I think Sergei is wrong. I think Nick kills because it means nothing to him. It is simply a means to an end, something he has been trained to do, something that he is good at. I think that if the killing meant something to him that it would be worse. But to him, it is the same as opening a spreadsheet and typing in numbers. It is simply a job.
"I see you do not like my story," Sergei says. He shifts in the chair and I flinch instinctively backward, which only makes him laugh again.
"Why did you tell me that story?"
"Because it will give me great pleasure to see the truth in your eyes when you look upon Nikolai. When you realize he is a piece of shit crafted by the Bratva. He can never be a normal man, little flower. He knows only to be what we have made him."
This is the wrong thing to say to me.
Sergei doesn't know it, but his words are working against him. Nick is who he has been created to be, just like I am who my father shaped me into. A little mentally twisted, a little sick in the head, and a lot lonely and needing of love.
That hasn't changed. I still see the same longing and need in Nick's eyes when he looks at me.
He's the same man, really. I simply know the truth about him now. There is no gloss left, no mystery as to who and what he is. It's almost a blessing.
Nick is who they have made him.
I am who my father made me.
I look down at Sergei. "So tell me," I ask, and my voice is curiously calm. "If I don't shoot you, what happens?"
He laughs, that sneer back on his face. "Little flower. What do you think happens?"
I consider. "I think I could take you to the police." I think for a moment longer, and then add, "And I think you have enough connections that you get out. Am I right?"
He shrugs his shoulders, but I see from the gleam in his eyes that I have guessed right. No police station will hold this oily man. He has too many connections.
"And if you get out, you'll come after Nick, won't you? You can't let him live. Not while you breathe. It's either you or him, right?"
Even as I say this, I realize it for the truth. This is the sadness in Nick's eyes. He's letting me choose because he doesn't believe he deserves to live. He believes like Sergei does, that he is nothing but a worthless tool who is only good at killing men. He doesn't believe he is worthy of love.
And if I let Sergei go, Nick will disappear. He will go into hiding and wait for the kill to come.
He will go into hiding…like my father.
It hits me, then. I look at Sergei calmly, at the way he smirks at me despite the fact that he is bound and helpless in the chair.
If I let this man go, I am condemning Nick to the same life that my father has—a life of fear, of constantly looking over him shoulder. It would be a prison of my own making.
Nick would never be free.
I think for a long, long moment and stare at Sergei's hard, ugly face. His thick, bushy eyebrows. The smugness there.
Nick is who he is because he was raised that way. He was created by his family of killers to be one, just like them. He didn't ask to become who he was. He has survived the only way he knows how.
I understand this. I am a creature of my upbringing as well. And I was raised to know how to shoot a gun, in case I ever needed to.
I stare at the gun on the table.
Sergei follows my gaze. He laughs. "So brave," he mocks. "How Nikolai would be proud."
I ignore him. The gun is an American one, a Glock, and not a Russian one, so I know how to use it. I press the magazine release button to check for ammunition. The slide is full. I push it back into place with the base of my hand. It's as if I'm in the basement of my house all over again. I pull the slide back and chamber a bullet. I only need one.
"Ah, this is part where I am to quiver with fear and beg for my life, da?" Sergei's voice is mocking. He clearly doesn't think I can do this.
"You won't beg for your life," I say calmly. "You don't think it's in trouble. You don't think I can do this. You think I'm going to let you go and that I will take you to the police. Then you will make a few calls, and you will be out by nightfall."
I remember the legal system in America and how full of holes it is. How even a murderer can go free in no time at all, if they know the right strings to pull. I remember this all too well. And I remember how helpless it made me feel last time.
But I am helpless no longer.
Sergei says nothing. He simply watches me, that mocking, derisive look on his face.
I carefully raise the gun to Sergei's head, flick off the safety, oh-so-calm, and pull the trigger.
I won't let this man destroy our lives.
In killing him, I have chosen Nick. I see his darkness, and I accept it. I love Nick for who he is, not what he is.
The shot is loud in the room, and I squeeze my eyes shut at the sight of Sergei's face contorting, at his forehead splattering with red, at the gore on the plastic.
There is a shout from outside the door, and Daniel surges forward as if he has been shoved. A second later, Nick has pushed his way into the room, muscling aside Daniel. He stares at Sergei, dead in the chair, and then his gaze moves to me with the gun in my hand. There is not pride in his eyes, but a question.
He truly did not think I would do it.
Then again, neither did Sergei.
I burst into tears. Great, sweeping sobs rip from my throat, and I toss the gun down on the table and move toward Nick. His arms encircle me even as I press my cheek against his chest.
"Daisy," he murmurs. "My love. You didn't have to."
I know I didn't. But I am choosing a life without fear. I am choosing freedom for Nick—and for me. I think of Sergei's analogy. He drags me to you and places the gun in your hand like mangy cat bringing a rodent to its master for approval.
If Nick is a cat seeking approval, I am an abused dog that bites the hand before it can slap. But I won't live in fear again.
I won't. And I won't have create that future for Nick. I love him too much.
I realize he still thinks I hate him, even as he calmly soothes my back as I cry. I look up at him and put my hand to his chin, even as I weep. I force him to look me in the eye. "I love you, Nikolai," I tell him. Nikolai, not Nick.
My Nikolai.
He stiffens and there is a question in his lonely, sad eyes. "Daisy, you know the truth. I am hit man—"
"You are my Nikolai," I tell him softly. "And what you do doesn't define who you are. We are both rising from our past."
His eyes look suspiciously wet for a moment, and then he crushes me to his chest in a hug so tight that I can't breathe.
I never want to leave his arms again.
Chapter Fifteen
NIKOLAI
I do not see Vasily before I leave. He gives us one week for Daisy's bruises to heal. They are all superficial but very painful. Daniel and I carry the body of Sergei to his car. He will take care of it. "Pigs," he says. I care not.
My attention is focused on Daisy. She cries at night, every night, and I hold her as she clings to me. Before Daniel left, Daisy makes him vow to find Regan. Her nightmares are a mix of fear for herself and for Regan.
"Your name, Daisy Miller, it is the character in a famous story, yes?" I ask her one night when she cannot sleep. I do not know if the time in the hands of the Petrovichs bother her more than the killing of the head of the snake. I'm afraid to ask.
"No." I can feel the soft shake of her head against my chest. I feed her a little more vodka. It has helped these past nights for her to fall asleep. "I've never heard of that before."
"Da, Henry James writes about a flower in bloom who stands outside of society but is lovely nonetheless." I do not tell her that the Daisy Miller in the story is an incorrigible flirt looked down upon or made fun of by everyone around her. "She has tragic ending."
"Great," she mutters. "I'm named after a girl who dies?"
"Da, your parents know of this?" I stroke her back and tip the vodka against her lips again. She swallows and snuggles closer.
"I don't think my parents ever heard of Henry James. My mom said I was named after all the wild daisies that grew on the farm."
"It is perfect name." I wish I could show her how much I love her, but her body is bruised and hurts all over. Later there will be time for loving. We have many days together.
After our one-week reprieve, Daniel arrives and escorts us to the Moscow Vnukovo airport. There, Daisy and I will take a charter jet to Switzerland. Winter is on the cusp here. I've bundled Daisy into a borrowed fur. I wear only a long-sleeve shirt and jeans borrowed from Daniel. Everything that Daisy and I brought to Russia will remain here.
"I've got a lead on Regan," Daniel says to Daisy. The mention of Regan's name brings forth her tears.
"Thank you," she chokes out.
Daisy nearly runs up the stairs into the body of the jet, but I stop to take one last look. Russia is a vast, mysterious land. There are portions of the northern country that few men have ever explored. In the winter, it is harsh and unforgiving, but every spring, the foliage comes out. The people here are resilient like the land itself.
My heart aches a little as I realize that I may never step another foot on Russian soil again. Nor that of Ukraine. I take deep breaths, wanting to suck in and preserve some of this land that has made me.
"You'll miss this place, huh?" says Daniel, shivering a little in his thick coat. Yes, he is from a warmer climate. In my shirt, I feel nothing but the cleansing air. The colder the wind, the more pure.
"You see harsh landscapes and acres of snow, and I see the warm blanket of winter sheltering the earth until it is time for the seeds to flower and rise again. We are a people of resilience and survival."
I feel Daniel shrug beside me, the wool of his heavy jacket barely moving over the gesture. "So you make a sacrifice, and that way you know your treasure is worth it."
I nod. Leaving a small bit of me here in Russia is not that big of a sacrifice when I get Daisy in return. She is the embodiment of the spirit of my homeland—beautiful, resilient, and powerful. "I am in your debt. Call upon me before I pass so that I may go into my rest unfettered." I phrase my request in such a way that Daniel cannot deny me. He shakes his head in rueful agreement.
"Go on then. I'll call in the marker soon enough." Daniel pushes me up the stairs but this time I am the one running up into the plane.
Inside, I sit next to Daisy. The craft is small but luxurious. There is no one but Daisy and me and the pilot. No others to see us leave. I don't ask who the pilot is, nor do I care.
"Why can't you return?" Daisy asks, reaching for my hand.
"The Petrovich interests are well-protected here in Eastern Europe. Its tentacles are far reaching. In exchange for killing Sergei, I am allowed to leave on the provision that I do not return.
Daisy makes a choked sound. I rush to reassure her. "Nyet, do not cry kitten. You are my home now."
The flight to Zurich passes quickly, but the whole time I can think of nothing else but Daisy nak*d in a big bed. I ache to hold her and remind each other that we are alive. Her scents fills my nose and thoughts of her in various stages of undress and in various positions torment me.
It is hard for me to rise from my seat when we land. I close my eyes momentarily and think of Sergei getting eaten by pigs. Daniel has promised me that he will deliver the body to a hog farm where the animals will eat all of Sergei. That is enough to kill off my erection.