Page 49 of Crimson Curse
“You are finished,” I tell her.
Her lips part, as though she will try once more to twist the narrative, but I stand before she can find the words. “Daniil…please…”
“Mercy is for men who fear tomorrow. I do not.”
My hand moves without hurry, and the gun appears as if it has always been part of my palm. “You didn’t slow me or weaken me. You gave me something worth killing for.”
Fear touches her eyes for the first time. It’s not large or dramatic, just a ripple. She opens her mouth as if to say something. The suppressor turns the shot into a soft cough. Her heels slide on the tile, and she folds without elegance, the pearls slipping forward to rest against her collarbone. Her last breath leaves her as a small sigh.
I hold her gaze for five slow counts, then I tilt my chin toward the greenhouse door. Roman and Maksim enter without a sound. They take her by the arms, lifting her with steady hands, their faces blank. The gun slides back into my jacket as I turn away. My steps are deliberate, my back unbending, but beneath the calm, the betrayal grinds like glass in my chest.
The route to my office takes me past the landing where Sasha once stood with a paint brush in her hand and laughter on her tongue. It takes me past the closed door where Naomi first rested her forehead and told me she needed to know what lived behind it. It takes me past the long window where I have watched convoys return empty and full. The house watches me pass and understands what has been cut out of its body.
In the office, Lex waits just inside the door. He reads my face in a single glance. He shuts the door and stands by the chair across from my desk with his hands folded.
“It is done?” he questions.
“It is,” I reply, sinking into the chair and feeling the exact moment my body lets go. Lex reaches into his jacket and sets a small velvet box on the desk.
“You still want this?” he asks.
“I do,” I tell him.
He nods once. “Then bring her home. I will keep the house quiet.”
“Thank you.”
He inclines his head. “Dr. Levin signed off on discharge. Charlotte packed a bag for the ride. I doubled security on the perimeter.”
“Good,” I say. I touch the velvet lid with my thumb and then pocket the box. “Bring the car.”
We arrive at the hospital with a convoy that says nothing to the average eye and everything to anyone who has a reason to pay attention. I move through the halls quickly. I speak with Dr. Levin and listen while he reminds me of limits, signs, and schedules. He has the steady patience of a man who has delivered difficult orders to people too stubborn to follow them. Today, he doesn’t need to repeat himself. I will follow every rule.
Charlotte is standing with Naomi when I enter the room. Naomi sits up on the bed, her blanket folded at her waist, and the late afternoon light washing her skin with a soft sheen. Charlotte has braided her hair, gentle hands doing careful work. Dr. Levin checks vitals and makes notes.
Naomi’s eyes meet mine, and the knot in my center loosens. It doesn’t matter that I have stood through gunfire and interrogations that broke other men. It doesn’t matter that I closed my hand around a trigger to end a betrayal without blinking. Nothing puts me back into my body the way her voice does when she says my name.
“Daniil,” she murmurs. There is relief in it, a hint of mischief, and tenderness. “You came.”
“I never left,” I tell her. My voice goes soft in a way it does for no one else. “Are you ready to go home.”
Charlotte clears her throat with theatrical patience. “He has blankets in the car, pillows, water and snacks, and a driver who doesn’t hit potholes. If he does hit a pothole, I’ll learn how to take someone out and we will never speak of it again.”
Naomi laughs, winces, and then laughs again. “Bossy.”
Charlotte kisses her forehead. “Correct.” She looks at me. “If she needs anything, you call. If she sneezes, you call. If she blinks slowly, you call.”
“I will call,” I tell her.
Dr. Levin gives me final instructions. “No stairs that aren’t supported. No lifting. Hydrate. Food on schedule. Pain management as directed. If anything feels wrong, call me. You know what wrong is.”
“I do,” I answer.
I slide one arm under Naomi’s knees and the other behind her back, lifting her gently. She rests her cheek against my shoulder, the trust in that small gesture cutting through the last of the noise in my head. When we reach the hallway, a wheelchairwaits. I lower her into it slowly, as though she’s made of glass, adjusting her until she settles with ease. Lex moves ahead, opening doors without hesitation, while Maksim scans every face we pass. We don’t linger. The elevator delivers us to the lobby, and the lobby delivers us to the waiting car.
In the back seat, I settle her carefully and wedge a pillow behind her hip. Charlotte fusses with the blanket and then wipes at her eyes as if she is allergic to hospitals. Naomi reaches for my hand. Her thumb traces a line along my knuckles while the city slips by outside the glass.
“You look clearer,” she says after a minute.
