Chapter Text
Ilya presses the cold barrel of his revolver to the man’s head, glaring down at the dark-haired criminal with unrestrained fury. «Где он?» (Where is he?)
The disheveled man spits onto the concrete, blood splattering red against the floor. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes, his lip swollen and split. His hair is matted with dried blood, plastered to his pale forehead. He’s already endured days of torture but now there’s a gun at his skull.
«Тебе меня не сломать, Розанов.» (You’ll never break me, Rozanov.) the man sneers, tugging at his restraints. He’s inching closer to freedom, close enough to dream of tearing Ilya apart with his bare hands.
«О, поверь… сломаем.» (Oh, I think we will.)
Ilya gestures toward Yakov, an older man who appears to be the leader of the operation. He steps aside and they can see him dragging a young woman into the warehouse. She’s beautiful in a fragile way, her dark hair is tangled, terror is written all over her face.
«Мы нашли её. Твою слабость.» Ilya says coolly. (We found her. Your weakness.)
The man finally breaks.
He forgets the ropes. Forgets escape. He thrashes violently against the chair. «Елена!» (Elena!)
«Виталий!» (Vitaly!) She screams back, heels scraping uselessly against the concrete as Yakov forces her forward.
Ilya steps closer, gun still in hand. «Теперь нам нужно местонахождение твоего босса. Твоего отца.» (Now we need the location of your boss. Your father.) His voice is almost calm. «Иначе Елена Соколова умрёт.» (Or Elena Sokolova dies.)
He grips her hair and presses the gun to her head, eyes locked on the man in the chair.
«Ты чудовище, Илья.» (You’re a monster Ilya,) Vitaly chokes, tears brewing around his eyelids. How did they find her? She’d been hidden away, living under a fake name in St Petersburg. She was supposed to be safe there.
Ilya wraps an arm around Elena’s waist and drags her closer, just out of reach of her husband.
«Я знаю.» (I know.)
Vitaly bites back tears, staring at his wife. «Пожалуйста… она ни в чём не виновата. Не трогайте её. Я всё скажу.» (Please… she’s innocent. Don’t hurt her. I’ll talk.)
Ilya shoves Elena into the chair directly across from him, zip-tying her hands behind her back with practiced efficiency. Then he turns back to Vitaly.
«Начинай говорить.» (Start talking.)
Yakov taps quickly on his phone before stepping away, device pressed to his ear. Ilya watches him go, already suspecting the nature of the call. He smirks faintly before refocusing on Vitaly.
«Ну?» (So,) Ilya says, arms crossed, legs spread. «Где твой отец?» (Where is your father?)
Vitaly squeezes his eyes shut. His chest heaves. He can’t choose. His father, or the woman he loves more than his own life.
Then he looks up.
Elena’s terrified gaze meets him and his stomach turns. His palms are slick with sweat. «Я…» (I—)
«Виталий.» (Vitaly!)
Ilya snaps his attention to Elena and clicks the gun inches from her face. «Заткнись, блядь!» (Shut the fuck up.)
She flinches but doesn’t look away from her husband. «Пожалуйста…» (Please,) she begs softly. «Дай мне сказать ему, что я его люблю. Я люблю тебя!» (Let me tell him I love him. I love you!) She leans forward as far as the restraints allow.
Ilya hesitates. Just for a second. Then against all instincts, he turns his back. He’s always believed in letting people have their final moments. He may be a killer but some broken piece of his soul still remembers mercy.
«Послушай меня, Виталий…» (Listen to me Vitaly,) Elena whispers urgently. «Ты не можешь выдать своего отца. Он тебя убьёт, а я с этим не смогу жить. Всё в порядке…» (You can’t give up your father. He’ll kill you and I couldn’t live with that. It’s okay…)
Vitaly shakes his head violently. «Нет. Я не позволю им тебя убить.» (No. I won’t let them kill you.)
That’s enough.
Ilya turns back around and pulls a knife from his belt, pressing the blade to Elena’s throat. The tip slices her skin.
She cries out, eyes squeezing shut.
«Не надо!» (Don’t!) Vitaly screams, terror unraveling him completely. «Пожалуйста! Я всё расскажу! Просто остановитесь.» (Please! I’ll tell you everything! Just stop!)
«Говори.» (Talk,) Ilya snarls, digging the blade deeper. Blood spills down her neck, staining her shirt red.
«Не делай этого, Виталий!» (Don’t, Vitaly!) Elena cries. «Они меня не убьют — я им нужна как рычаг давления!» (He won’t kill me, they need me as leverage!)
«Да?» (Oh?) Ilya sneers.
«Она права.» (She’s right,) Vitaly says, voice steady now, defiant. «Если ты её убьёшь, ты больше никогда не услышишь ни слова о моей семье. Никогда.» (If you kill her, you’ll never hear a word about my family. Ever.)
Ilya doesn’t blink. «Она ошибается.» (She’s wrong.)
His phone vibrates. He answers it without looking away.
Vitaly leans toward Elena. «Ты гениальна, моя любовь. Я люблю тебя.» (You’re brilliant, my love. I love you.)
«Я тоже тебя люблю.» (I love you too,) she whispers fiercely. «Я выдержу всё, что бы они ни сделали.» (I can take anything they do.)
Ilya ends the call and pockets the phone. His expression is empty, almost bored. «Мы нашли его.» (We found him.)
Vitaly freezes. «Что?» (What?)
«Твоего отца.» (Your father,) Ilya says flatly. «Он у нас.» (We have him.)
«Ты врёшь.» (You’re lying,) Vitaly snarls.
«Нет.» (No.) Ilya raises his gun again. «А значит, ты мне больше не нужен. Как и она, впрочем.» (Which means I no longer need you. Or her for that matter.)
Elena’s breath stutters.
«Она — обуза.» (She’s a liability,) Ilya continues. «И мне приказали её устранить.» (And I’ve been ordered to eliminate her.)
«Ты врёшь!» (You’re lying!) Vitaly repeats, screaming this time. «Ты её не убьёшь!» (You won’t kill her!)
Ilya presses the gun to Elena’s head. Her whimper is small, terrified. Another death on my conscience.
And yet… he remembers what she did. The unborn child she ripped from a screaming woman the Sokolov family had kidnapped. The woman had supposedly committed a sin by daring to go to an illegal abortion clinic. The poor woman had been raped. Not that she needed an excuse. She was once a friend of Ilya’s mother.
«Последние слова, Елена Соколова?» (Any last words, Elena Sokolova?)
Vitaly thinks he’s bluffing.
Elena does not.
«Виталий,» (Vitaly,) she whispers. «я люблю тебя.» (I love you.)
«Он издевается над тобой!» (He’s fucking with you!) Vitaly shouts. «Ленка!» (Lenka!)
Ilya pulls the trigger. Then everything happens at once, he pushes it away in a little box in his head.
The gunshot echoes violently through the warehouse.
Her body collapses sideways.
Vitaly screams.
Ilya cuts the restraints and lets her body fall at his feet. He can’t let a show of weakness be shown on his face, Yakov is still here, even if this man is about to die. Let them all think he’s an unfeeling monster. Sometimes even Ilya himself can believe that. «Я, блядь, заикался?» (Did I fucking stutter?)
Vitaly stares at her, broken, hollow. «Ты её убил.» (You killed her.)
«Да.» (Yes.)
«Тогда убей меня.» (Then kill me,) he growls, lifting his head. «Тебе лучше это сделать.» (You’d better.)
Ilya doesn’t hesitate.
Another shot.
Vitaly slumps forward, blood trickling beneath his hairline.
Ilya pours kerosene across the warehouse floor. No evidence. No survivors. He strikes a match and tosses it behind him.
He drives away in Vitaly’s car as the flames explode outward, glass shattering into the night.
Another family erased.
Another sin added to Ilya Rozanov’s past.
Ilya jerks awake with a sharp gasp, his body drenched in cold sweat. His heart is hammering so violently it feels like it might crack his ribs open from the inside. His hands clutch at the sheets, fingers curling into fabric like it might anchor him to reality.
«Нет…» “No—” His voice breaks. «Пожалуйста…» “Please…”
The images won’t let go. Blood. Fire. Screaming.
He folds in on himself, shaking, breath coming too fast, too shallow.
«Я всё ещё здесь.» “I’m still here,” he whispers hoarsely to the empty room. «Почему я всё ещё здесь?» “Why am I still here?”
The door creaks open and soft footsteps pad across the floor.
Svetlana stands in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, wearing a ratty old graphic tee with a faded band logo and a pair of underwear. She squints at him for half a second, then her expression changes completely.
«A» (Oh..) She murmurs, already moving. «кошмар.» (Nightmare)
She doesn’t ask permission. She never does. She climbs onto the bed and sits beside him, pulling his shaking body into her arms without hesitation. Her hand presses firmly between his shoulder blades, grounding, steady. «Дыши.» (Breathe,) she says quietly, right near his ear. «Со мной. Медленно.» (With me. Slow.)
Ilya clutches at her shirt like a lifeline, his forehead pressed into her shoulder. He’s crying now, silent, ugly tears he never lets anyone but her see. «Я снова их видел.» (I saw them again,) he chokes. «Склад. Огонь. Её лицо.» (The warehouse. The fire. Her face.)
Svetlana tightens her grip just slightly.«Я знаю.» (I know.)
«Я их убил.» (I killed them,) he whispers. «Я не заслуживаю просыпаться.» (I don’t deserve to wake up.)
«Эй.» (Hey.) She pulls back just enough to look at him, her hands firm on his face, forcing his eyes up to hers. «Не надо так. Ты не можешь говорить такие вещи.» (Do not do that. You can’t say things like that.)
His breathing stutters.
«Ты выжил. И ты будешь жить дальше. Ради меня.» (You survived, and you will keep on surviving, for me.) she says evenly.
His chest rises and falls more slowly now, syncing unconsciously with hers. She stays right there, one hand rubbing small circles into his back, the other warm against his cheek.
«Вот так.» (There,) she murmurs. «Всё хорошо. Ты в безопасности, ты здесь.» (That’s it. You’re safe, You’re here.)
Ilya exhales shakily and nods, exhausted in a bone-deep way. «Прости, что разбудил тебя.» (I’m sorry I woke you.)
«Пожалуйста.» (Please.) Svetlana snorts softly. «Как будто я когда-нибудь оставлю тебя страдать в одиночку.» (Like I would leave you to suffer alone.)
She reaches over, grabs the hot water bottle from where it's fallen on the floor, and presses it into his hands.
«Доктор, к которому ты отказался идти, сказал мне, что тепло помогает,» (The Doctor you refused to see told me that warmth can help,) «и что нельзя быть одному.» (As does not being alone.)
He clutches it to his chest, shoulders finally relaxing.
«Спасибо.» (…Thank you,) he says quietly.
She shrugs, settling back against the headboard but staying close. «Кто-то же должен за тобой присматривать.» (Well, someone has to take care of you.)
Ilya lets his eyes close again. The images still linger at the edges of his mind but they’re quieter now. Distant.
At least he’s had more sleep tonight than the last week combined.