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The forest grows thicker as I follow the path, branches creating a canopy that filters the late afternoon sunlight into dappled patterns across the ground. The motorcycle’s engine roars unnaturally loud in the quiet, disturbing birds that scatter from nearby trees with angry calls. According to the tracking app, my family is less than half a kilometer ahead, in a small clearing I vaguely remember from property surveys.

Chto oni tam delayut?

What the fuck are they doing out there?

Stella takes walks with the children and my mother almost every morning, but never this deep into the woods. The unease that began as a tendril now grows into something more substantial, a creeping dread that accelerates my pulse, sends adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The gunshot shatters the forest silence like thunder on a clear afternoon.

My body reacts before my mind processes— hands tightening on the throttle, motorcycle lurching forward with increased speed. In that moment, my numbness vanishes, replaced by a single thought: my family is in danger.

Blyad, blyad, BLYAD!

I navigate the winding path recklessly, branches whipping past my face, leaving stinging welts, tires skidding on patches of loose earth. The tracking app shows I’m nearly upon them, just around the next bend. My hand instinctively reaches inside my jacket, confirming the presence of my sidearm, the metal cool and reassuring against my palm.

The clearing appears suddenly— a small, sunlit space surrounded by ancient oaks. I brake hard, the motorcycle sliding sideways, dirt spraying as I take in the scene before me with the rapid assessment born from years of walking into potentially hostile situations.

My mother stands at the edge of the clearing, Polina clutched protectively against her chest. The baby’s face is red from crying, though I can’t hear her over the adrenaline buzz in my ears. Bobik sits in his wheelchair beside them, eyes wide with shock or fear, knuckles white where he grips the armrests.All three appear physically unharmed, which allows my focus to shift to the clearing’s center.

There, on the ground, lie two women locked in what appears to be either an embrace or a struggle— Stella and… Sofia Novikova?

Chto za khernya?

Sofia’s body convulses with what looks like uncontrollable tremors, while Stella holds her firmly, one hand pressing down on her shoulder, the other gripping her wrist. There’s blood on their clothes.

“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, killing the motorcycle’s engine and striding toward them like a madman. Grass and leaves crunch under my shoes, the sound abnormally loud in the clearing’s tension.

No one answers immediately. My mother makes a small gesture that seems to urge caution, her eyes wide with something that might be fear. Bobik remains frozen in his chair. Stella doesn’t look up from Sofia, whose shaking has intensified, teeth chattering audibly now.

Eto pizdets!

Seeing Sofia with Stella makes no sense— these women hate each other. Yet there they are, locked together on the forest floor like survivors of some shared catastrophe. Sofia, daughter of the man I recently killed. Sofia, who threatened my family. Sofia, who once believed she would be my wife.

My hand is grasping the grip of my Glock without thinking, but I don’t draw the weapon, not with Bobik and Mama standing just a few feet away.

“Stella,” I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous register as I move closer. “Speak to me.”

She finally looks up, her face streaked with what might be tears or sweat or both. Her eyes are wide, her hair a wild tangle around her cheeks. Blood smears her jawline. The sight sends a jolt through me— a memory of her previous abduction, of seeing her in that hospital bed after her last run-in with this fucking bitch.

I realize that my hand has tightened around my weapon, almost clearing it free of the shoulder holster.

If she’s hurt her again…

But right now, Stella seems to be dominating Sofia, holding her steady, rather than trying to defend herself. I force myself to remain calm. To assess things.

“Aleksei,” she says quietly, her voice steady despite the insanity of the situation. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to get her help.”

I stare at the picture before me— my woman holding the daughter of my enemy, not with force but with care. A discarded weapon lies several feet away in the grass, the smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air. Sofia’s breathing comes in shallow gasps, her designer outfit now ruined with dirt and blood, her perfectly styled hair in disarray.

Chert voz’mi!

I do the only thing I can do right now. I step in, and I help.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Aleksei

I find Stella in the kitchen, sitting alone at the island counter.