Chapter 164 Chapter 164

Chapter 164 Chapter 164
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Four

Dimitri

The funeral was held in the old church where our parents were buried. The same stone walls that had witnessed their funeral fifteen years ago now bore witness to my brother's. The morning was gray and cold, snow falling in soft sheets that covered everything in white but nothing could hide the truth. My brother was dead. My twin. My other half. Gone.

Mikhail spoke, his voice breaking on every word as he buried the second son he had raised. He stood at the front of the church, his cane in one hand and the other gripping the podium for support.

"Alexei Volkov was a complicated man," Mikhail said, his voice rough. "He made mistakes. Terrible mistakes. But at the end, he chose love. He chose sacrifice. He gave his life to protect the innocent. And that is how I will remember him."

The entire Bratva attended. The church was packed with men in dark suits, their faces grim. Men who had killed without hesitation stood silent, paying respects to one of their own.

I stood like a statue throughout the service. My face was blank and carefully composed but inside I was screaming. My ocean blue eyes were empty, hollowed out, a man who had lost half of himself.

Irina stood beside me holding Nikolai. The baby was crying, his little face red with distress. He was too young to understand death but on some deep level he knew. Children always know when something fundamental has changed.

I looked at the coffin and felt nothing. Numbness had settled over me. I could not cry anymore. I had cried all my tears holding my brother's body as it grew cold and now there was nothing left. Just an empty space where my brother used to be.

At the gravesite, men took turns throwing handfuls of frozen earth onto the coffin. The sound of dirt hitting wood was hollow and final. I stood at the edge and watched my brother disappear into the earth. This was it. This was the end.

Irina touched my arm. "Say something," she whispered. "Say goodbye."

But I could not. The words were trapped in my throat. Finally, I whispered, "I am sorry. For everything. For not forgiving you sooner. I am sorry, Alexei."

The wind carried my words away, scattering them across the snow.

After the service, men approached me one by one to offer their condolences. Sergei, one of my oldest captains, shook my hand firmly. "He died well," Sergei said. "That matters."

"He should not have died at all," I replied.

"No," Sergei agreed. "But none of us get to choose. We only get to choose how we live and how we fall. Your brother chose well at the end."

I nodded and thanked him but the words felt empty.

Mikhail limped over, leaning heavily on his cane. His face was wet with tears. "I raised two sons," he said quietly. "And now one of them is gone."

"You still have me," I said.

"I know," Mikhail replied. "And I am grateful. But a father should not outlive his children. It is not the natural order."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "He loved you, Mikhail. You know that."

"I know," Mikhail whispered. "I just wish I had told him more often."

In the months that followed, I kept my promise. I moved Irina and Nikolai into my wing of the rebuilt compound. I gave them everything. Protection, comfort, safety. Nothing was too much because I had made a promise to my dying brother and I would honor it.

I looked at Nikolai every day and saw Alexei. The boy had his father's forest green eyes, his reckless energy, his fearless curiosity. Every expression and every laugh was Alexei reborn. And it hurt. God, it hurt. But I loved him anyway. I loved him fiercely with everything I had left.

Irina grieved deeply. She had not expected to love Alexei. She had fought against it but somewhere in those final months, watching him transform, she had fallen. And then he had died saving her. That final act of selfless love was something she would carry forever.

I grieved too but differently. I had hated my brother and wanted him gone but not like this. Never like this. I would have given anything to have Alexei back. To have one more argument and one more chance to forgive him while he was still alive to hear it.

Slowly, over months and years, Irina and I found a fragile peace. I did not ask her to love me. I did not demand anything. I simply stayed. I was there every day and every night, a constant presence.

One night I found her crying in Nikolai's nursery. I sat beside her and held her hand.

"I keep thinking about his last moments," she said. "Was he scared? Was he in pain?"

"He was at peace," I said. "I saw it in his eyes. He knew what he was doing and he did not regret it."

"I wish I could have told him," she whispered. "Told him that I loved him too. That I forgave everything."

"He knew," I said. "Trust me, Irina. He knew."

I became a father to Nikolai in every way except blood. I taught him to walk and to talk and to read. I showed him how to be strong but gentle, reckless but thoughtful. I tried to give him all the best parts of Alexei without the worst.

One day Nikolai looked up at me with those green eyes and said, "Dima?"

"Yes, little one?" I replied.

"Dima is my papa?" he asked.

My heart clenched. "Yes," I said. "I am your papa."

"Where is my other papa?" he asked, too young to understand.

I lifted him onto my lap. "Your other papa was a hero," I said. "He loved you very much and he watches over you every day."

Nikolai seemed satisfied with that and ran off to play.

One year after Alexei's death, on a cold morning with snow falling softly, I drove Irina and Nikolai to the cemetery.

Alexei's grave was in the family plot, next to our parents. A simple black stone marked with his name and dates. I had arranged for flowers to be placed there every week. Today, the stone was surrounded by white roses, their petals dusted with snow.

Nikolai toddled forward on unsteady legs. He was walking now, talking in broken sentences, exploring the world with fearless curiosity. His forest green eyes were bright and alive, so much like his father's.

I knelt beside the grave and placed one hand on the cold stone. "He looks like you," I said quietly, speaking to my brother for the first time since the funeral. "Acts like you too. Reckless and fearless. Yesterday he tried to climb the bookshelf and gave his mother a heart attack."

I smiled sadly. "I caught him before he fell but he was not scared. He just laughed. Just like you would have."

My voice broke slightly. "I will make sure he knows who you were. Not the worst parts and not the mistakes but the best parts. The brother I loved. The man you became at the end. The hero who gave his life for the people he loved."

Irina knelt beside me, tears slipping down her cheeks. She touched the stone with trembling fingers. "Thank you," she whispered. "For saving us. For changing. Thank you, Alexei."

I put my arm around her and pulled her close. "Thank you," Irina whispered to me. "For keeping your promise. For loving him even though he is not yours."

"He is mine," I said firmly. "Blood does not make a father. Love does. And I love him. I love you both."

Nikolai toddled over and placed his small hand on the gravestone. He babbled something that sounded like "Papa," though he was too young to understand.

We stayed until snow covered our shoulders. A broken family kneeling before a grave, holding onto each other.

In the distance, Mikhail watched from his car. His old face was wet with tears. He had loved my mother and he had raised her sons. And now he watched the next generation begin, scarred and surviving.

As we stood to leave, I looked back one last time. "I miss you, brother," I whispered.

The wind carried my words away. But this time, I felt something like peace. Alexei was gone but his son lived. And through Nikolai, a part of my brother would continue.