Page 33 of Tattooed Heart

“She got to Russo,” Peter interjects, his voice low. “Got him drunk, recorded him confessing to tampering with evidence, creating false witnesses. Everything.”

I stare at Peter, then at my brother. “She didwhat?” I thunder.

Aleksandr meets my gaze steadily. “She disguised herself. Played a crime reporter. Got him talking. On record.”

My fists clench so hard the metal cuffs dig into my skin. The image of Sandy pregnant with our child sitting across from that corrupt piece of shit, pretending, risking everything is almost too much to bear.

“She shouldn't have?—”

“She shouldn't have, but she did,” Aleksandr interrupts. “And it might be what gets you out of here.”

It won’t be over even if Peter's motion works. Even if they tear down the lies and drag Petrov and Kiril into the light. Not for me. Not for Sandy. Not for any of us. Because freedom doesn’t mean peace.

Petrov will double down. Morozov will twist the knife. And the second I step outside these concrete walls, I'll have to be ready to spill blood just to protect the people I love. No mercy. No pause. Just blood and vengeance.

“When?” I question, keeping my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.

Peter shuffles papers, adjusting his glasses. “The motion is being heard tomorrow morning. If the judge grants it, we could have you out within days. If he denies it...” He trails off, the unspoken alternative hanging in the air.

If he denies it, I'll be facing trial. Years in prison. Missing my child's birth, their first steps, their first words. Missing a lifetime with Sandy.

Aleksandr's gaze hardens. “He won't deny it.”

The certainty in his voice tells me everything. My brother has leverage. The kind that doesn’t get discussed in prison visiting rooms under the watchful eyes of guards.

I nod in understanding. Some battles are fought in courtrooms. Others are fought with whispered threats and carefully placed bribes. Aleksandr will use every weapon in his considerable arsenal to get me out.

“Time's up,” the guard announces from the doorway, keys jingling as he steps forward.

Aleksandr rises, straightening his already perfect suit. “We'll be back. Soon.”

I stand as well, the chains around my ankles forcing me to move slowly. “Tell Sandy...” I pause, searching for words that can possibly convey what I feel. “Tell her I'm coming home to her. To both of them.”

My brother nods once, a promise in the gesture.

As they lead me back to my cell, past the curious eyes of inmates who heard whispers of my potential release, past the kid still lurking like a shadow at the edges of the corridor, I feel something I haven’t allowed myself to feel in weeks. Hope. It’s dangerous and fragile, but there.

Back in my cell, I trace my fingers over Sandy's hidden note, words I memorized but need to feel beneath my touch.

We're getting closer. Hold on. I love you. We love you.

Outside, the prison continues its rhythm. Guards calling counts, metal doors slamming shut, and the distant sound of someone weeping. I begin my exercises inside my cell again, preparing my body for whatever comes next. Whether it’s walking out those gates a free man or fighting off whoever decides to make a move before I can.

Night falls. The cell block quiets, though it is never completely silent. I sit on the edge of my bunk, back against the wall, eyes on the corridor beyond the bars.

They are always watching like predators circling me.

I think of Sandy and her red hair splayed across our pillows, her laugh that can light up the darkest room, and her fierce determination that has apparently pushed her to risk everything to bring me home.

I think of our child still growing, becoming a promise of a future I never dared hope for.

I will survive this, and I will go home. And when I do, heaven help anyone who tries to take me from them again.

The lights dim for the night, enveloping the cell block in shadows. In the darkness, I remain vigilant. Because tomorrow, everything can change. Tomorrow, I might begin the journey home. Or tomorrow, the real fight might begin. Either way, I will be ready.

11

SANDY

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