Chapter 51 Marlena
The hospital wheelchair felt too big for Elena as the nurse helped her into the passenger seat of the quiet car waiting outside.
My mother moved so slowly, each step careful and deliberate like she was learning how to use her body again after years of forced stillness.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the nurse's arm for support and I watched from my own wheelchair, my side still aching from the bullet wound but healing steadily.
"Thank you," I said to the nurse as she made sure Elena was settled, the seatbelt secured properly. "For everything."
The nurse smiled warmly and patted my shoulder. "Take care of each other. You both deserve some peace."
Peace. The word felt foreign, like something from a language I'd forgotten how to speak.
The driver Katya had arranged helped me into the back seat and folded both wheelchairs into the trunk with practiced efficiency. He was an older man with kind eyes and the kind of face that had seen too much to be surprised by anything. He didn't ask questions or make small talk, just started the engine and pulled away from the hospital with smooth, careful movements.
I reached forward and found Elena's hand, thin and cold in mine. Her fingers squeezed weakly and I held on tight, anchoring us both as we drove away from the sterile white halls and beeping machines toward something that might resemble a future.
The city gave way to countryside as we climbed higher into the mountains and the air grew cooler and thinner outside the windows. Pine trees pressed in on both sides of the narrow road and the sky above was so blue it almost hurt to look at. We passed through tiny villages where time seemed to move slower, where people still hung laundry on lines and grew vegetables in small gardens.
I kept holding Elena's hand the whole drive, my thumb rubbing small circles on her papery skin. She didn't speak much, just looked out the window with eyes that were slowly clearing from the fog of drugs Viktor had kept her in. Occasionally she'd squeeze my hand and I'd squeeze back, our silent language of comfort and reassurance.
"Do you remember when we used to go to the park?" I asked softly, needing to fill the silence with something other than the weight of everything we'd lost. "When I was little. You'd push me on the swings until I thought I might fly away."
Elena's lips curved into a small smile and warmth bloomed across her hollow features. "You were fearless," she said, her voice still raspy but stronger than it had been. "Always wanting to go higher, higher. I was terrified you'd fall."
"But I never did," I said, remembering the feeling of wind in my hair and my mother's laughter below me. "You always caught me."
"Always," Elena whispered, and her eyes filled with tears that didn't fall.
The warmth in my chest spread and grew, melting some of the ice that had settled there over months of fear and pain and betrayal. For the first time since I could remember, I felt something close to contentment. Not happiness exactly, but the possibility of it somewhere in the future.
The safe house appeared after two hours of driving, nestled high in the mountains where the road became little more than a dirt path. It was small and wooden with smoke curling from the chimney and wildflowers growing in untamed abundance around the foundation. The kind of place you'd never find unless you knew exactly where to look.
Perfect.
The driver helped us inside with our few belongings and the medical supplies the hospital had sent. The interior was cozy and warm with exposed wooden beams and comfortable furniture that looked well-loved. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace and someone had stocked the kitchen with basics.
"Katya arranged everything," the driver said, setting our bags by the door. "There's food, medicine, firewood for the winter. If you need anything, there's a phone number on the fridge. Don't use it unless it's an emergency."
Then he was gone and Elena and I were alone in our mountain sanctuary.
I made tea in the small kitchen, Earl Grey with honey the way Elena used to make it when I was young. My hands were steadier now as I carried two steaming mugs to the soft couch where Elena had settled, wrapped in a thick blanket.
We sat together and sipped our tea in comfortable silence for a while, watching the fire dance and listening to the wind whisper through the pines outside. The mountain quiet was so different from New York's constant noise, from Monaco's sophisticated hum. Here there was only peace and the sound of our own breathing.
"Tell me," I said finally, setting down my mug. "Tell me what happened. What he did to you all those years."
Elena's cup trembled in her hands and I took it from her gently before it could spill. She looked into the fire with eyes that had seen too much darkness.
"He kept me in different places," she said slowly, her words measured as if she was afraid saying them too fast would bring the memories crashing down. "Basements mostly. Sometimes nice rooms, but always locked. Always with the drugs."
I listened and quiet tears streamed down my face as she spoke in fragments about the years Viktor had stolen from her.
"He would come sometimes," Elena continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Talk to me like we were still a family. Like he hadn't destroyed everything. The drugs made it hard to fight back, hard to remember what was real."
"I'm so sorry, Mama," I said, my voice breaking. "I should have known. Should have looked harder."
"You thought I was dead," Elena said, reaching up to touch my cheek with her cold fingers. "How could you have known?"
"I should have suspected something. Viktor was alive all along and I never questioned the official story about you."
"Don't blame yourself." Elena's hand trembled against my skin. "We're together now. We're safe. That's what matters."
"We'll never be scared again," I promised fiercely, taking her hand in both of mine. "I'll make sure of it. We'll build a new life here, away from everyone who hurt us. Just you and me and Luka when he's well enough."
Elena smiled through her tears and it transformed her face from broken to something almost whole. "You are my brave girl," she said, her voice full of love and pride. "You always have been."
I hugged her tight and didn't let go for a long time, feeling her fragile body against mine and trying to pour all my strength into her through touch alone. She smelled like hospital soap and medicine but underneath it I could still find traces of the mother I remembered, the woman who'd raised me with love even when we had nothing.
That night after Elena had gone to bed in the small room upstairs, I sat by the fire with a cup of chamomile tea and let myself breathe for what felt like the first time in months. The flames crackled and popped and outside the wind carried the scent of pine and wild herbs.
My phone buzzed on the table beside me and I picked it up expecting a message from the hospital or maybe Katya checking in. Instead, the screen showed an unknown number and a video file that made my blood run cold.
The sender was listed as Dominic's old number from Paris, the one that had gone dead during our last conversation when someone cut the line. My hands trembled as I opened the video and pressed play.
Dominic's face filled the screen and he looked terrified in a way I'd never seen before. He was somewhere dark with only a single bare bulb lighting his face from above, casting harsh shadows that made him look older and more desperate. His eyes were wide and glassy with fear.
"Marlena," he whispered urgently, looking over his shoulder like someone might come through the door at any moment. "If you're watching this, I'm probably already dead. I need you to know the truth about your forgeries."
My heart hammered in my chest as I leaned closer to the screen.
"They weren't just used for money laundering," Dominic continued, his voice shaking. "Viktor was using them as fronts, as covers for something much worse. The paintings went to buyers who were actually purchasing weapons, biological agents, things that could kill thousands of people."
I felt sick but couldn't look away.
"The shell companies buying your work," he said, his eyes finding the camera with desperate intensity. "They were all connected to arms dealers, terrorists, people who shouldn't have access to that kind of –" He stopped and looked over his shoulder again. "One of the biggest buyers was a corporation called Volkov Industries. Nikolai's company. They purchased at least a dozen of your pieces over three years. I tried to warn you before but they cut the line. I tried to –"
The video stopped suddenly and the screen went black.
I sat there staring at nothing as my hands shook hard and nausea rose in my throat. Nikolai's company had bought my forgeries. Had used them as cover for weapons trafficking. He'd known all along what my work was being used for and said nothing, done nothing, just continued to let me forge paintings that helped arm dealers and terrorists.
All his talk about wanting to go clean, about selling off the dirty businesses. It was all lies. More lies piled on top of the mountain of lies he'd already told me.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing le
ft in my stomach, my whole body shaking violently as the betrayal washed over me in waves.