"WE MUST ALL BE INSANE TO RACE RECKLESSLY ABOUT IN A WORLD FILLED WITH WITH SO MANY SHARP AND POINTED DANGERS. THAT'S JUST ASKING FOR TROUBLE."
in which valentina popov discovers her true identity and tries to reconcile with her nightmares.
first bo...
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prologue
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11:35 PM. MARCH 25th, 1967
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THE two lovers walked in the shadows, their feet lightly crunching in the cold, Russian snow.
The red head kept her head down, her body sheltered by her lover, her soldier, and the father of her unborn child. They tried to move as quickly as they could but still maintained a sense of caution. Running away from the KGB was no easy task. In fact, it was borderline suicide to do what they were doing but they both knew they couldn't live like that anymore.
They wanted more. No. They needed more.
She placed a hand on her not yet swollen stomach as they trekked on through the winter night. The life growing inside of her gave her hope. It gave her the strength to escape the pain which was her life. She would never have blood on her hands again and neither would he.
Oh, how she cared for her soldier with that metal arm of his.
Every now and then he would look down at her, making sure she hadn't left his warm grasp. Each second that passed by, his worries only grew.
His mission right now was to make sure the love of his life would make it through the night. He didn't care what happened to himself, just as long as she got out.
Ever since she found out that she was pregnant, the woman began to picture her life without being an assassin, being the Black Widow. Maybe it would be a little house in Italy where she would look out onto the clear, blue waters of the Tyrhennian sea. Maybe she would learn how to cook a meal for her new family; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe she would dance in her little house for herself and not to impress others. Maybe she would kiss her soldier good morning, good afternoon, and good night, and it wouldn't feel like a sin. Maybe she would watch her child laugh and smile, something so foreign to her. Maybe, just maybe, she would be happy.
She liked that picture.
Hearing a distant crunching sound in the snow, the two froze, but immediately scurried off to the wall of a nearby building. Their chests tightened with fear as they held each other close. Waiting for at least two minutes, the man placed a kiss on the woman's forehead as he stepped out from their hiding place, his hand on the gun placed on his hip. Looking in each direction, he finally determined their path to be clear.
Any moment could be their last, but they still go on like there is a fruitful future ahead for them.
There has to be!
Just a few more hours and they can rest in a run down building where no one would think to look. Just a few more days and they would be on a janky sailboat to Finland where their new lives would begin.
Once they get to that border, they could stealthily take out any KGB guard.
The killing part is easy...
It's just how you get to that point that's the hard part.
He kept her in front at all times. This way, she was always one step ahead, one step closer to freedom. She didn't like it all that much. She wanted to be at his side at all moments but if it made him happier like thus, then so be it.
Crunch.
They both froze again. The sound was not from them, it was from another body. "Skyrvat." Hide, he commanded, "Seychas." Now. This time, he talked to her with a little more harshness in his voice.
Her heart told her not to but her mind knew that, together, they were a bigger target. She squeezed his hand, and then ran off into the near darkness. Crouching in the snow, she listened for any nearby noise. The KGB were certainly close but she wasn't giving up this easily. Spotting a broken window, she sneakily made her way towards it and dove through it, silently rolling onto the dirty floor.
Her eyes scanned the unlit area and there one was; an officer standing almost completely still looking out a window. It was suspicious behavior but she needed to make her move—now!
Slowly moving towards the man, she prepared to take out her knife. With her left hand, she would place it over his mouth as her right hand simultaneously plunged the sharp weapon into his neck. It would be messier than she liked, but it was the stealthiest option.
The red head was seconds away from making her attack before she heard it enter her neck, a dart that is. She had just been tranquilized by who could only be one of her fellow Black Widows. Before she hit the floor, the woman who just shot her countered the fall.
"Mne ochen' zhal', sestra." I'm so sorry, sister. That blonde hair and those hazel eyes.
Yelena.
She wanted to cry so badly. She wanted to beg them to just let her go but she couldn't. She had just lost everything. As her eyes began to close, she could only imagine her Italian home overlooking the ocean while she held a child that would most likely never be now.
