Page 42 of Sergei
“Something for you.”
“For me? Why? What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
My hands itched with curiosity as I stepped up to the table and started opening the package. The paper gave way with a soft rip, revealing a sketch pad, a set of pencils, a leather-bound journal, and, of all things, a laptop. For a moment, I just stood there, utterly confused. The items looked so ordinary andsimple, but together, they felt like an intimate treasure that was meant just for me.
Sergei stepped up beside me as he said, “I remembered you used to like to draw and write poetry. I thought they might help you pass the time.”
He was right. There was a time when I loved wasting hours away with sketching and writing poetry. I was a moody teenager, and it was almost therapeutic to put my words and illustrations on paper. It helped me make sense of a world that often felt too heavy and dark. And when it grew too heavy and too dark, I set them aside, convincing myself that they had no place in a world like mine.
I blinked hard, trying my best to ease the sting at the corner of my eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“It was nothing.”
“Even if you didn’t mean it to be, it was much more than that.” I brushed my fingers over the smooth cover of the sketchpad. “Thank you, Sergei. It was very thoughtful of you.”
His gaze softened in a way that made my throat tighten. “Glad you like them.”
I was flipping through the pages of the journal when Sergei reached for the computer and said, “There is something you should see.”
“Oh?”
Without saying anything more, he opened the laptop and began typing away. A few seconds later, he turned the screen to me and started playing a video of a popular news station in New York.
There was a young reporter standing in front of a blackened shell of a house and smoke was billowing behind her. It was difficult to see, but there was something oddly familiar about the area where she stood. I dropped the journal on the table, and as if I was in some kind of trance, I leaned in closer.
The camera spun back, revealing the home behind the news reporter.
And just like that, my heart stopped beating.
It was my house. It was once a large, beautiful estate, and now, it was nothing more than mortar and ash. I reached over and turned up the volume just in time to hear, “Trouble continues on the streets of New York. Another vicious attack occurred last night, and the remains of the estate leave little behind but questions. Sources confirm that Alek Morozov and his wife, Alina Morozov, are presumed dead, along with two of the Morozov guards who were on duty last night. Investigators are already pointing to a terrorist Albanian group as the likely culprits of the brutal attack.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t possible. Alek seemed invincible and now he was dead. And even more surprising, they believed I was dead right along with him. I had no idea how any of this could’ve possibly happened, and then Sergei came up behind me. And just like that, it all fell into place.
I turned and looked up at him, and his expression was completely unreadable as I asked, “Did you do this?”
He didn’t confirm or deny. He just kept his eyes trained on the computer screen and said, “You don’t have to worry about Alek anymore.”
It should’ve been a relief. I should’ve felt free and ready to claim my new life, but I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to go. Fearing Sergei might send me away, I asked, “What happens now?”
“That’s up to you.” Sergie looked down at me, and his expression was unreadable as he added, “You’re welcome to stay, or I can find you somewhere to go. Somewhere safe where no one would know who you are or where you’re from. You’d have a fresh start.”
After everything, after Alek and the fear and being told that I was basically dead to the world, Sergei was offering me freedom. Real freedom. A chance to start a new life and put my past behind me. I should’ve been excited by the thought, but the thought of being alone and starting over in some strange place terrified me more than I cared to admit.
“And if I stay?” The words came out in barely a whisper. “What does it mean for me?”
“It means whatever you want.” He didn’t smile or offer comfort of any kind, but there was something in his eyes that looked a little like hope. “I could help you build a new identity. A new name. New anything. A clean slate. You can be anything you want to be. You choose, and I’ll make it happen.”
His words settled over me like a promise, but it wasn’t just a simple promise. I had my freedom. It was there within reach, but so was the responsibility of shaping a future I hadn’t dared dream about until this very moment.
“I’ll have to change my name?”
“I’m afraid so.” Sergei’s eyes softened, but his tone stayed grounded. “Alek might be gone, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. Men like him don’t die clean. They leave shadows. Friends. Family. Followers. Enemies. There’s always a chance those shadows will come crawling back, and if they do, they’ll be looking for you.”
“I understand.”
His eyes held mine, dark and unyielding. “Stay here or go. It doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure none of them touch you.”
