Chapter 153 Anya
Three days had passed since Alexander killed Nikolai. Three days of crying until my eyes were swollen and my throat was raw. Three days of staring at the ceiling, wishing for death.
Alexander came to my room every morning. He brought me food I did not eat and news I did not want to hear.
"Your husband is dead," he said on the first day. "The warehouse was completely destroyed. No survivors."
I did not answer. I just turned my face to the wall.
"Suit yourself," he said. And he left.
On the second day, he brought lawyers. "Sign these," he said. "More paperwork. Transferring your mother's jewelry to me."
"Take it," I whispered. "Take everything. I do not care."
He smiled. "That is the spirit."
I signed without reading. Without thinking. What did any of it matter now? Nikolai was dead. Nothing else mattered.
On the third day, Alexander came with suitcases.
"Pack your things," he said. "We are leaving."
I sat up in bed. My body felt heavy, disconnected, like I was watching someone else move. "Leaving? Where?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere your husband's friends cannot find you. I am taking you away, sister. For your own protection."
"I am not going anywhere with you."
"Yes, you are." He snapped his fingers. Two guards entered the room. "Help her pack. If she resists, carry her to the car."
The guards grabbed my clothes and started shoving them into suitcases. I stood there, frozen, watching them strip away the last traces of my life.
"Please," I said. "Just let me stay here. Let me mourn in peace."
"Mourn later. We need to go now."
He turned to leave. The guards grabbed my arms and started pulling me toward the door.
"Let go of me!" I screamed. "I am not leaving!"
They dragged me into the hallway. I kicked and clawed and bit, but they did not stop. Their hands were iron. Their faces were blank.
"Please!" I begged. "Please, just let me go!"
Alexander walked ahead, ignoring my cries. The guards pulled me down the stairs, toward the front door, toward the black cars waiting outside.
This was it. This was the end. I would never see Moscow again. Never see Nikolai's grave. Never be free.
Then we heard the gunshot.
Loud. Close. The front door exploded inward, torn off its hinges by a bullet. Wood splintered. Glass shattered.
Alexander's men scrambled for cover. The guards holding me let go and reached for their guns.
Through the smoke and dust, a figure walked into the house.
Nikolai.
My heart stopped. My breath caught in my throat. He was alive. He was here. He was walking through the front door like a ghost returned from the dead.
But something was wrong. He was covered in blood. His arm was bandaged. His face was bruised and cut. And his eyes were dead. Empty. Like a man who had already accepted his death.
"Nikolai!" I screamed.
He looked at me. For a moment, his eyes softened. He smiled. A small, sad smile.
"Hello, Anya. I told you I would always find you."
Alexander stepped forward, his face twisted with rage. "You are supposed to be dead."
"I am hard to kill."
Guards poured into the hallway from every direction. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. All armed. All aiming at Nikolai.
He did not flinch. He raised his pistol and fired.
The first guard fell. Then the second. Then the third. Nikolai moved through the hallway like a storm, bullets flying, bodies dropping. But there were too many. A bullet grazed his shoulder. Another tore through his side. He stumbled but kept firing, kept moving, kept fighting.
"Nikolai, stop!" I screamed. "You are going to die!"
He did not listen. He could not hear me. There was too much noise. Too much gunfire. Too much blood.
A guard lunged at him with a knife. Nikolai caught his wrist, twisted, and drove the blade into the man's throat. The guard fell. Nikolai pulled the knife free and kept going.
But he was weakening. I could see it in the way he moved. Slower now. More labored. Blood soaked through his shirt and dripped onto the marble floor.
Alexander watched from the staircase, his arms crossed, a cold smile on his face. "He is impressive, I will give him that. But even heroes die, sister."
Two more guards rushed Nikolai from behind. One grabbed his arms. The other hit him in the back of the head. Nikolai fell to his knees. His gun skittered across the floor.
"No!" I ran toward him, but Alexander grabbed me and held me back.
"Watch," he whispered in my ear. "Watch your husband die."
A guard raised his gun to Nikolai's head.
"Wait," Nikolai said. His voice was weak but steady. "Before you kill me, look at what I am wearing."
The guard hesitated. He pulled back Nikolai's jacket.
The bomb was strapped to his chest. A web of wires and explosives, wrapped around his body like a second skin.
The guard stumbled backward. The other guards froze. Alexander's smile disappeared.
"What is that?" Alexander demanded.
"You know what it is." Nikolai stood up slowly, his hands raised. "A bomb. Enough to level this entire house. Enough to kill everyone in it. Enough to turn your victory to ash."
"You are bluffing."
"I am not." Nikolai's eyes locked onto Alexander's. "I did not come here to survive. I came here to make sure Anya walks out of this house alive. And I will die to make that happen."
Alexander's face went pale. "You are insane."
"Yes. I am. And that is the most dangerous thing a man can be." Nikolai took a step forward. "Now. Let. Her. Go."
The guards looked at Alexander, waiting for orders. Alexander said nothing. He just stared at Nikolai, his mind racing, calculating.
"You will not do it," Alexander said. "If you detonate that bomb, you will kill her too."
"I would rather kill her myself than let her spend one more day in your hands." Nikolai's voice cracked. "She is my wife. And I will not let her become your prisoner."
I wept. Tears poured down my face. He was willing to die. He was willing to kill us both. Just to set me free.
Alexander took a step back. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.
"Release her," he said.
The guards let go of me. I ran to Nikolai and threw my arms around him. He hugged me with one arm, keeping the other raised near the detonator.
"We are leaving," Nikolai said. "And no one follows."
He walked me backward toward the door, his eyes never leaving Alexander's face. Out onto the porch. Down the steps. Across the lawn.
"We made it," I whispered.
"Not yet."
A gunshot rang out. Nikolai cried out and fell to the ground. Blood poured from his leg. The detonator fell from his hand and skidded across the grass.
"Nikolai! No!"
From the porch, Alexander lowered his smoking gun. His smile returned.
"Did you really think I would let you walk away?”