by A. Zavarelli
His thoughts are faraway. And I wonder what it is about this that reminds him of something else. He stitches the wounds next, with a steady and practiced hand. It sparks my curiosity further, but I don’t ask him about it.
When he is finished, he leads me to the closet and chooses a set of pajamas for me.
“Put those on,” he instructs me.
I do as I’m told and he doesn’t watch. I wonder if there is any part of him that finds any part of me attractive. He is handsome. With strong cheekbones and a prominent jaw. Pale blue eyes that fascinate me at times and annoy me at others. But at times he seems as dead as I am. Like right now. In a closet with the half-naked woman before him. He does not flaunt his good looks, but he does seem to hide something else behind them.
When I am dressed, he puts me back to bed like a child. The disappointed expression on his face irks me. He has no right to be disappointed in me.
He calls out for Magda, and she appears in the doorway as though she were waiting just outside. He speaks to her in more Russian. Words I don’t understand, but get the gist of anyway.
She’s not to let me out of her sight.
12
Alexei
I tip the bottle of cognac towards my glass, but nothing comes out. Through unfocused eyes, there’s a vague understanding in my mind that I drank it all.
Both of their files are laid out on my desk. Like a puzzle I cannot figure out. I’ve studied each of them closely, and the only conclusion I have reached is that I need more cognac. Part of my brain tells me this is the process. That it will be worse before it gets better. The other part, the logical one, tells me that I have failed already.
A shadow falls over my door, blocking out the light from the hall. When I look up, Magda is standing in front of my desk.
“Alyoshka.”
There is pain in her eyes. For me. From anyone else, I would not tolerate it. But Magda knows me better than anyone else. She reaches for the empty bottle on my desk and shakes her head in disappointment. And then her eyes move to the files, side by side.
She takes a seat across the desk and appraises me. “They are not computer data,” she says. “You cannot analyze these files and find an answer.”
“I already have the answer,” is my drunken reply.
She looks at me with disgust and maternal outrage. “The answer is not you.”
The photos from my past tell me otherwise. My gaze moves to the drawing inside the first folder. In my childlike brain, I believed that some pencils and paper could make up for the damage I had caused. The scratchy lines compose a house, in a field of purple flowers. Her favorite color. I told her I would buy her that house someday. And she rejected my gift. My last gift to her.
Magda reaches over and closes the file, obscuring my past behind thick brown paper.
“They are not the same,” she tells me.
When I look at the woman across from me, with the kind eyes, I wonder how I have not failed her too. She took me in. She cared for me in my darkest hour. And still, here she is. The only person in my life I have not tainted.
“You need to keep her alive,” I order.
This only angers her further.
“You know better than anyone that you simply cannot force someone to have the will to live. Especially not after what she has been through.”
Her words frustrate me too. If anyone can save her, I know Magda can.
“I worry about you,” Magda tells me. “This girl is bringing your past back. You believe you can save her with material things. But this is not the way.”
“Then what is the way?” I ask.
Magda sighs and stands up. “She needs the one thing that nobody else in her life has ever given to her. The one thing that even you are not willing to give.”
There’s a pause where a deep sadness flickers through her eyes. “She needs love, Alyoshka.”
13
Talia
Alexei is avoiding me.
My cuts are healing, and every time I touch the stitches, I think of him. About the look that passed between him and Magda that day. About the secrets he is keeping.
These thoughts help me not to focus on myself.
True to Magda’s word, she brings me food any time I’m hungry. But it’s always the same things. Fish or chicken. Berries and nuts and greens.
I waste some time painting since Alexei obviously intended for this to be some type of therapy. I paint every canvas blood red. When Magda sees them, she frowns. There is disappointment in her eyes, and it irritates me.
“I need more red paint,” I tell her.
“Why don’t you go explore the house,” she suggests. “I could give you a tour if you like.”
I fidget with the paintbrush in my hands to avoid her hopeful expression.
“I might go later.”
She nods and then does something unexpected. She pats me on the shoulder and gives me a little squeeze.
“You remind me so much of him at times,” she says. “When he first came to live with me.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Alyoshka,” she answers. “Alexei. You two are more alike than either of you realize.”
There is warmth in her eyes when she says it. And pain too.
I look away, and she leaves the room.
After lunch, I do as Magda suggested and explore the rest of the house.
There are three levels, and I suspect a basement as well. After exploring the first, I discover something new. A gym. The only piece of equipment inside is a solitary punching bag hanging from the ceiling. It isn’t the bag, but the man punching it that captures my attention.
Alexei.
He is wearing a pair of black pants and nothing else. And for the first time, I see his extensive tattoos. Some intricate, some simple. There are a mixture of black and other colors climbing up his back, chest, and biceps. There is an urge inside of me to study them. To explore him. Like a puzzle, I want to decipher each and every one of his mysteries.
I want to know the feeling of his body beneath my hands. The chest and back that are broad and strong and glistening with sweat. It is an urge I have not had since Dmitri. This kind of want is unfamiliar. This kind of want is dangerous to me and alluring in the worst kind of way.
He doesn’t seem to hear me, even when I step inside and the mat creaks beneath my foot. It is only a moment later that his gaze catches mine in the mirror. He freezes, and then slowly turns toward me.
“Talia?”
There is concern in his voice. He wants to know what I’m doing in here. I wish I had an answer.
“I’m sick of fish,” I tell him.
“Is good for brain chemistry,” he replies.
I tilt my head to the side and examine him. “Is that the polite way of telling me that I’m crazy?”
A ghost of a smile appears on his lips, and he shrugs. “Maybe a little bit.”
I smile too. And it scares the ever living shit out of both of us. My hair falls in a cascade around my face when I tilt it down and tap my toes against the mat.
“Don’t hide from me,” Alexei says.
And when I look up, he is in front of me. His fingers find my chin, and he pushes my hair away from my face.
“Never hide from me.”
His face is close to mine, and we are both studying each other. I want to know things about him. Things that I’m not privy to.
“I need you to take my stitches out,” I say.
He picks up my arm and smooths his fingers over the healed cuts. “Magda…”
“I want you to do it.”
His pale blue eyes search mine for answers, but I don’t have any to give. So he simply nods and takes me by the hand, leading me upstairs to my bedroom.
“Sit on the bed,” he instructs.
And I do. My legs dangle over the edge since the bed is tall and I am short. I watch Alexei disappear into the bathroom and return a moment later. He kneels before me with the scissors, and I hand over my ar
m freely. While he works, I study his tattoos.
“What do they mean?” I ask him.
He looks up at me, and it seems like he didn’t hear me. There is concern in his eyes, but I’m not sure why.
“Your tattoos,” I clarify.
Again, he remains silent. The way he did at Arman’s. He seems tense. And I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something here. Either he doesn’t want to talk about them, or he didn’t understand me.
“You want to know about my tattoos?” he asks.
I nod when he looks up at me.
“The stars on my shoulders I received when I became a Vor,” he tells me. “I have them on my knees, as well. And it is the same reason you also wear my star. To let others know you belong to a Vor. But, more importantly, to me.”
My pulse beats a little faster when he says those words. So full of ownership. But not like Arman. With Alexei, it is different, and I don’t know why. I feel like those words mean he will protect me. Like he promised he would. But that’s a dangerous thought to allow.
“What about the ones on your hands?” I ask.
“These signify my crimes. The time I spent in prison. The rose on my shoulder means that I turned eighteen in prison.”
“What for?” I ask.
“You are a curious kitten,” he remarks, but there is the hint of a smile on his face. “Now that you are speaking.”
I shrug and wait for him to answer. He watches me carefully as he speaks, gauging my reaction.
“You must serve time in prison to become a Vor. It is the old way of doing things. The tradition was still valued at the time I wished to be inducted. So I hacked into a bank at sixteen and diverted the funds of a corrupt politician.”
“So you got caught on purpose?” I ask.
“Yes. But it was nothing. Just a few years. Every Vor must do his time.”
I don’t understand it, but it makes sense to him. He finishes quickly. Too quickly. And I don’t want him to leave yet. So I lean forward into his space and kiss him. The tools in his hands are discarded on the floor, and then he’s on top of me, pressing me back into the bed.
It happens fast. And he kisses me hard. I kiss him back. My hands are in his hair, and his tongue is in my mouth. He is hard against my stomach. And my body aches for him in a way that terrifies me.
But he pulls away abruptly, his eyes wild and confused.
I press my fingers to my lips, never allowing my gaze to leave his as he hovers over me.
“Not yet,” he tells me.
And then he gets up and leaves the room.
14
Alexei
Viktor has paid me a visit as I knew he would when he received the news. The pakhan rarely makes personal house calls without a good reason. But I gather as he sits in my office that this is the exception.
“I’m beginning to think that I’m losing my own hearing,” he tells me when I finish pouring his drink. “Surely, I’ve been given some misinformation Alexei.”
I fold my hands across the wooden desk and study him. Talia is asleep down the hall. I don’t want her to hear this. Outwardly Viktor appears calm, but inwardly, I can see his anger. I was supposed to marry Katya. It is what everyone believed would happen, even though I never agreed to it.
“I have fulfilled my duties as your councilor and I continue to secure the future of the Vory through my work. But when it comes to who I marry, the choice was mine to make. Katya did not suit me.”
“Why?” he demands. “Because she is well bred? Beautiful? Or is it the fact that she was brought up to do exactly as she was told? Which is remain loyal to this family.”
Loyal, Katya is not. But Viktor is right. She was raised with one purpose. To marry a Vor. Perhaps this is what makes her greedy to sample as many of them as she can, but it is not my place to determine. I will not be responsible for her death, so I keep my lips sealed on the matter.
Which only serves to irritate Viktor further.
“You cannot possibly care for this girl,” he tells me. “She is a whore, Alexei.”
“Enough.” I warn him. “That is my wife you are speaking about. It is done.”
Viktor smirks. He has always found it amusing that I speak freely with him. Most men would not attempt it. But most men don’t know all of Viktor’s secrets. And they are expendable. I am not.
“I am just stating facts,” he says. “No self-respecting man would want other men’s…”
He makes a gesture with his hand, searching for the right word. “Leftovers.”
Beneath the desk, my hand is shaking with the force of my anger. Outwardly, I remain calm. This is the way Viktor speaks of all women. Normally, it does not bother me in the slightest. But I don’t want him speaking that way about Talia.
“She had no choice in the matter,” I tell him.
“And she does now?” he raises a brow at me. “I would like to speak to the girl myself. Understand what it is that made her agree to such an arrangement.”
“You will not be speaking to her.”
He finishes his drink and rises to his feet. “I will,” he says. “But it can wait. Perhaps another time. Meanwhile, you will need to break the news to Anatoly.”
“There are plenty of suitable matches within the Vory,” I inform him. “Perhaps even Nikolai.”
Viktor gives me a curious look, but I maintain a neutral expression.
“Yes, perhaps even Nikolai,” Viktor says. “After all, he has Sergei’s approval. And his ears are intact too, no?”
“It has nothing to do with that.”
“I certainly hope not,” he tells me. “Forever is a long time to lie in the bed you’ve made.”
When Viktor has gone, I chase his departure with two glasses of cognac. And then I go to check on Talia.
Only, I find her in the hall. Her hand hovered over a burning candle, searing her skin. Emotionless eyes meet mine, and she does not attempt to hide her self-mutilation. Her face is once more cast in a shadow of despondency.
She heard.
I move towards her and remove her hand from the flame before leaning down to blow the candle out. I take her by the arm and walk her back to her room.
Not a word is spoken between us as I apply salve to the burn and she watches me. The questions are in her eyes, but I don’t know how to answer them.
Why did I marry her?
She wants to know. I owe her answers. I want her to know that I do not believe what Viktor said of her. I should tell her. What I give her instead is a soft kiss on the forehead before tucking her into bed.
Yesterday, she smiled. And today, she wants to die all over again.
Because of me.
15
Talia
I’ve taken to roaming the house at night. When everyone is asleep, and it’s only me and the moon to keep me company. Sometimes, Alexei is still in his office. Passed out on his desk.
He drinks often at night, reliving his own memories, I think. I want to know the ghosts of his past. The things that haunt him. If only to take the focus off of my own demons for once.
Tonight, when I peek through his doorway, hidden in shadows, I find something else entirely.
He is sitting at his desk, but he is not asleep. His pants are unzipped, and he is gripping his cock in his fist. Pleasuring himself. His eyes are closed, his head leaned back against the chair. The muscles of his forearm tense with each harsh pull, and a jolt shoots through my body at the sight.
Sex has always been a coping mechanism for me. The only way I could connect to a man. I want to connect with Alexei. I want him to want to fuck me.
But then his friend Viktor’s words filter through my mind.
Dirty. Filthy. Whore.
That’s what I am. Why would Alexei want me?
I wonder who it is he thinks of when he pleasures himself. My husband.
Katya?
I don’t know who she is. But the very name produces a fire inside of me that I can’t put out.
Alexei grunts, and his hips flex upwards. I slide my fingers into my shorts and breach the barrier of my panties. Already, I am wet for him. I touch myself while I watch him.
His breathing is changing. Growing harsher. Faster. He’s almost there. And I’m nowhere near it.
I can’t get myself off anymore. It’s been too long since I’ve even tried. But I want to touch. To feel. To watch this secret part of him that he keeps hidden away. Someone in their most vulnerable and intimate moments.
He is jerking himself roughly. Angrily. At war with his lust. Something is holding him back from his pleasure. With a frustrated groan, he fumbles for the remote on his desk and opens his eyes, focusing his attention on the screen for a brief moment.
And that’s all it takes. He comes with a harsh growl, spurting into his fist. I’m transfixed by the sight of him like this.
Exhausted, he leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes again. And I finally move my attention to the screen, to see what it is that pushed him over the edge.
What I find scares and thrills me.
The girl on the screen is me. Standing in his gym two days ago, smiling. For only the briefest of seconds. A freeze frame from a security camera I never knew existed.
My mind cannot handle the overwhelming emotions that spring up inside of me. So I retreat. The same way that I always do.
16
Talia
Alexei has given me a computer.
Not directly, but through Magda. It is small and thin, with a silver casing. I have not opened it. But I like to feel the smooth surface beneath my palm.
Magda explained that if there were clothes or anything I’d like to purchase, that I could do so through this device. Before any hope sprang up inside of me, she informed me that all the packages would be received by her and Franco and not to try anything questionable.