shoulder, her skin warm beneath my fingers. "Whatever buys us more time."
"And when we run out of time?"
"Then we finish this. Together. The way it should've been from the start."
She's quiet for a long moment. Preparing herself for what's coming.
"I'm trusting you," she says finally. "More than I've trusted anyone sinceMomochkadied. If you're lying …"
"I’m not." I tilt her face up. "I'm a lot of things. Liar. Killer. Traitor to everything I've ever sworn loyalty to. But I'm not lying about this. Not to you. Never to you."
She studies my face, and whatever she sees satisfies her. She nods and settles back against my chest. She lets herself relax in a way I know she rarely does.
My phone rings right on schedule. I check the screen. The Pakhan. Of course.
"I need to take this."
"I know."
I answer, keeping my voice steady and professional. The loyal second reporting in after a crisis. "Da?"
"What the fuck happened at my house?" The Pakhan's voice is tight and controlled, the way it gets when he's close to violence. "Anatoly says there was an explosion."
"Gas line ruptured in the pool house. Minor damage and no casualties." I keep my tone neutral. "Looks accidental but I'm investigating to be sure."
"Anatoly also had interesting news about that courier. The one Aleksandr's been using."
My hand tightens on Sofiya, warning her to stay silent and still. "What about her?"
"He says she looks familiar. Something about her reminds him of someone from years ago." The Pakhan pauses, letting that hang for a moment. "Someone who should be dead." He makes the implication clear.
"Lots of girls have familiar faces. It doesn't mean anything. You know Anatoly can be a fucking idiot."
