Feeling the warm sunlight land on my eyes, I groan and bury my head under the pillow. Reluctantly, I shift in bed before finally dragging myself up. My feet touch the cold, hard wooden floor, sending a jolt of alertness through my still-sluggish body. Shuffling to the balcony, I pull back the curtain, squinting against the brightness of the early morning sun. A glance at the clock tells me it's only five a.m. With a sniffle and a pair of sneezes—"Achoo! Achoo!"—my day begins.
The gym is my first stop every morning. Today, being Thursday, it's my upper body routine. I start with a thirty-minute warm-up on the treadmill, the rhythmic hum of the machine accompanying my footsteps. Afterward, I move into stretches: Knee Hugs, Pulls, and Inchworms, ensuring my body is fully prepared. Once warmed up, I head over to the barbells and dumbbells.
Lifting the barbell overhead, I feel the muscles in my arms, shoulders, and back engage in a synchronized dance. Each repetition demands focus and control, testing my strength and resilience. The weights are more than physical challenges; they are tools for growth, each lift a silent testament to perseverance.
Dumbbells bring a different kind of test. Their isolation work forces my arms to function independently, engaging stabilizing muscles and improving balance. The subtle twists and movements demand precision, making every set feel like an intricate choreography.
The clinks and thuds of the gym equipment resonate like a symphony of determination. Each repetition is a reminder of the effort I've put in to become stronger, not just physically but mentally. Lifting is my therapy—a grounding practice that lets me reflect on my progress and confront my challenges head-on.
A sudden click behind me pulls me from my thoughts. The gym door swings open, revealing Renato, his face lit with surprise. "I didn't expect you to be an early bird, let alone in the gym."
"I try to get my workout in every morning or evening," I reply, setting down the dumbbells and taking a deep breath. "But lately, I haven't been consistent because of the accident. Achoo!" I sneeze repeatedly, sitting down to grab a sip of water.
"Bless you. What accident?" Renato asks, concern evident in his tone.
Renato's eyes widen, disbelief and alarm written across his face. "Why would an amateur assassin be after you in the first place?"
"I can't tell you," I say, my voice firm but not unkind. The weight of the truth feels like a boulder pressing on my chest.
"Aliona..." he begins, his tone imploring.
"I'm sorry," I interrupt, shaking my head. "But this is not the moment."
His brow furrows, frustration mingling with concern. "When will it be the moment?" he presses.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "When I know my family is safe," I reply, my voice tinged with both resolve and vulnerability.
"Aliona, I don't understand what you mean by 'safe.'" His words are gentle but probing, searching for clarity.
My composure cracks, and I snap, "Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I haven't moved on? Do you think I haven't built a life?" The words spill out, sharp and raw, my emotions laid bare.
Renato stammers, "I... I..."
"You get it now?" I continue, my voice softer but no less intense. "I have another life, a family I work to provide for and protect. I love you all, but I have to prioritize their future. It's not all sunshine and clear skies."
The weight of my words seems to settle on Renato. He lowers his gaze, his voice almost a whisper. "I'm sorry, Aliona. I hope we can meet your family someday."
YOU ARE READING
The Volki
Mystery / ThrillerAliona Lucia Vasilisa Monti Mikhailov, once an innocent five-year-old princess of the Monti family, is now the Donna of the Russian mafia and wife to Amir and Axton Mikhailov. Kidnapped as a child and shaped into a ruthless assassin, she has grown i...
