It’s my new mantra. The one I can’t seem to get my entire being on board with.
“How did you end up in the bratva?” Her question sounds so innocent; she has no idea how charged it is for me.
She catches my frown and her forehead crinkles. “I’m sorry-I’m probably not allowed to ask that.”
Hating her to be sorry, I try to cover it. “You’re not wearing a wire, are you? Do I need to search you again?”
A blush spreads across her neck, pooling in the hollow of her neck and dipping into the cleavage that’s so nicely framed by her turquoise print halter. “There’s a mud puddle back there you might use.” She jerks a thumb behind us, and I can’t stop my reluctant smile.
This is exactly what’s been so excruciating. There’s no awkwardness about what’s happened. She’s so fucking precious it bruises my heart.
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter.
At least it’s all out in the open now. I can own my attraction, and we’ve agreed it can’t be acted on.
It’s against the rules to talk about any bratva business with anyone outside the brotherhood, and yet I know she’s asking because of what I’d confessed back there in that puddle. That Nikolai was in the bratva because of me.
“I borrowed money for… someone who needed it. I was trying to save a life.” I slide a glance her way. The warm hues of sunset pick up the red and copper in her hair, making it shimmer and glow in a halo around her.
You’re beautiful.
I manage not to say it out loud.
She is. Heart-achingly beautiful.
“I sold my soul.”
“And what about Nikolai?”
“I sold his, too.” I spot a large boulder and scramble up it, sitting on the top with my arms draped around my knees. Natasha follows.
We sit in silence for a few moments. “I don’t believe you.”
My laugh is dark and bitter. “No? Why not?”
“You wouldn’t do that. He chose to come with you, right?”
A shudder of some unknown emotion runs through me. Guilt? Shame? The darkness of those early days, those early years washes over me like a dark bloodstain. One that will never come off, no matter how light or easy our existence in Ravil’s cell may seem in comparison.
“He chose.” The guilt of it nearly suffocates me. “He came with me when I borrowed the money. He was part of it from the beginning. He did it all for me.”
“Why is that so wrong?” Her voice is so soft it can’t be registered as a challenge. It’s like her questions the other night, after the mud sex. What if it was no one’s fault?
But I don’t know how to see things if not through the lens and weight of my own guilt.
“It’s wrong because we died that night.”
Natasha goes still, waiting for more.
I work to swallow and fail. This is not a story I’ve ever told. Nikolai and I don’t talk about it. The rest of the brotherhood wouldn’t ask-they have their own stories to hold.
“The bratva…” My voice sounds rusty. “We swear an oath to the brotherhood and one part is to cut ties with all other family. That way no one ever has leverage over you, and your ties are only to your brothers.”
Natasha is quick to follow. “Your family thinks you both are dead.”
I nod. “Da.” For a moment, I can’t speak, the shame and horror of what we put our mother through ripping me to shreds. And then I start talking. “We were seventeen. It was just our mom-our dad walked out when we were six. We were all she had.” My throat tightens around a well of pain.
Natasha covers her mouth, her eyes swimming with the tears I haven’t produced. Like she’s my surrogate heart, willing to emote what I’ve held in all these years.
“She thinks we died in a car crash-our car went into an icy river, and no bodies were ever found.”
“Oh God,” Natasha whispers.
I nod, grateful she understands the magnitude of it all. How horrible a man I truly am.
“Can you imagine how much she must have suffered?” My voice breaks.
“No.” A tear tracks down Natasha’s cheek. She brushes it away with the back of her hand. “That’s awful, Dima. I can tell it’s killing you.”
Killing me.
I never thought of it that way. I thought of it as something in the past. A metaphoric death for both Nikolai and I. The day we entered a life of violence and crime. I didn’t think of it as something that continued to kill me, but she’s right. It’s like a cancer eating a hole in my gut, day by day.
Getting worse as each year passes instead of fading away.
Is Alyona’s death the same? That pain certainly hasn’t eased. Maybe because it’s all tied into the same event. The same time period. I sold my soul for Alyona, broke my mother’s heart and forced my brother into a life of crime, and it never did a bit of good. I couldn’t save Alyona. I just wished I’d died with her.
And, in a way, I had.
It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to point out that I’m hardly in the world of the living. I spend my hours behind a screen because I don’t want to interact with anyone in real life. Even my brothers in the penthouse.
I trace my fingertip over the lichen on the boulder. “We’ve taken care of our mom. I, uh, arranged early retirement, so she gets a healthy pension. And she… wins quite a few contests. Home makeovers and clothing sprees.”
Natasha’s smile is sad. “That’s sweet. At least you can still take care of her from afar.”
Not really, but Natasha calling it sweet is a kindness to me.
We stare into the trees for a few moments, and then Natasha leans her forehead on my shoulder and kisses my biceps. I kiss the top of her head.
We’re sweet.