The One Who Still Bleeds

"I met Dmitry when he was ten," Igor said. "I was eighteen. Aleksandr had just made me his personal shadow. I thought it was an honor. I thought I had made it."

Sofia said nothing.

"The first time I saw Dmitry, he had a broken nose and was sitting in the snow outside the estate with no coat. It was December. He was reading a book."

"Which book?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. He hid it before I could see the title. Aleksandr had caught him reading it in the middle of a meeting and beat him for it. Then told the staff to throw him outside until morning."

Sofia's throat felt tight. She picked up the notebook. Still did not open it.

Igor stared at the floor. "He was punished for everything. If he cried, Aleksandr broke something near him. If he stayed silent, Aleksandr said he was weak. If he won a fight, Aleksandr beat him harder. If he lost, he had to sleep in the dog kennel."

He leaned forward and folded his hands. "He was taught one rule. Never ask for help. Never need love. Never say no."

Sofia's voice came out flat. "That didn't work, though. Because he still helps people."

Igor nodded. "Yes. But not for the reason you think."

She looked at him.

He spoke slower now. "One time, when he was fifteen, he gave a kitchen maid a packet of medicine because her son was sick. Aleksandr found out. She disappeared the next day. Dmitry didn't come out of his room for two weeks. He didn't speak to anyone for three months. And then he started giving again. More carefully."

Sofia closed her eyes.

"Dmitry builds things in silence. But he destroys with noise. That's how he copes."

She opened the notebook. It was full of lists. Dozens of pages. Handwritten names. Some had stars next to them. Some were crossed out. Some had notes.

"What is this?" she asked.

Igor pointed at a name. "This one was a boy he saved from a trafficking ring Aleksandr ran in 2013. This one is a woman whose abusive husband worked for us. Dmitry paid him to leave Moscow and told her the husband died in a bar fight."

"And the ones crossed out?"

Igor's face became cold. "Those are the ones he could not save."

Sofia turned the page. Her heart slowed. On one of the pages, she saw her own name. Written in small careful letters. No star. No cross.

She pointed at it. "What does this mean?"

Igor looked away. "It means you're not dead. Yet."

She slammed the book shut. "He's still a killer."

"Yes," Igor said. "But he is not a liar."

The room felt smaller.

"He didn't grow up in a home," Igor said. "He grew up in a prison with chandeliers. You wonder why he's cold. But he was never allowed to be warm. Even the dog Aleksandr gave him was poisoned a week later. Just to remind him not to get attached."

Sofia stood up. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because Aleksandr has given the order," Igor said.

She stopped moving.

"He wants you dead. He does not care how. Car bomb. Apartment fire. Poisoned lipstick. Anything will do. And if Dmitry refuses again, Aleksandr will start killing children."

Sofia's hands trembled.

"Leave Moscow," Igor said. "Go now. Change your name. Burn everything."

"I can't," she whispered.

"Why?" His voice rose for the first time. "What are you doing here? What are you trying to prove? You want justice? There's no justice here. Just blood."

Sofia looked at him. "He kissed me."

Igor did not look surprised.

"He kissed me and I kissed him back. And I think he meant it. And I think I meant it too. And that makes me sick."

Igor let out a long breath. "Then leave before it makes you dead."

Sofia sat down again. "What happens if I run?"

"Then maybe," Igor said, "you stay alive. Maybe he lives a little longer. Or maybe Aleksandr just finds you later and sends your head in a box."

She laughed. It was bitter. "Do you ever say anything optimistic?"

Igor looked at her seriously. "I once told a man he had fifteen seconds to run. That's the happiest thing I've ever said."

Sofia smiled despite herself.

Then the smile fell. "What about you?"

"I'm already dead," Igor said. "I've known since I was sixteen. I just haven't stopped walking yet."

The wind howled outside. The pipes moaned in the walls. Somewhere below them, a car passed.

"You have two days," Igor said. "After that, not even Dmitry will be able to save you."

She nodded. "What will you do?"

"I will try to buy you a few extra hours. That's all I have left to give."

Sofia stood and walked him to the door.

He paused there. Then reached into his coat and gave her a phone. "Only two numbers work on it. Mine and his. If you call the wrong one, make sure you're ready to die."

She took the phone.

Igor opened the door. "One last thing."

"What?"

He looked tired. "If you see Leo again, tell him I still have the video of him trying to do ballet in the compound gym."

Sofia raised her eyebrows.

Igor nodded slowly. "He cried. Like a small girl who lost her favorite duck."

She laughed. Hard. It came from her chest and spilled into the cold air of the hallway.

Igor smiled a little. Then he was gone.

Sofia stood in the doorway for a long time.

She looked down at the phone.

Then at the notebook.

Then at the snow falling outside the window.

And she knew one thing for certain.

No one was walking out of this clean.

Not Dmitry.

Not Aleksandr.

Not Igor.

Not her.

Not anymore.

The city was bleeding. And soon, it would drown in its own blood.

She turned off the lights.

And began packing.

She did not remember falling asleep.

But she remembered waking up. The cold metal of a gun pressed into her ribs. A hand covering her mouth. A voice she knew too well whispering her name like it had meaning.

"Don't scream."