Chapter 4

Victor

Two Hours before the Wedding

BEEP. BEEP. Beep.

The familiar sound echoes in my ears, a constant rhythm pulling me from the depths of unconsciousness.

I force my heavy eyelids open, squinting as bright light floods my vision.

As my sight adjusts, I see her. My heart skips a beat, then races.

She’s as beautiful as I remember, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with love and joy at the sight of me.

“Mama?” the word escapes my lips, a whispered question filled with disbelief.

“Time to wake, sleepyhead,” she says with a smile, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on my forehead.

Speechless, I stare at her, emotions surging through me like a tidal wave. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I struggle to find my voice. “Am I… Am I dead?”

“Vitya, my love,” she whispers, the sound of my childhood nickname tugging at my heartstrings. “Don’t be silly!” Her fingers dance across my sides, tickling me like she used to when I was a boy. Laughter bubbles up from my chest, the sensation so real, so familiar.

“Mama?” My voice sounds small, childlike. “Is that really you?”

She nods, her smile never wavering. “Of course, my little warrior,” she says.

With a trembling hand, I reach out to touch her face. She’s warm, real. “I’ve missed you so much, Mama.”

The sting of tears intensifies, and instinctively, I try to hold them back.

We Morozovs do not show emotions.

My father’s and sister’s voices echo in my head, a stern reminder of our family’s unspoken rules.

“I know, Vitya.” She grabs my hand, a firm squeeze. “I’m here,” she taps my chest, right over my heart, “watching over you.” Her hand feels like coming home.

Glancing around the room, I realize we’re in our old childhood home. It’s smaller than I remember, lacking the maids and guards of our later years, but it’s filled with the warmth of our family—Papa, Mama, Ksenia, and me.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What’s that?” I ask, wincing as a dull pain throbs in my ribcage. “Mama?”

I wish I could stay here, in this moment, forever.

My mother turns back to me, her eyes filled with love. “It’s time to go now, Vitya. You need to get ready.”

“For what?” I ask, confusion clouding my mind.

“You need to go now,” she repeats, her smile never faltering.

“But I don’t want to leave you, Mama,” I protest, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Silly boy,” she chuckles, her hand caressing my cheek. “I’m always watching you because I love you so much. Now, go.”

I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. “I want to be by your side.”

She looks at me, her eyes filled with a love that transcends time and space.

The teardrop necklace hangs around her neck, a symbol of her eternal presence. “She needs you now, Vitya.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound invades my consciousness, a persistent rhythm drilling into my skull from somewhere to my left. I force my eyes open, the lids heavy as lead, and wince as the harsh fluorescent light assaults my vision. One eye refuses to open fully, the skin around it swollen and tender.

As the room comes into focus, I take in the stark white walls and the array of medical equipment surrounding me. The heart rate monitor, the source of the incessant beeping, stands sentinel beside the narrow bed I’m lying on.

I’m in our hidden clinic, a secret spot equipped with top-notch gear. It’s where we lick our wounds, far from prying eyes.

“Look who’s finally awake,” a gruff voice says, accompanied by a sharp slap to my cheek. “Is this how you plan to get your revenge, you little shit? By making me worry?”

I grunt, the sudden movement sending a jolt of pain through my battered body. “Fuck off, Doc,” I mutter, my voice rough from disuse. “How long was I out?” I ask, my mind struggling to piece together the fragmented memories.

Dr. Petrov checks his watch, his brow furrowed. “About thirteen hours. You lost a lot of blood, Victor. It was touch and go for a while.”

“Thirteen hours?” I repeat, disbelief and panic rising in my chest. “Fuck! The wedding. Laura. I need to get back.”

I try to sit up, but the room spins violently, and I fall back against the pillows with a pained grunt.

Doc pushes me back down, his hand firm on my shoulder. “Easy there, boy. You’re in no shape to be going anywhere.”

But I can’t just lie here, not when Laura’s waiting for me, not when our entire future hangs in the balance.

“I have to go,” I insist, gritting my teeth against the pain. “I can’t miss my own fucking wedding.”

Dr. Petrov stands over me, his weathered face set in a scowl. “You’re not going anywhere, boy. Not until I say so.”

I glare at him, frustration and anger bubbling up inside me. “You don’t understand. I can’t miss this wedding. I won’t.”

“And I won’t have you undoing all my hard work by running off half-cocked,” Doc retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky to be alive, Victor. Don’t be in such a rush to change that.”

Memories flood back in disjointed snippets—the car chase, the hail of bullets, the searing pain as one tore through my shoulder. “Where’s Misha?” I ask, struggling to sit up despite the agony rippling through my muscles.

As if in answer, a string of colorful Russian curses erupts from the next room. “I swear to fucking God, Igor, if you don’t let me up, I’ll shove that needle so far up your ass you’ll be coughing up fucking thread!

Relief washes over me at the sound of Misha’s voice, followed quickly by irritation. “Would you shut the fuck up and let them treat you?” I yell, ignoring the way my ribs protest at the sudden exertion.

Doc pushes me back down onto the bed with a firm hand. “Both of you need to stop your bitching and lay still,” he grumbles, checking the IV line snaking into my arm. “Ari and Igor got you here just in time. Any longer, and you would’ve bled out on my fucking floor.”

I look at the clock on the wall, the hands ticking closer to the hour. “What happened with the ambush? How did we make it out?” I ask, gritting my teeth as I force myself upright, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“Ksenia’s men intercepted Vasiliev’s attack,” Doc explains, his eyes narrowed as he watches me struggle to my feet. “Seems like that rat bastard had a mole in our operation.”

White-hot rage surges through my veins at the mention of Vasiliev’s name. “I’m going to find the leak and put a bullet between their fucking eyes,” I snarl, ripping the needles from my arm with a hiss.

“Fuck, boy! You’re as stubborn as your old man!” Doc shakes his head, exasperated.

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, even as the movement pulls at the cut on my lip. “I know,” I reply, thinking of my father’s unwavering resolve. “And I have a wedding to get to. Papa needs that surgery, and I’ll be damned if I let him delay it any longer. The stubborn old man won’t get the help he needs unless I seal the deal.”

Doc throws his hands up in defeat. “Fine, but if you pop those stitches, don’t come crying to me.”

I chuckle, the sound rough and painful. “If I pop these stitches, it’ll be because I’m busy consummating my marriage. And trust me, Doc, there won’t be any crying involved.”

With a wink and a grunt, I push myself to my feet, ignoring the way the room spins, and my body screams in protest. I have a wedding to get to, a wife to claim, and a father to save.

And no fucking bullet is going to stop me.