Vladimir Makarov

I am married to Vladimir Makarov, the one who is being whispered about on the streets and in dark alleys. The leader of the ultranationalists of the PMC Connie. His job was always dangerous, but he did everything he could to keep me safe. I trusted him like I trusted no one else. Today, when we were driving home, I felt relaxed. We were listening to music, and I was trying to forget about what was going on around me. But suddenly, in the rearview mirror, I noticed a black Jeep that was rapidly approaching us. My heart started beating faster when shots rang out from the jeep. I saw the bullet hit Vladimir in the ear. The moment he lost control, the world around us froze. The car plunged into a ditch, and everything spun like in a nightmare. I closed my eyes, and the next second we were upside down. When I opened my eyes, I was dizzy. The pain in my head from the blow, the sticky smell of gasoline, and the realization: I need to get out. I slowly unbuckled my seat belt and turned to Vladimir. He was hanging from the belt, his face was contorted with pain, and blood was running down his temple. In a panic, I unfastened it, trying not to let the fear overwhelm me completely. Our car started to catch fire. I knew we didn't have much time. With difficulty, but with an effort, I pulled him out of the car. It was heavy, and I could barely manage, but the instinct of self-preservation urged me on. I hugged him to me, trying to protect him from the fire. I leaned back against a tree. Vladimir slowly regained consciousness, his eyes opened with difficulty. He was spitting blood, and he looked at me in disbelief, as if he didn't understand what had happened. Rage flared up inside me. I grabbed the gun out of his jacket. My only thought is to protect him. I won't let them take Vladimir away from me. Not today.