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The jet starts its descent, the city growing larger and more detailed with every passing second. The Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the serpentine course of the Hudson River, it's all there, waiting for us.
"We're going to make it big here, Samuil. I can feel it," I whisper, the vastness of our future spreading before us, promising and enticing.
He leans in, his voice a husky whisper in my ear. "Together, we'll own this city."
The rush of cool New York air greets us the moment we step off the jet, instantly replacing the sterile plane atmosphere. The distant hum of the city beckons, and as I take in the expanse of the airport tarmac, a sleek black car pulls up, its windows tinted against the sharp afternoon sun.
The city moves past us in a blur, every honk, shout, and distant siren feeling like an intimate whisper in my ear. Thetowering skyscrapers, billboards with larger-than-life faces, and the flowing mass of pedestrians… it's all so exhilarating. New York City. The place I've dreamed about for what feels like eternity is now my reality. I can't help but press my face to the car window, soaking in every minute detail.
Beside me, Samuil watches with an amused smile, his hand resting on my knee. "Like a kid in a candy store," he murmurs.
I grin, feeling giddy. "Can you blame me? Look at this place! And I get to share this with you." I squeeze his hand in response.
We weave through the streets, every turn revealing a new sight, a new wonder. And then we're in Midtown, the beating heart of Manhattan. Our car slows in front of a grand building, its facade gleaming in the evening sun. We've arrived.
As the elevator ascends, there's a thrill of anticipation. The doors slide open to reveal a sprawling penthouse, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a panoramic view of the city. My breath catches.
"Welcome to the Nicolaevich-Zaitsev headquarters," Samuil says, a hint of pride in his voice.
I walk over to the windows, the city lights beginning their nightly dance. "It's perfect," I whisper.
He wraps his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. "You know," he begins, his voice low, "you don't have to be a part of all this if you don't want to. We could find you something less dangerous."
I turn to face him, searching the depths of his eyes. "You're giving me the option to retire from this life?"
His nod is slow, deliberate. "Only if it's what you want."
A smirk forms on my lips. "And let you have all the fun? Not a chance." The fierceness in my voice is unmistakable. This is our dream, our empire. No way I’m stepping away.
His laugh is deep, genuine. "I had a feeling you'd say that."
I trace a finger down his cheek. "We're in this together, always."
As Samuil gets lost in the joy of setting up our new home, the weight of my secret bears down on me. The perfect moment presents itself when he eagerly starts unpacking. My heart thumps wildly against my ribcage as I scan the room, my gaze falling on the stack of boxes. I spot the one with the tiny butterfly sticker I had discreetly placed before we left Moscow. My hands shake as I reach for it.
"Hey," I call out to him, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why don't you start with this one?"
He raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Something special in there?"
"Very," I respond with a nervous smile.
He sets the box on our marble kitchen counter, the sunlight streaming through the expansive windows illuminating it. He slices through the tape sealing the box, the knife seeming to shine with purpose.
As he pulls back the flaps, everything seems to stop. Inside, nestled among the packing materials, lies the telltale stick with two bright pink lines, the signal of our future.
His hands, strong and often unyielding, tremble slightly as he reaches in to pick up the stick. The quiet reflection in his eyes speaks volumes. He's lost in the wondrous realization of what this means.
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Are you happy, Samuil?"
His response is immediate. "Ana, I'm not just happy. I'm over the moon! This goes beyond any dream I could've ever imagined."
With the vast skyline of New York serving as our backdrop, he pulls me into a tight embrace. The city's heartbeat merges with our own, and it feels as though the entire world iscelebrating with us. And in this city of dreams, anything is possible.
Chapter 33
Samuil
"You're far from home, Russian.”
