Page 158 of Stricken

Prideful defiance flickers in Shtyk's swollen eyes. "Your father, may his soul rest in peace, is probably turning in his grave right now." Shtyk spits at my shoes but misses by a small margin.

"I hope my father burns in hell. And you'll be joining him as soon as I'm finished with you."

"You're a fool, Vladimir," he says slowly in Russian. "Just like your mother was."

The world narrows to a pinpoint of rage. I don't realize what I'm doing until my cane connects with his jaw. Blood spills from his mouth and to the floor as his head lolls to the side.

Teeth clenched together, I extend my hand over to Ivan, palm up. I don't look at him. I don't ask for the gun. I don't have to. He already knows. He simply, even though he hesitates, places his firearm into my hand.

The weight of it steadies me as I level it at Shtyk's head. He stares back, stubborn even when death is knocking at his door.

"Go ahead, Junior," he taunts. "Do it… if you have the guts."

My finger tightens on the trigger. Years of pain and anger coalesce into this moment. One twitch and it's over. Justice. Vengeance. Release.

But as I stand on the edge of the abyss, my mother's voice whispers in my mind.Vladimir, my little bird. Don't let the darkness take you.

I blink, suddenly aware of Nico's presence behind me, a warmth in this cold place.

"You took everything from me," I tell Shtyk, my voice raw. "My mother. My innocence. My chance at a normal future."

Shtyk laughs again, blood dripping. "You don't have a normal future if you're a Solovey."

The gun wavers in my grip. I think of Nico, of the possibility of a life beyond vengeance. Of breaking free from this cycle of violence. "Watch me, asshole," I grit out. "It ends here and now."

As the gun visibly trembles in my hand, I feel Ivan's silent presence at my side. His eyes meet mine, a wordless understanding passing between us. Without a sound, he grabs the barrel of the gun to let me know he got it.

My grip tightens at first. Years of hatred and pain scream at me to finish this, to pull the trigger and end Shtyk's miserable life. But something else, something quieter yet more insistent, urges me to let go.

With a shuddering breath, I allow Ivan to take the gun from me. The weight lifts from my palm, and with it, a burden I've carried for far too long.

Ivan nods once, his face a mask of grim determination. He turns to Shtyk, raising the weapon with ease only a soldier can.

The gunshot echoes through the storage unit, unexpected and unannounced. I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut as Shtyk's body slumps in the chair. More blood drips to the floor at his feet.

Nico's hand finds mine, steady. "It's over, Vlad," he murmurs. "Come on. We better go."

I turn around and look at the staircase stretching upward. It seems like such a chore to climb it now with one good leg, but Nico is there, holding my elbow gently.

"One step at a time," he whispers.

We stumble out of the suffocating darkness, emerging into a world bathed in golden light. The sky stretches endlessly above us, a canvas of vibrant blue unmarred by clouds. I inhale deeply, the fresh air filling my lungs like a first breath.

"I never thought—" My voice cracks, and I realize I'm crying. Tears stream down my face, years of suppressed emotion finally breaking free. "I never thought I'd feel this... light."

Nico pulls me into his arms. His embrace is a sanctuary. "You're free now. We both are," he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. "My nightingale."

I don't let go. I can't. My body is wracked with sobs. But it's a good kind of crying. The past dissolves like mist in the sunlight, leaving only the promise of a future I never dared to imagine.

EPILOGUE

A year later, the soft jazz tune moans through our new penthouse as I weave through the crowd of guests with Vlad at my side. This place is a labyrinth of glimmering chandeliers, marble floors, too many windows overlooking the Strip, and all the other oddities Vlad thought I'd want in our shared place.

If someone told me a little over twelve months ago that I'd be able to have guests from both our worlds mingle and chat, I'd tell that fool to stop dreaming of the impossible.

Italians and Russians in this city aren't friends.

Turns out Vlad and I are those two fools who made the undoable happen.

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