The Last Hope

9

Selina

Rafael chuckles under the towel as Sienna dries his hair, smiling. I can't help but let my own lips curve upward
seeing my son opening up to someone other than me, bringing me comfort. Perhaps, over all these years, I've succeeded in shielding him from the darkness of our prison.

I grimace in pain from my hand as I finish tying my now dry hair into a loosely braided style. We had all taken a shower, ridding ourselves of the dirt from our journey. Now, we were in the guest room that Nikolaï had indicated as mine and my son's, while Sienna's room was just next door. The rooms were similar, with a double bed, two nightstands, a large built-in wardrobe hidden behind sliding mirrors on the wall, and a bathroom—all in shades of white, gray, and gold. It was refreshing.

Soft knocks on the door made me jump, and Elif's smiling face appeared through the crack, 'Can I come in?'"

I nod, returning her smile, ignoring my sister's wary expression. She eventually puts on my son's sweater, keeping a close eye on our host, who, satisfied, nods approvingly after analyzing each of us.
"Glad the clothes fit," she says, picking up a pair of child-sized socks from the floor, handing them to my sister, who takes them without a word. Contrary to my expectations, Elif seems more amused than reluctant.

"Thanks for the clothes; it was very kind of you," I say, gently stroking the white cotton wide-leg pants paired with the oversized sweater. I shoot a dark look at my sister, who lowers her eyes to the forest-green tracksuit and sighs, "Thanks," she finally mutters.

"Yes! Thank you!" my son exclaims suddenly, bouncing on the bed. "You're welcome, kuzum (sweetheart). I think you're around the same age as my youngest son, Dimitri. His clothes suit you well. Do you remember him? You met at the Gala; you can play together," Elif says, smiling.

My son's hesitant eyes search mine, not asking the typical question most would expect. He's not seeking permission to play but wants to know if it's safe, the fear in his eyes tightens my chest so much I struggle to breathe. He leaps from his perch and rushes towards me, I lift my injured hand just in time as he throws himself onto my lap, nestling against me. I gently massage his neck, reassuring him, it'll be okay, he looks up at me with an adorable pout, and I smile while caressing his hair.

New knocks echo, and this time, the person waits for permission before entering. Elif opens the door, allowing Nikolai to come in, my eyes follow his silhouette—long legs, broad shoulders—he almost fills the entire doorway. His gaze instantly meets mine, and I freeze like every time I lock eyes with his blue ones, I feel enchanted. The way he looks at me, no one has ever looked at me like that.

When I saw him at the motel room door, I thought I was having a heart attack, fearing Antonio had found us and enlisted the Russians to bring us back. But as he approached with a reassuring air, his stern face softened, I knew my fears were unfounded. Still, I didn't trust him, and I doubted I'd ever trust a man, yet, I had no choice but to follow him when his brother took my sister without a word.

"The doctor is here, and dinner is served," he says, and, as always, his deep voice penetrates to the core of my being. I avert my gaze from his intense eyes, unable to withstand his look any longer, and grab the brush I used to style my son's hair.

"Very well, let's g...," but Elif's words fade as a shadow suddenly looms over me. I lift my eyes slowly and find myself under a summer sky as Nikolai Ivanov extends his hand, "Come, let's tend to your fingers." My gaze drops to his hand, large and marked by various small wounds.

"Mamma?" Rafael calls as I stop brushing his hair. I set aside the brush, soothing his neck, then rise, ignoring the man's hand, carefully maneuver around him to exit the room. Because no matter what my body or that unknown part of my heart might say, I'll never let a man approach me. I will live for my son, and only him.

Nikolaï

My eyes follow Selina and Rafael as they disappear down the hallway, trailed by Sienna, who shoots me a dark look as she passes. Elif taps my back, smiling. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, grazing my lips on her temple. "Stop giving me that worried look, Valide (queen mother).  I'm no longer the foolish sixteen-year-old."

She shakes her head, grimacing. "Sometimes it feels like yesterday, and other days, like an eternity. I'll never stop worrying about you, your brothers, your sons, and mine—these little devils. It's a miracle I don't have white hair yet," she grumbles. I smile, holding her tighter against my side. "Even with white hair and wrinkles around your eyes, you'll be beautiful," I say, leading her towards the stairs.

My sister-in-law merely shakes her head before adopting a serious expression. "Don't worry about Grigori, Niko. I'll take care of him while you take care of her," she says, her gaze settling on Selina as we enter the living room. Selina has seated herself on the couch, watching the doctor warily as he readies his tools on the coffee table. Sasha and Roman enter from the garden but keep their distance, sensing Selina's tension at their approach.

"Let's begin, if you please," says Dr. Semionov in Russian after disinfecting his hands, leaning towards Selina with his hands reaching for her face but she makes a strangled sound, attempting to move back on the couch. Before I realize it, I'm by her side, a hand on the doctor's shoulder, gently straightening him. "Easy, Doctor, limit the contact as much as possible," I say in Russian, giving him a stern look. My eyes shift to a trembling Selina, her gaze fixed on the floor, I tighten my jaw, stepping back, fists clenched in my pockets.

Understanding my request, Semionov crouches in front of Selina, smiling at her, he gently takes her injured hand, avoiding her facial wounds. He furrows his brow, gently examining Selina's fingers, which are almost purple, she groans in pain, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Rafael? Would you like me to show you the children's playroom? I'm sure you'll love it," Elif asks behind the couch, her worried gaze shifting from Selina to her son.

Rafael shakes his head, trying to free himself from Sienna's grip to come to her mother. "Rafael, pulcino mio, let's go together?" Sienna suggests, standing up. "No! I want to stay with Mom! I'll protect her."

Selina tightens her lips, her eyes shining as she watches her son, I approach him slowly and crouch to his level, freezing him in his banter with his aunt. My hand leaves my pocket, revealing a steel lighter engraved with my name topped by a bear. "Let's make a deal, moy mal'chik (my boy)." I take his small hand, noticing Selina tense as I do. I place the object in Rafael's palm, and he looks at it, curious, "this lighter is very precious to me, just like your mom is to you. I'm entrusting you with my treasure so that you protect it, and I'll protect yours. What do you say?"

He brings the lighter closer to his face, examining the engravings the he lifts his green eyes to mine, "will you protect my mom? The monster won't touch her again?"

I grab his right forearm and position his fingers somewhat around mine. "On my honor and my blood, I promise that no one will ever touch your mother again, Rafael," I say, making the oath in the Bratva way, without the palm wound that usually seals the promise with blood.

After a few seconds of scrutinizing me with his attentive eyes, he finally nods slowly, making me smile. "Good, then follow your aunt. I won't take my eyes off your mother, don't worry," he nods, squeezing my lighter in his hand before joining his aunt. They follow Elif out of the room after exchanging a hug with Selina.

I stand up, and my gaze meets my brothers', who looks at me stun. But that's not surprising; my father's lighter was one of the few things that hold value in my eyes, so parting with it naturally bewilders them. However, when my eyes lock with Selina's, I understand that it's worth it.
Damn, everything else fades away when I look at her. She looks at me in a way that makes me want to burn anything that could harm her. I have the urge to protect her like I do with my sons, to hold her close so she knows that nothing could touch her, that she is safe, with me.