The Sins That Built Wings

Dmitry set the glass down with exaggerated care. "She tastes like justice."

Ksenia threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, that's perfect. The great Dmitry Kuznetsov, brought to his knees by a woman with a badge." She wiped imaginary tears from her eyes. "I can't wait to watch Aleksandr break you both."

Dmitry turned to leave.

Ksenia's voice stopped him at the door. "She'll die screaming, you know. They all do."

Dmitry didn't look back. "Save your breath, Ksenia. You'll need it to beg."

The door slammed behind him.

Ksenia stood alone in her glittering prison, the pistol cold in her hand, the city spread out before her like a banquet.

She raised her glass in a toast to no one.

"Game on, detective."

Outside, the snow turned to rain.

And somewhere in the dark, Viktor Petrovich made a phone call he would soon regret.

The orphanage smelled of disinfectant and fresh bread. Sofia Ivanova stood in the small office, her fingers tracing the embossed letterhead on the donation certificate. The name stared back at her in elegant gold script: Dmitry Kuznetsov Foundation.

Sister Margarita, a woman with kind eyes and rough hands, poured tea into chipped mugs. "He's been supporting us for three years," she said, pushing a mug toward Sofia. "Paid for the new roof. The heating system. The children's medications."

Sofia stared at the certificate. The date was recent. Last month. The same week Dmitry had broken a man's fingers in front of her at the docks.

"I don't understand," Sofia said quietly.

The nun smiled. "Charity rarely makes sense, detective." She opened a drawer, pulling out a thick ledger. "Would you like to see?"

The pages whispered as Sofia turned them. Donation after donation. Orphanages. Hospitals. A shelter for abused women. All under Dmitry's name, but never publicly. No press releases. No photo ops. Just quiet transfers of money that kept the lights on and the heat running in places the government had forgotten.

Sofia's thumb brushed over an entry for St. Anna's Children's Hospital. Fifty million rubles. The date matched the night of the warehouse massacre.

Her coffee had gone cold.

Sister Margarita watched her with knowing eyes. "You thought him a monster."

Sofia closed the ledger. "He is."

"And yet," the nun said gently, "monsters do not build wings for terminally ill children." She took the ledger back, her fingers lingering on the cover. "People are not simple, detective. Even wolves can love."

Outside, children laughed in the snow-covered yard. Their voices carried through the thin glass, bright and unburdened.

Sofia stood abruptly. "Thank you for your time."

The nun didn't try to stop her. "Come back anytime, child. The door is always open."

The cold air hit Sofia like a slap as she stepped outside. She walked without direction, her boots crunching on icy pavement. The contradictions gnawed at her—Dmitry's hands around a man's throat one hour, signing checks to cancer wards the next.

Her phone buzzed. Leo's name flashed on the screen.

Heard you're digging into Dima's good deeds. Careful, detective. Even Satan tithes.

Sofia shoved the phone back in her pocket.

The snow began to fall again, soft and relentless. She found herself outside the children's hospital from the ledger. Through the windows, she could see small faces pressed against the glass, watching the snow.

A nurse pushing an empty wheelchair stopped beside her. "Visiting someone?"

Sofia shook her head. "Just...looking."

The nurse followed her gaze to the new wing, where a shiny plaque caught the winter light. "That one's the Kuznetsov Wing," she said. "They do the bone marrow transplants there. Saved my nephew last year." She adjusted her grip on the wheelchair. "Funny, isn't it? The people who help the most are often the ones you'd least expect."

Sofia said nothing.

Inside the hospital, a child laughed. The sound was painfully alive.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was the precinct. Another body. Another crime scene.

Sofia turned away from the hospital, from the children, from the plaque with Dmitry's name.

The snow kept falling.

And the world kept refusing to make sense.

Sofia had not slept for more than two hours.

She had taken a hot shower. She had stared at herself in the mirror for fifteen minutes. She had pressed her fingers against the bruises on her hip where Dmitry had gripped her last night. Then she had opened the window, lit a cigarette, and watched the snow fall without blinking.

She hated the way her body remembered his. She hated that she had wanted more. But most of all, she hated that he had not lied to her once.

The safehouse was quiet now. She had changed the locks. She had blocked the windows with old furniture. She had moved the coffee table to cover a loose floorboard she did not trust. She kept her gun on the pillow beside her.

When Igor knocked, she had already raised the weapon. But he did not speak through the door. He waited, like someone who had nothing left to fear.

She opened it slowly.

His face was pale. His eyes were dull. He looked ten years older than he had the last time she saw him, but his body still looked like it had been built in a war zone.

He stepped inside without asking.

Sofia did not lower her gun. "If you're here to kill me, I'll save you the trouble."

Igor looked at her hand. "You're holding the safety."

Sofia glanced down. He was right.

She sighed, clicked it off, and waved toward the old couch. "Sit."

He did. The couch groaned under his weight. He looked around the room like he could see every secret hiding in the walls.

"I'm not here to kill you," he said.

"Then speak fast," Sofia said, sitting across from him. "I don't like guests."

He nodded slowly. "Neither do I."

They sat in silence. Then Igor reached into his coat and placed something on the table. A small notebook. Old, torn, held together with a red string.

She did not touch it.

Igor rubbed the back of his neck. "This house is not safe. Aleksandr already knows about it."

Sofia did not blink. "Then why are you here?"

"Because you still don't understand who Dmitry is," he said. "And you need to."

She waited.