"I didn't miss." I lower the gun, letting my arm hang loose at my side because I can't hold it up anymore. Eventually my grip releases entirely, unable to maintain the weight of a weapon that almost took everything from me. "I chose." I say as it clatters to the floor, the sound deafening in the silence between us.
The distance between us evaporates. I don't know who moves first. Maybe both of us at once, pulled together by something stronger than gravity, stronger than the decade of pain and planning that should have kept us apart forever. His arms wrap around me, and I bury my face against his chest, breathing in gunpowder and blood and the scent that belongs only to him.
"You did?" he asks against my hair. His hands shake where they press against my back, mindful of my injuries, careful even in his desperation, not to hurt me.
"I chose you." The words come easier now. "I choose us. Whatever that means. Whatever comes next."
He pulls back just far enough to see my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, smearing blood and tears into patterns I don't care about, then he kisses me. Not desperate this time. Not angry or afraid or tangled up in all the complicated emotions that have defined everything between us. Just soft. Gentle. A beginning instead of an ending.
When we finally separate, the room still smells like death as Father's body cools on the expensive carpet. The evidence of our violence still decorates every surface. But somehow none of it touches this moment. This fragile bubble of possibility we've carved out of the wreckage.
"We should go," Daniil says. "There are arrangements to make."
I nod, taking his hand. I don't look back at the bodies as we leave.
The meeting happens three days later in a restaurant that's been in my family for generations. Well, Father’s family. I will never, nor have I ever been, a part of thisfamily.
Dimitri chose the location, which I understand is a statement. He's claiming his inheritance publicly, establishing himself in spaces our father built, making it clear that the transition of power has already begun. He’s smart. Ruthless in ways that remind me uncomfortably of the man I killed. But Dimitri's eyes are different. Warmer. There's actual humanitythere beneath the careful mask of a man who knows he's about to rule an empire soaked in blood.
He sits across from us in a private booth, flanked by men I don't recognize. His sister, our sister, Apolena, perches beside him, looking younger than her twenty years despite the designer dress and careful makeup. She keeps sneaking glances at me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve.
"So"— Dimitri folds his hands on the table— “you killed my father."
"Yes." No point in denying it. "Does that create a problem between us?" I lean forward matching his stare. I don’t expect a fight, but I won’t back down. My happiness, my freedom with Daniil is worth any price I may be forced to pay.
"Depends on your perspective." His lips quirk into something that's almost a smile. "From where I'm sitting, you solved several problems I was beginning to think were unsolvable. Father was...difficult. In ways that made the organization unstable."
"He was a monster," Apolena says quietly. Her voice carries the particular weight of someone who knows exactly what she's talking about. Of someone who is full of memories they never want to see the light of day. "I'm glad he's dead."
The confession startles me. I expected fear from her, but honestly, I had assumed she was Father’s princess after he got rid of their mother without trying to kill them. Maybe his attempt to murder me was actually an act of mercy. Not this quiet relief that mirrors my own.
"There are complications," Dimitri continues. "Mariya, our stepmother, has fled. She took a significant payout and disappeared somewhere we're choosing not to look. She's pregnant with what would have been Father's new heir, but I've decided that particular problem is better solved through distance than violence."
"Generous," Daniil observes.
"Practical." Dimitri shrugs. "A war over succession helps no one. Better she raise her child far from here, believing whatever story she wants to believe about what happened."
I process this information, trying to fit it into the framework of what I know about Bratva politics. Mariya never seemed kind, but I didn’t know her. She was also barely more than a child herself when Father claimed her. Another in his long line of victims.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With the organization?"
"I am now Pakhan." Dimitri's voice hardens slightly. "Though stating it that way implies a smoothness that won't exist. There will be challenges. Men who think they deserve the position more than me. I’m still relatively young in a lot of the mens’ eyes. There will be violence, probably significant violence…” He pauses to give me an ironic grin. “Until my authority is established beyond question." His eyes shift to Daniil. "Which brings me to a proposal."
Daniil's hand tightens on mine under the table.
"Come back. Not as Volk. That name carries too much weight, too much association with what happened. But as yourself. You know this organization better than anyone alive. Your skills, your experience, your connections. I could use someone like you while I'm consolidating power."
The offer hangs in the air, and I feel Daniil considering it, feel the pull of the life he knows against the life he's promised me. A future of violence versus a future of peace. The familiar versus the unknown.
"No." The word comes without hesitation. "My focus is Sofiya now. Whatever life we build, it won't be in the Bratva's shadow."
Something eases in my chest. Something I didn't realize I'd been holding tightly.
Dimitri nods slowly. "I expected that answer, but had to ask anyway." He leans back, studying us both with eyes thatsee more than they reveal. "Then consider this my first act as Pakhan. Daniil Vasiliev and Sofiya Vasiliev are under my protection. Anyone who threatens them threatens me directly. The conflict between our families ends here, tonight, with this declaration."
"Vasiliev?" I don’t miss that he gave Daniil and I the same last name. A clear message and a sign of respect.
"I only want the best for you Sofiya," Dimitri says gently. "You were a legitimate daughter, whatever lies he told about your parentage. That makes us siblings, you and I. Half-siblings, technically, but siblings nonetheless." He pauses. "I know we didn't grow up together and you have every reason to want nothing to do with this family, but the offer stands. You have a brother now “—he looks at Apolena who nods enthusiastically—“and a sister too if you want one."
