Chapter 57

Chapter 57
Lina's POV

Dmitri leaned back in his chair, picked up his teacup and took another sip.

"I knew you sent Lina to the orphanage. I always knew. I also knew you went to the orphanage looking for her. Every time you moved one step closer to her, I moved her one step away. That day you waited outside the orphanage gate all day long, I was watching you from a car across the street."

"So you took me away," I said.

"So I took you away," he repeated. "I gave you a name, gave you skills, gave you a reason to live. I forged you into Raven's sharpest blade, not to destroy you, but to give you the power not to be trampled underfoot by anyone in a world without family, without a surname."

"You gave me a cage," I said.

"A cage can save your life." Dmitri's gaze fell on my gun muzzle. "Those people outside would tear you apart, Lina. Without me, you wouldn't have lived to eighteen."

"Without you," I said, "I should have grown up in Luca's home."

Dmitri looked at me. For the first time, something like a crack appeared in those murky eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately just closed it, then made a "help yourself" gesture—

He was inviting me to shoot.

Luca said nothing. Dmitri didn't move. They were both waiting for me.

The sea wind from outside, pouring through gaps in the iron sheeting, made the papers on the table rustle.

I looked at those eyes of Dmitri's, guessing what he really wanted.

He wanted a period, a period drawn by my own hand.

That way he could tell himself that this weapon he'd created had never betrayed him from start to finish.

If I pulled the trigger in this moment, he would win.

But I refused to grant his wish.

I moved my finger from the trigger, holstered the gun at my waist.

The calm on Dmitri's face shattered. He seemed somewhat confused.

He'd trained me for fifteen years. He thought he could predict my every reaction, every tear, every anger. He thought he'd written every page of my life's script.

"I won't kill you," I said. "Not because I'm soft-hearted, but because you don't deserve to have me perform the final act in the script you set. You want to see me lose control, want to see me become that emotionless weapon you talk about. You're wrong.

"I am Lina Volkova. I am the person my mother fought to the death to send away, not a tool you created."

"Enough, Lina. You've said plenty." Luca approached me, gently patted my back, raised his hand to tap his earpiece. "Bring someone. Take him away."

When Luca's people flooded in from outside, Dmitri still sat in that chair.

As they escorted him past me, his footsteps paused.

"Lina, you've truly grown up."

I raised an eyebrow, choosing to ignore Dmitri's sudden sentimentality. "Take him."

Footsteps sounded again. The iron door opened and closed. Only Luca and I remained in the room.

He didn't speak. Neither did I.

"Are you alright?" Luca's voice came from behind me.

"Yes," I said.

"Want to get some air?" Luca asked.

"Okay."

The dock wind was strong, carrying the briny dampness of seawater.

I stood at the edge of the concrete embankment, looking at the dark heavy sea surface.

In the distance a cargo ship was entering port. Ship lights cut two blurry beams through the night, like some deep-sea creature slowly blinking its eyes.

Luca followed out, draping his overcoat over my shoulders.

His overcoat was very heavy, carrying his body heat and that faint, dry cologne scent.

I didn't turn around, just gathered the collar closer, letting the cashmere texture nestle against my neck.

We were silent for a long time.

Long enough for the cargo ship to fully enter port. Long enough for the dockside crane to start operating, metal collision sounds carrying far in the night wind.

"He said you didn't catch me when I was seventeen," I spoke, my voice scattered somewhat by the wind. "Is that true?"

"It's true." After a moment of silence, Luca answered softly.

"I went to the orphanage three times. The first time, they said you'd already been adopted. I didn't believe it, checked the records—fake. The second time, I found the middleman who forged the records, but he was silenced, the night before I found him. The third time—"

He paused. "The third time I went, you were no longer there. Someone had transferred you to a training camp in the Ural Mountains. By the time my people tracked there, the camp was empty, only ashes from burned files remained."

I turned around to look at him.

Luca stood half a step away from me, hands in his overcoat pockets, chin slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the concrete ground at his feet.

This angle made him look younger than usual, and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him.

"I searched every year," he said. "Every year. The people I sent out changed batch after batch. Leads broke again and again. For three years I thought you were dead. For five years I thought you'd been sold somewhere in Eastern Europe. For two years I nearly overturned all of Raven's public bases—but I couldn't find you."

At this point, Luca's voice choked for an instant.

I didn't know how to comfort people. Raven had never taught me this.

I just turned my head, pressed my forehead against his shoulder.

Like every time before when he'd touched the back of my head, except this time I initiated it.

His body stiffened for an instant—the stress response killers have when their nape is approached.

But the next second he relaxed. His right hand withdrew from his pocket, gently supporting my waist.

"Your mother entrusted you to me," he said, voice coming from atop my head, muffled. "I failed to catch you. I'm sorry."

"No, you caught me." My forehead pressed against his shoulder, voice somewhat muffled.

Luca's arm suddenly tightened, pulling me more firmly into his embrace.

His chin rested on top of my head. His warm breath came through my hair, mixed with the sea wind's briny scent, yet unexpectedly brought peace of mind.

"I've caught you now," his voice carried a barely perceptible tremor. "I'll never let you get lost again."

I could feel his hand on my waist applying slight pressure, as if confirming I was real, not the phantom he'd dreamed of repeatedly for years.

The dock wind still blew. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to lean on his shoulder, listening to his steady heartbeat. That sound was like some kind of anchor point, letting my heart that had drifted for fifteen years finally find a shore where it could dock.