Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT OF FIRE AND RECKONING
The storm that hit the Massachusetts coast that night was the worst the region had seen in a decade.
Gale-force winds screamed across the Atlantic, driving sheets of freezing rain against the stone walls of the Malenkov compound. Power lines along the coast collapsed at nine in the evening, plunging the estate into total darkness, illuminated only by the rhythmic flash of blue emergency generators and the crackle of two-way radios held by guards patrolling the grounds.
Aliyah could not sit still.
She paced the length of the grand library, clutching a warm mug of tea that had long since gone cold. Every blast of thunder sounded like gunshots; every streak of lightning across the sky felt like the flash of muzzle fire.
It had been seven hours since Victor had left for the city. Seven hours of absolute radio silence.
At 11:45 p.m., the heavy iron front doors of the mansion were thrown open with a violent crash!
Aliyah dropped her mug, the ceramic shattering on the hardwood floor, and sprinted out into the hallway.
"Victor?!" she screamed into the dark foyer.
Four guards rushed through the entrance, carrying a towering figure between them. Blood was dripping heavily onto the marble floor, leaving a thick crimson trail behind them.
"Get Mrs. Markov! NOW!" Marco bellowed, his face covered in soot and blood. "We need trauma supplies in the main study!"
Aliyah’s heart stopped.
She shoved past two armed guards and threw herself toward the men.
Victor was semi-conscious, his black suit torn to ribbons, his shirt soaked through with dark, heavy blood. A deep, jagged entry wound was visible on the left side of his chest, just below his collarbone, pumping dark red blood with every ragged breath he took.
"Victor!" Aliyah cried out, dropping to her knees beside him as the guards laid him out on the massive leather sofa in the study.
His pale eyes opened slowly, unfocused, clouded with shock and massive blood loss. His lips were blue from the cold.
"Aliyah..." he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "You... you are here..."
"Don't talk! Don't move!" Aliyah commanded, her nursing instincts taking over instantly, cutting through her terror like a scalpel. She grabbed a handful of clean towels from Mrs. Markov, who had just rushed into the room with a surgical kit, and slammed them directly onto the chest wound, applying intense, hard pressure.
Victor groaned in agony, his body arching off the sofa, his hands reaching up wildly.
His fingers locked onto Aliyah's left wrist, his grip crushing, desperate, binding her to him.
"Volkov..." Marco spat, setting a blood-stained submachine gun on the desk. "Volkov set an ambush at the docks. He brought twenty mercenaries from Montreal. But Victor... Boss took them all out. He killed Volkov himself in the warehouse. The syndicate is gone, Aliyah. It’s completely destroyed."
"I don't care about the syndicate!" Aliyah yelled, tears streaming down her face as blood seeped through the towels beneath her hands. "He's going in shock! The bullet hit the subclavian artery or upper lung! We need an ambulance!"
"No ambulances," Marco said grimly, pulling out a tactical knife. "The cops have blocked the coastal highway due to the storm. No emergency vehicle can get through the fallen trees for at least two hours. If he’s going to survive... you have to do it here."
Aliyah looked down at Victor. His pulse was thready, rapid, fading by the second. His skin was turning grey.
She was a third-year nursing student. She had assisted in minor surgeries, held retractors, and watched doctors perform miracles in sterile operating rooms. But she had never cut into a man’s flesh. She had never held a life in her bare hands.
"Aliyah..." Victor whispered, his fingers tightening around her wrist with the last of his strength. He looked up at her through the haze of dying consciousness. "It’s... it’s okay... If I die tonight... I go to her... knowing you are safe..."
"Shut up!" Aliyah screamed at him, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Don't you dare talk like that! You spent twelve years dying inside, Victor Malenkov! You don't get to die on my watch now that you finally decided to live!"
She looked at Mrs. Markov. "I need scalpel number ten, arterial clamps, chest tube, and all the sterile gauze you have! NOW!"
The old woman nodded rapidly, slapping the sterile tools into Aliyah’s hands.
Aliyah wiped the tears from her eyes with her shoulder, took a deep, steadying breath, and leaned over the man who had protected her life.
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"This is going to hurt, Victor," she whispered, her voice dropping into a fierce, absolute promise. "But I am not letting you go."
She pressed the cold steel of the scalpel against his skin and cut into the flesh to save the monster who had reclaimed her heart.
