80. Chapter 80

80

Dimitri

I know instantly something's wrong .

My body feels warm, but my nostrils are hit with the unmistakable scent of… pizza ?

Yob tvoyu mat'.

No. It's not just any pizza, either—borscht pizza. Blyat.

I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain, and there it is. A blurry cardboard box resting on my chest. The smell of beets, sour cream, and… mozzarella? hits me full force.

I squint my eyes again, trying to make sense of it, and there it is. A goddamn pizza box. Right on my fucking chest.

Suka!

I try to look to my right, but I'm blinded by sunlight streaming through the window of… my room. Great, no more fucking hospital bed.

But, right now, I know what the fuck's going on. Blyat.

"Are you seriously using me as a fucking… table?" My voice comes out raspy, and I barely recognize it as my own.

From somewhere near the window, a chuckle echoes. "Well, you weren't exactly moving much, so…"

I turn my head, and there's Erik, lounging in a chair with his legs propped up on my desk, his long sandy blond hair tied back. He gives me a lazy grin, not even pretending to feel guilty.

Suka blyad'! This is some real blyadina .

I try to move, but it's like I'm bogged down by a bucket of govno . Must've pumped me full of so much anesthesia, it's like a pizdets straightjacket.

Luka walks right next to the bed with his fucking surfer-boy look, arms crossed and looking like he just stepped off a Hawaiian beach.

"You make an excellent table, D. We were considering a tray, but we figured you wouldn't mind sharing the space."

I snarl, or at least I try to, but it ends up sounding like a dry wheeze. "Get this shit off me." I shift, attempting to sit up, but my arms feel like lead, and the damn pizza box doesn't budge.

"Figured you'd appreciate a little taste of home." He nods at the box like he's done me some great favor.

I try to lift my arm, but I can't really feel it. "Get that beet-covered dough away from me," I mumble, trying not to gag.

"You can thank Erik for that culinary masterpiece. He thought you'd wake up feeling nostalgic." Luka casually lifts the box off me. "Though it turns out you make a decent table, too."

I try to blink the last bits of fog from my brain as Luka sits down on the edge of the bed, his face softened, relaxed in a way that's almost unfamiliar. There's a lightness to him now—less of that anger, that edge that used to be his constant companion. It's like he's finally let go of some of the darkness, trading it for a calm that looks foreign on him.

A laid-back version of Luka I never thought I'd see.

I grunt, giving him a hard stare. "Shut up and help me up, will ya?"

He reaches out, his hand firm as he helps me push myself up. "You know, I thought I'd never see you again, brat, " he mutters, and there's something in his tone I'm not used to. Something soft.

I blink at him, wondering if the anesthesia's still making me hallucinate. Luka Ivankov , the Pakhan , getting all mushy on me?

Just when I'm about to fire back some snarky comment, Luka clears his throat like he's trying to hack up a hairball, his expression going all serious.

"But I'm glad…" His voice drops low, his eyes boring into mine like he's trying to read my soul. "…that you made it."

He hauls me up, and I feel every damn bullet hole, every cut and bruise, but it's all muffled, like I'm still partly in a dream. No pain yet, just a lot of nothing.

Luka's grip is solid, though, keeping me steady.

Erik strolls over, his grin still plastered on his face, and shoves two massive pillows behind me, propping me up. "There. Don't say I never did anything for you, D," he says, winking like the smartass he is.

"Yeah, yeah," I grunt, settling back against the pillows. "You two look like you're enjoying yourselves."

Erik's fumbling around, trying to make me comfy, adjusting the pillow and shit. Fucking awkward. Then grabs a cup of water from the side table. He holds it up to my lips, letting me sip a bit before placing it back down.

Erik's eyes are locked on me, and I can practically see the cogs turning in his head. I'm waiting for him to spew some bullshit, but then I catch a glimmer in his eye, a shine that can only be one thing: tears. Fucking tears?

He stands up quickly, turning his back to me, but then looks over his shoulder with that familiar smirk, the one that says he's got my back, no matter what.

"You pull a stunt like that again, D, and I swear, I'll drag your sorry ass back from the dead just to kick it. Bratva doesn't leave their own behind."

I give a low grunt, rolling my eyes so hard they might fall out of my skull. I'm no good with this sappy shit. It's not my game, not my territory. But even though his words are dripping with sarcasm, I know what he means. They were worried. They thought they'd never see me again.

I pause for a second, narrowing my eyes. "Did we… manage to take down Zimniy?" The last thing I remember was Oleg pulling the trigger and then the world going dark. He better have finished the bastard.

Luka nods, his expression turning serious. "Zimniy's gone. Thanks to Oleg. He took a bullet for you, D. But don't worry, that stubborn bastard's still breathing."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Good. Last thing I need is that suka haunting my sleep."

Erik grins. "Trust me, D. Oleg made sure Zimniy won't be causing any more problems." He flops down on the leather sofa like he owns the place, stretching his arms along the back.

"Zimniy is more than dead. The Skull Collector's empire is crumbling, and we've been cleaning up. Found a stash of stolen gold and silver, made ourselves a hell of a lot richer."

I shift, trying to sit up straighter, but pain shoots through my side. The anesthesia's wearing off, and every part of my body is starting to remind me just how close I came to meeting my end. My ribs ache, my head's pounding, and there's a gnawing sensation in my gut that has nothing to do with the bullet holes.

And… Wren? The kid? I want to ask. My throat tightens as I try to form the words, but something stops me. Something vulnerable that I can't let slip.

So I just swallow, my throat drier than the fucking Sahara.

Luka is still sitting beside me, watching me carefully. His face turns serious, eyes narrowing in that familiar way when he's got something on his mind.

"You were lucky, D. Lucky to be alive." His voice takes on that hard edge that I recognize from the old days, that edge that doesn't leave room for debate. "You can't keep being lucky forever."

I meet his gaze, the room going quiet around us, and I force out a laugh. "What? You gonna give me a lecture now?" I rasp, trying to smirk, even if it barely registers.

He doesn't smile back, and that's how I know he means it. "I'm telling you because you've got someone to think about now. You're a father, D. You don't get to be reckless anymore."

A father.

Me.

The kid's image flashes in my head—dark hair, blue eyes, a wildness to him that I recognize all too well.

What's his name? Are they okay? Wren…

It's like Luka can read my mind because he leans back and gives a small nod. "Wren and Alex are fine. They'll be staying here in the mansion in the meantime."

The name reverberates in my mind like a gunshot . Alex. My kid's name.

Before I can respond, I hear it.

Thud, thud, thud—the sound of small, hurried footsteps, many little footsteps echoing down the hallway.

BAM! Something crashes against the wall just outside the room.

"Oh no, are you wokay , Nico?" A tiny voice, full of worry.

"I'm okay," another voice replies, more determined.

And then the door swings open, hitting the wall with a thud. The room is suddenly filled with a chaos of children.

Nico, with his dark curls bouncing, skids into the room.

The kid's grown more than a freaking sunflower since Luka's last snapshot of them surfing. He's not the wee thing I remember; he's like a full-blown preschooler now.

His wide eyes light up as soon as he spots Luka.

"Papa!" Nico shouts, and he flies toward Luka, his little legs pumping as fast as they can.

Luka catches him effortlessly, lifting him up with ease, flying him upwards like he weighs nothing at all.

"How's my little malen'kiy lev ?" Luka grins, his eyes softening, his entire face lighting up in a way that seems almost out of character for the man I used to know.

Behind Nico, Natalya follows, her hands on her hips, looking exasperated. " Papa, Nico ran too fast. He almost knocked me down."

Luka shifts Nico to his side, leaning down to scoop Natalya up into his free arm. He looks at both of them with a gaze so full of love it almost hurts to watch. It's like they're all that exists in his world—the purest kind of love, something I never thought I'd see on his face.

"Alright, alright," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to Natalya's forehead, then nuzzling Nico's messy curls. "What's all this chaos? You two causing trouble again?"

"Nico started it!" Natalya protests, though her voice holds no real annoyance. She leans her head against Luka's shoulder, her little hand clutching his shirt.

I watch them, unable to look away. Luka—the angry, vengeful man I grew up with, the man who used to burn with rage at the world—now standing here, holding his kids like they're his entire world. His face is unguarded, his expression soft in a way I've never seen before.

And me? I'm just sitting here, watching like an outsider, my chest tightening with something I can't even name.

Fear, maybe.

Because I know—I know I'll never be like that. I'm not built for it.

I'm not… capable.

I force myself to swallow, but it's like there's a lump lodged in my throat.

And then there's the smallest boy. Hanging back a little— Alex, his blue eyes wide, cautious, darting around until they land on me. The kid's got my eyes—deep blue, searching, wary.

What do I do now?

A woman rushes in behind them, her face flushed. "Apologies, Mr. Ivankov," she says, out of breath, giving Luka a sheepish smile. "Nico insisted on finding you."

Luka ruffles his son's hair, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. "Okay, what's going on?"

"We were looking for Dyadya Dima!" Nico announces, his voice full of excitement. He's wriggling in Luka's grip, trying to get down.

"I win! I found him first!" Nico's triumphant declaration fills the room, and Natalya rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her lips.

I can't help the small huff that escapes me. "Oh, is that what this is? A game?"

Luka smirks, setting both kids down gently. "They're competitive, what can I say?"

Nico immediately runs over to the bed, his little face lighting up as he looks at me. "I won, Dyadya Dima!"

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, I feel it—a small presence near me.

Alex , my boy. His eyes are still fixed on me, and he takes a step forward, then another. His face is serious, way too serious for someone so young, and he's holding onto a stuffed bear like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

I stare, frozen, as he gets closer, those blue eyes— my eyes —locked onto mine. He stops right next to the bed, and for a second, neither of us moves. I'm not even sure I'm breathing.

And then, without a word, Alex reaches out, his tiny hand brushing against mine, his fingers curling around my own.

" Bwig man, are you wokey? "

Everything in me goes still.

The room fades away—the noise, the chatter, the laughter. All I feel is that small, warm hand in mine. I freeze, every instinct screaming at me to do something, anything, but I can't move.

What the hell do I do now?