Chapter 26

Chapter

Twenty-Six

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."

― Plato

Sofiya

I swirled my spoon in the cup, lost in thought as Dasha vacuumed the living room. The dust swirled around, a cruel reminder of my allergy.

She'd been bustling about for hours, eventually dragging me out of bed when she found me hiding under the covers. I despise early mornings—they're torturous. In my dreams, I wake without an alarm, letting my body rise whenever it pleases. Dasha knew this, and she seemed to take pleasure in disrupting my peace with her relentless morning routines.

"The tea's cold," I complained, breaking the silence .

"Then warm it up, Sofiya," she retorted, pausing her vacuuming to clean the large window. I glanced out the dining room windows at the porch and the cars outside. Volk's SUV was missing but I quickly tried to push him from my thoughts.

He is a liar, he is a liar, he is a ? —

"Your father will be back in three days."

Dasha's words shattered the peaceful silence like a crashing plane.

"Which one? Vlad or Igor?" I asked, my throat tight.

Her face turned pale, and she dropped the dishcloth she was holding. Her trembling hands betrayed her fear. I realized that Volk wasn't lying after all.

"I-I…" she stuttered.

"Don't bother. Volk told me everything."

I brought the cup to my lips, my hands shaking so much that I nearly spilled it. Memories from last night flooded back: shaky breaths, heated hands, stolen kisses, and lustful eyes. My grip tightened around the cup, the hot liquid burning my skin. As Volk's words echoed in my mind, each revelation felt like a blow to my heart. I held myself together until he finished, then ran to my room, collapsed on the floor, and let the shock wash over me.

An innocent child had died because of me. Because of my very existence.

I closed my eyes, trying to cling to fragmented childhood memories—papa running around, hugging me tight, tickling my neck, telling jokes. But doubt crept in. Were these real memories or just my imagination? Was it normal to forget so much of your past? Our sudden move to the U.S. had uprooted me, erasing many memories as I struggled to adapt. Yet, I should recall some things.

As Dasha cried, her shoulders shaking with sobs, I felt a pang of pity. Despite my anger and sense of betrayal, she had been a constant presence in my life. But I couldn't let emotions cloud my judgment. I needed answers to the million questions running in my head.

"Why can't Igor know the truth?" I asked, recalling Volk's cryptic words. He had insisted Igor must remain in the dark but hinted he would eventually uncover everything.

Dasha looked up at me, her eyes swollen. "Because he'll never forgive me," she whispered. "And he'll never forgive you either."

I shook my head in confusion. "Forgive me for what? I haven't done anything wrong."

Dasha hesitated, biting her lip. "It's not about what you've done," she said finally. "It's who you are."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

Dasha shook her head and buried her face in her hands, sobbing again. I knew I wouldn't get more answers from her, at least not now. But I was still determined to find out the truth.

Minutes passed as she wept. When she finally calmed down, she looked up at me, her skin dull.

"Answer me, Dasha," I urged, my fear growing.

"Because Igor would kill you," she whispered, gripping my hand tightly as another sob escaped.

I gasped. "You knew this whole time and still left me to face him, knowing what he'll do to me once he finds out the truth?" A silent scream of pain escaped me, my hand covering my mouth. "Why won't you help me? Why won't you do something to get me out of here?"

"I can't do anything more, Sofiya. The moment he sees me, he'll kill me," she sobbed. "I'm okay with that. But Sofiya, you have to survive. You didn't do anything wrong."

My eyes widened. "I can't believe it. You're just waiting to be sacrificed. It's like you're already dead inside!" She's not even fighting for herself. "Dasha, you can't just sit here and let him do this to you."

But she looked at me with hollow eyes, resigned to her fate. "I'm sorry, Sofiya. I wish things were different, but they're not. I can't change them. And I'm not willing to risk your life for mine."

"It's not just about me. It's about you, too. You deserve to live, Dasha."

She shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "I'm not throwing my life away, Sofiya. I'm giving it up for something greater. For a cause worth dying for."

I stared at her in disbelief. "And what cause is that?"

"The cause of peace," she said quietly. "The cause of justice. I've done many horrible things in my life. It's time I paid for my mistakes." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But I won't let him take you down with me. You're the only thing that matters to me."

"What else did you do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I killed my father," she said, meeting my gaze.

I gasped. "What?"

With a trembling voice, she continued, "When I turned nineteen and needed a job, I approached Victoria, your birth mother. I heard that Igor's wife felt lonely in their large manor and wanted a maid for companionship, so I applied." My heart ached at the mention of Victoria. "When I got home, I prepared my father's favorite meal—a medium-rare steak with baked potatoes and tartar sauce. I wanted him to have a perfect last meal."

"Last meal?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Yes. I took his life that night." She moved to my chair, took my now-cold tea, and sipped. "My father was cruel," she continued. "He abused my mother severely for minor reasons. Once, she forgot to check his mail, and he beat her so badly she couldn't walk for days. My sister and I, aged three and six, had to handle all the household tasks."

Oh, Dasha…

"My mother didn't know he abused us too. Many nights, he would come into our room and commit terrible acts. It began when I was eight. He would take turns between us, subjecting one of us to his actions one night, and the other the next. I would pretend to sleep and hear my sister crying, wishing for his death."

Silent tears fell as I stood motionless, my heart aching. I couldn't imagine the trauma she and her sister endured. She looked at me with a sorrowful gaze, sensing my pain.

"One snowy night, my mother woke to use the bathroom and heard me crying. She saw my father touching me and tried to intervene. He became enraged and chased us with an ax. That night, he killed my mother and sister."

I pictured a young Dasha, feeling scared and alone, and my heart ached.

"I don't know why I couldn't be brave like them," she said, her voice choking with emotion. "I hid under the car and prayed he wouldn't find me."

I reached out, gently placing my hand on hers. "You're not a coward," I assured her. "You were just a child. You did what you had to do to survive, and there's no shame in that."

Guilt was etched on her face, her burden almost tangible.

"Sometimes, I wish I had died with them," she confessed quietly. "It's so hard to keep going, knowing I couldn't save them. I feel like I don't deserve to be alive."

"Your mama and sister wouldn't want you to feel this way," I said gently. "They'd want you to keep living, to keep fighting, and to move forward." I brushed a tear from her cheek. "What happened next, Dasha?"

With a slow nod and tears welling in her eyes, she began, "My father never faced consequences for killing them. His best friend, the chief commander of the village police, helped him avoid arrest. I hid under his car for hours until the police found me and took me to the hospital. I stayed there for three weeks, and my father never came to see me." She scoffed bitterly, continuing, "His mother, a kind woman, came to live with us afterward. But when I turned 13, she passed away from breast cancer. So, it was just my father and me again, alone."

I gasped softly. "Oh, no…"

She continued with a sad smile, "The abuse didn't stop, though it happened less often. I tried to get him drunk so he'd pass out on the couch and forget about me, but sometimes that didn't work."

She then recounted a dream she had on her eighteenth birthday, where her mother led her through a field of sunflowers and urged her to avenge their deaths.

"I went to the market and bought three types of dried herbs—chamomile, linden, and verbena. I mixed them, boiled them, and made a sleepy tea. I also picked up his favorite steak, ready for my plan." My heart raced as I braced myself for the rest. "I made the tea and served it with the steak and roasted potatoes in a peppery sauce. He had no idea what was in it. I watched him eat and drink, feeling a mix of satisfaction and justice. Finally, I'd be free. He soon started to doze off and eventually passed out. I then took the same ax he'd used from our garden years ago. I…"

I gently interrupted her, my voice barely a whisper. "Please, stop. I can't hear any more. "

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted you to understand why I did it."

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself. "I understand, Dasha. I'm so sorry for what happened to you."

She sighed and reached out to hold my hand. "Thank you."

We sat in silence for a few moments, lost in our thoughts.

Then she spoke again, her tone softer. "You know, after that night, I felt like a weight had been lifted. I could finally breathe. But the guilt and shame never really went away."

Nodding, I fought back tears, feeling deep sorrow for the little girl she once was. My heart ached for those who endured similar experiences but still found the strength to carry on.

Needing fresh air, I decided to step outside. "I think I need a walk," I said. "It's just… a lot to process."

She smiled gently and squeezed my hand. "Of course, take all the time you need."

I stumbled to the kitchen door, my hands trembling as I pushed it open. Stepping into the garden, the cool breeze brushed against my bare feet, carrying the scent of damp soil and flowers. Leaves rustled softly overhead, and birds sang in the distance.

Emotions churned inside me—deep sadness, burning anger, overwhelming guilt.

How could anyone hurt a helpless child like that?

I clenched my fists, trying to calm myself with shaky breaths that did little to ease the turmoil. Finding a soft patch of soil, I sank down, feeling its dampness seeping through my clothes. I buried my face in my hands, hot tears slipping through my fingers.

Images of the innocent baby haunted me, the weight on my chest growing heavier with each heartbeat .

Lost in grief, time slipped away, broken only by my stifled sobs.

The crunch of footsteps behind me shattered the stillness. I turned to see Volk, his usually composed face now showing raw, unguarded anger.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"I needed some fresh air," I replied, shivering as the frosty night air bit at my skin.

"In this weather? Are you crazy? You'll catch a cold," he scolded.

I clenched my teeth, frustrated by his sudden concern. "I'll be fine," I snapped, my breath forming mist in the chilly air.

Volk shook his head, clearly exasperated. "You never think before you act, do you?"

"Why do you even care?" I retorted, hurt evident in my voice.

His expression remained stern. "I don't, but it's still my job to keep you safe."

I rolled my eyes, knowing he was being insincere. Despite our tension, I saw the worry in his eyes. "Don't act like you're doing me a favor. You just love being in control."

Volk's jaw tightened. "Hell yes, I do. Someone has to be responsible around here."

"You're not responsible for me, Volk. Please, leave. I can take care of myself."

"Well, clearly you're not doing a great job of it," he said, gesturing at me.

My teeth chattered, and I shivered as I hugged myself tighter. Going outside without a coat had been a mistake, but my pride wouldn't let me admit it, especially not to him.

"Leave me alone. "

Volk stepped closer, his body inches from mine. "Get inside before you freeze to death, Sofiya."

Exhausted and overwhelmed by my emotions, I could no longer muster the energy to argue.

Reluctantly, I pushed myself to stand, my knees trembling with the effort. Volk extended his hand, and despite my initial resistance, I accepted it, feeling an unexpected jolt at his touch. I pulled my hand away almost immediately, stepping back. His gaze followed the movement, traveling from my hand to my face and lingering on my lips before he cleared his throat. There was something unspoken in his eyes that seemed like he wanted to say something, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared.

As we walked back to the house, I wondered what it would be like if things were different between us. What if we could set aside our differences?

But I quickly dismissed those thoughts, knowing they were impossible.

Our mutual animosity ran too deep.

He opened the kitchen door and gently guided me inside, away from the cold. The comforting aroma of soup welcomed us, and my stomach growled with hunger. The warmth of the house enveloped me like a loving embrace, and I let out a contented sigh.

He motioned for me to follow him to the living room. "Take a seat," he said, pointing to the chairs. "Dasha will bring you some soup. After that, I want you to go upstairs. I'll run you a bath."

My eyes widened. "A bath?"

"Yes," he said. "It'll warm you up quickly."

"Are you serious?"

He paused, his brow furrowing. "I'm not messing with you. You're shivering like crazy. You need to warm up. "

I studied him for a second, confused.

"Are you bipolar or something? One minute you're yelling at me, and the next you're offering to run me a bath."

He gave a small smile. " Nyet , I'm not bipolar. I just don't like seeing you suffer unnecessarily. Now eat your soup."

With that, he left the room.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at his unexpected concern.

I just don't like seeing you suffer unnecessarily.

I took my seat, and Dasha served me red beet soup with an apologetic smile. She gave my shoulder a quick pat before leaving.

Volk seemed to act as though last night's events, when his face was between my legs and his tongue brought me to heaven, had never happened. I couldn't bring myself to address it either; my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—my mother, Dasha, my father, and everyone tangled in this story, including him.

Savoring the hot soup, I found a brief moment of comfort. But I couldn't avoid him forever. Sooner or later, I'd have to go upstairs and face him. The thought made my heart race and my palms sweat.

I took my time with the soup, hoping it would give me courage. But with each passing minute, my anxiety grew.

I sipped the hot raspberry tea Dasha had brought, my fingers absentmindedly tapping against the ivory cup as I glanced around the room, noticing the dark TV stand. A piece of fabric next to it caught my eye; two embroidered letters stood out—V and I. Victoria and Igor, perhaps.

I couldn't help but wonder if I resembled her in any way.

Gathering the last bit of courage left in me, I slowly climbed the stairs, my hand tracing the smooth, dark wooden rail. In the distance, the soft patter of water droplets quickened my heartbeat.

Reaching the landing, I hesitated, bracing myself for what lay ahead.

Taking a deep breath, I approached the bathroom door. My hand trembled as I reached out to turn the knob.

Why are you so scared, Sofiya?

With a determined sigh, I pushed open the door and stepped into the steamy bathroom. Warmth enveloped me, mingling with the sweet scent of lavender and honey. Candles flickered around the tub, casting soft shadows on the walls.

In the middle of the room, Volk stood with his back to me. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was pouring liquid soap into the bath while soft music played in the background. The scene felt almost dreamlike, like something out of a movie.

For a moment, I was frozen, unable to move or speak.

When he finally turned his head and noticed me, he said, "Take your clothes off."

"I-I don't want you to see me naked."

He chuckled, the deep sound filling the bathroom. "Sofiya, I ate your pussy for so long the other night, I can still taste you in my mouth. There's nothing about you I haven't already seen."

I gasped. "Don't be an asshole."

With a mix of nervousness and resolve, I slowly undressed, feeling the room's warmth envelop me. I sensed his gaze lingering on me, tracing every curve of my body. Stepping into the bath, I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the sensation of bubbles and the comforting warmth of the water. His hand brushed against mine, and I opened my eyes, my breath catching in my throat .

"You okay?"

I sighed, realizing I couldn't avoid the topic any longer. "I don't know what to do. But I believe you."

He sighed heavily. "It wasn't my place to tell you everything."

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. "Igor will kill me when he finds out. At least, that's what Dasha said."

Tears began to stream down my face as the harsh reality of my situation set in.

Volk reached out to touch my arm, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my skin. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered softly.

But I shook my head, tears still flowing. "No, it's not. You know what Igor will do. And I haven't done anything wrong. I was just born into this mess. When he puts a gun to my head even you won't be able to stop him."

Turning away, I sank deeper into the water while Volk stayed silent.

We sat in the quiet, broken only by the soft music and the occasional drip of water. Even with him so close, I felt an overwhelming sense of ... loneliness.

"Do you want to join me?" I asked hesitantly.

The bathtub was big enough for three people, so despite his height, we could fit together.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure."

I shifted to make room for him, avoiding eye contact as he undressed, leaving on his black Calvin Klein boxers. He settled in behind me, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the other end of the tub. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. I rested my head on his shoulder, tracing my knuckles along his forearms. His fingers wove through my wet hair, massaging my scalp .

We sat there for what felt like hours, simply holding each other.

"Where is my mom?" I whispered, breaking the heavy silence.

He took a deep breath. "She's somewhere secure until Igor comes back."

I swallowed hard. "Is she okay?"

He paused briefly. "She's safe. Don't worry, no one will harm her."

Thank God.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

"How did you learn English?" I asked, trying to shift the conversation away from the weighty topics. His English was flawless, except for his thick accent when he was upset.

"I'm a quick learner," he said, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. "Igor needed me to talk to foreign suppliers, so he got me a tutor when I was sixteen. Two years later, I was fluent."

"A female tutor?" I asked, curious.

He let out a laugh. "Nyet, Igor wanted me focused. No distractions."

As we soaked in the tub, his fingers traced idle circles around my nipple, and I hummed softly while running my hand up and down his muscular thigh beneath the water.

"What did you do today?" I turned to face him, our eyes meeting as he brushed his lips against mine. The moment felt oddly domestic, almost surreal. I couldn't help but let my guard down.

"Why? Jealous I'm not spending all my time with you?" he teased, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my lower belly.

"I'm just curious," I admitted with a blush, his lips still lingering near mine. "And now, your business is my business. "

He chuckled softly, pulling back slightly. "Is that so?"

I nodded, a small smile forming on my cheeks.

He leaned in to give me a quick kiss. "I tracked down Vlad today."

My heart skipped at the thought of seeing him after all these years. Yet, deep down, unease settled in, knowing he wasn't a good person.

"Have you found him?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Not yet. But I'm close." A shiver of fear ran through me at the intensity in his eyes. Sensing my unease, he nuzzled his nose against mine and kissed me gently.

"So, you were sixteen when you first met Igor?"

" Da ," he replied softly, burying his face in my neck and inhaling deeply. "He saved my life," he continued, his arms tightening around my waist. whispered, "Do you have siblings? Parents?"

"Nyet. No siblings. My mother died during childbirth and my father…" He paused, and his sorrow was palpable. "Well, when I was thirteen, my father and I were leaving his bakery after closing. I was holding a loaf of bread he had just baked, and he was talking about how one day we'd go to Paris for French pastries. Suddenly, a man held us at gunpoint. I dropped the bread, and my father yelled for me to stay still. The man forced us back into the bakery, demanding money and food."

I held my breath, preparing for the worse.

"My father told me to run when he gave the signal. I was confused but took off when he shouted ‘NOW!' But when I heard gunshots, I froze. I ran back to find my father on the floor, shot in the throat. The man who tried to rob us was dead, shot in the head. My father's last words were, ‘ I love you, my son. '"

Tears streamed down my face as I listened, my heart breaking for him. "I'm so sorry," I murmured.

He sighed. " Spasibo . Igor found me on the streets, begging for money, a few months later. He took me in, and the rest's history."

Jesus, I can only imagine the pain he must have felt watching his father die right in front of him.

"We have something in common; I don't have siblings either," I said softly, changing subject again. His laughter, though tinged with sadness, warmed my heart. "But you already knew that, didn't you? You've done your homework on me."

"I may have dug up some info on you a while back."

"I doubt you found anything interesting," I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, but I did. I found you fascinating," he whispered, his eyes locking with mine, a warmth spreading through my chest.

I nestled closer to him, craving the warmth of his body against mine. I felt his boner pressing against my lower back as he moved nearer, brushing his lips gently against my earlobe. His fingers teased my nipples above the waterline.

Unable to hold back, I moaned softly and gripped his thighs firmly.

"I wanna make you feel good," he whispered.

I looked into his eyes, feeling unsure.

"May I?"

I nodded slowly.

Leaning in, he kissed me, his tongue seeking entrance, which I eagerly granted. Our tongues intertwined as he kissed me passionately, leaving me breathless. Needing a moment to gather myself, I gently pulled away, grasping his hair .

He pulled back slightly, his warm breath brushing my lips.

"You okay?" he asked, searching my eyes for any sign of discomfort.

Gosh, he is so ridiculously hot. I bet women are practically duking it out for the chance to kiss him.

I smiled and nodded, pulling him back in.

Silently, he slid his hand down my stomach, between my legs, exploring my folds with his fingers.

"Volk, I…," I gasped softly, arching my back as he found my clit and began stroking it gently.

He moved closer, kissing my neck while skillfully circling my clit, his fingers expertly pushing me towards the edge. His other hand toyed with my nipples, rolling and pinching them.

I felt myself growing hotter as he worked his magic, moaning his name softly, lost in lust.

"You look so fucking good right now, with your tits out," he said, gripping my hair to pull me back for better access to my neck. "I wanna do so many filthy things to you."

I smiled shyly. "What kind of things?"

"I wanna bend you over and fuck you hard. Then I'd tug on your hair and spank you until your skin's red, punishing you for all the times you've disobeyed me," he nibbled on my neck and then licked the spot.

I was so aroused that I didn't even notice the water splashing on the floor as I dug my nails deeper into his thigh and moved my hips for more friction.

"Volk, please, I want to c-cum," I begged shamelessly.

He inserted two fingers inside me, and I moaned, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck, Sofiya, your pussy was made for me. I can't wait to taste you again. "

My body tightened around his fingers, and I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name over and over again.

"I want you on your knees, my dick in your mouth, and I wanna see you choke on it," he continued. "I wanna fuck you so deep and hard that you won't be able to walk for days."

His dirty talk only heightened my arousal, and as I reached my peak, he pinched one of my nipples and whispered in my ear, "Cum for me, my little slut."

I exploded in ecstasy, my body convulsing as I came undone in his arms.

It was an orgasm so powerful it hit me like a wave, leaving me feeling completely overwhelmed.

We stayed like that for a while, holding each other. The bubbles had long since disappeared, but the warmth of the water and the heat between us enveloped us like a cocoon.

As he massaged my shoulders, scalp, and neck, gently caressing my hair, I felt so relaxed I could have easily fallen asleep. His hands felt absolutely magical.

He's magical.

Sofiya, shut up!

"Let me clean you."

Feeling lazy and content, I couldn't resist and let him wash my hair and body with his rough yet gentle hands, planting sweet kisses on my back. Seeing was so... unexpected, and for the first time, I felt completely and utterly safe with him.

After drying me off, he led me to his bedroom and handed me one of his black t-shirts that reached mid-thigh. He seated me, brushed my half-dry hair, and tied it in a braid before laying me on his cozy, cloud-like bed. The softness of his sheets made me hum with contentment.

As soon as my head touched the pillow, I drifted off to sleep, feeling a soft kiss on my forehead and his strong arms wrapped around me.

But before I slipped away completely, I heard him whisper with a rough voice, " Ne volnuysya, Sofiya. Ya zashchishchu tebya, obeshchayu. Don't worry, Sofiya. I'll protect you, I promise. "