by A. Zavarelli
“Come here, child.”
She pulls me against her and hugs me. And I don’t know what to do. So I just let her. There is pressure behind my eyes, but I won’t allow it to seep out. My throat aches from the years of repressed words and emotions I have not given voice to. The deep insecurities embedded in my DNA.
“He chose me because he knew he could only ever hate me,” I tell her. “Because I remind him of what he doesn’t want to remember.”
“It isn’t that simple,” Magda tells me. “You are more alike than you know.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me from the room. Downstairs to the sitting room. Where Alexei is sitting on the sofa, his back towards us. Glass of cognac in hand.
Magda shifts uncomfortably as though she is second guessing herself. And then she turns to me, her face severe.
“I am going to tell you something about Alexei,” she says. “That you must never divulge to anyone outside of this house. Something that requires absolute trust and faith, Miss Talia. Because this information could hurt him if you ever expose it. Do you understand?”
“Then why tell me at all?” I ask.
“Because you need to know. And he is too ashamed to tell you himself. But perhaps it will make you see.”
I remain quiet and watch as she makes a gesture with her hand.
“Call out to him.”
“Why?”
I move my gaze over his figure on the sofa. Tall and strong, but desperately alone. His posture is defeated. Tired. He is not ten feet away from us, and still he has not turned.
“Alyoshka,” Magda calls out.
Nothing. There’s no response. No movement from him at all. It’s as if we are not even in the room.
“You try,” she tells me.
“Alexei,” I call out.
No response. So I try again, louder.
“Alexei!”
Nothing.
Magda reaches down and pats my hand. “He isn’t ignoring you, Miss Talia.”
Her words leave the necessary unsaid. And I stare at the back of his head in confusion. How could I have not seen it?
“He reads lips?”
“He reads everything on your face,” Magda answers. “But if you are very close to him, and you speak into his right ear, he can hear a little bit.”
It makes sense now. The truth is so incredibly simple. Right in front of me all along.
Alexei cannot hear. This is why he keeps himself locked away in his house. He doesn’t want anyone to know his secret. Because in the mafia, in his world, that secret would be a weakness.
And I suddenly find myself wondering if he sees himself as weak too. If this is why he chose me. Because we are both flawed and damaged.
“It will be a long evening for you,” Magda tells me. “You should go upstairs and relax until the party starts.”
I give Alexei one last glance before I nod and do as she says. “Okay.”
21
Alexei
By five o clock, all of the guests have arrived.
Viktor and his most trusted Vory have come to dine with us tonight. In celebration of my marriage. This party includes Katya and Anatoly as well. Even Nikolai and my own father who dutifully ignores me the way he has always done.
I don’t foresee a happy occasion, and the longer I wait for Talia to come down, the more my nerves agitate me. I don’t know what her mood will be like this evening. If she will prove them all right by ignoring me too. Wearing the same flat expression I am now accustomed to. The same desire to end her life rather than be married to the likes of me.
I should have gone to her. Spoken to her after the incident. But my anger is too much. I cannot look at her without betraying how I feel. Like she has betrayed me.
Viktor is speaking to me when his eyes move behind me. And before I even look, I know it is her. I wait, wondering what version I will get this evening.
She appears by my side, and when I turn towards her, she is reaching up to kiss my cheek. The action surprises me, and Viktor does not miss it. It’s only after a moment that I realize she is too short and I am too tall, so I bend to accommodate her.
Her lips are soft and warm against my skin, and absent of any anger or despondency that I’ve come to expect from her. When she pulls away, she threads her arm through mine and rests her pale fingers against the black of my sweater. She’s wearing her wedding ring. As am I.
My eyes are moving over her, dressed in all black. It’s the perfect accompaniment to her ghostly white skin and pale blonde hair. She looks like a haunted angel, eyes smoked in black and lips painted red. And right now, every pair of eyes in the room is on her.
“Good evening,” she speaks to Viktor.
In my mind, I know I need to turn my attention back to him. To avoid making a fool of myself. Missing any cues in conversation. But I’m having difficulty tearing my eyes away from my wife, who… I don’t seem to recognize at all.
There is a smile on her face as Viktor takes her free hand in his and greets her. She is tucked in close to my side as though she is my partner. As though it is both of us against all of them. When it has only ever been me.
There are so many questions in my mind, but I don’t have time to consider them. She taps my arm and smiles, and I realize she’s trying to get my attention.
I turn back to Viktor, whose eyes are moving between the two of us with a curious expression.
“You have done very well for yourself, Lyoshenka.”
I can’t tell if his words are genuine or not. When only last week he referred to her as a whore, now he can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. I pull her closer on a nod, wrapping my arm around her waist, and he smiles.
“Tell me,” Viktor speaks to Talia, “how married life is treating you.”
When she glances up at me, there is genuine warmth in her eyes. I don’t know where it came from, but I find myself wishing the room were empty now. Instead, I settle for placing my hand possessively on the back of her neck. Stroking the warm skin there and watching her as she answers.
“I would tell you that my husband is a perfect gentleman,” she says. “But we both know that’s a lie.”
Viktor laughs, and when his eyes land on me, there is approval behind them. I pull Talia even closer still, grazing her cheek with my lips. She does not protest. In fact, she leans into me and gives a soft sigh of approval.
“You are happy though,” Viktor remarks. “Yes?”
It’s not a question, even though it is phrased like one. It is an observation. And right now, she does seem happy.
Talia looks to me, her eyes moving over my face when she replies.
“I am.”
And then Viktor holds up his glass, reciting a classic Russian toast to our health and happiness.
Across the room, Katya’s gaze finds mine. Hurt and anger fill her eyes as she moves them from me to Talia. I ignore her and focus my attention on Magda when she enters the room.
“Dinner is served.”
We all move to the dining room, and Talia takes her place at my side.
Throughout dinner, I catch all of the men staring at her. Sergei and Nikolai included. When his gaze finds mine across the table, it is apologetic. And something else.
I don’t allow him to introduce himself to her.
Dinner is a long affair. With toasts and blessings from all the notable members at the table. When Sergei’s turn comes around, he mocks me by simply saying, to my good health.
Katya’s eyes are on Talia throughout the whole evening, and Talia has taken notice of her as well. Beneath the table, her hand finds mine, and I move my attention to her.
She smiles at me, and it still disarms me.
I have half a notion to remove the sharp cutlery from her reach. Convinced she is deceiving me somehow.
But she plays her part well, never missing a beat when someone asks her a question. Every word out of her mouth is a lie of course, regarding our marriage. But only she and I know it.
>
When the plates have been removed and the men begin to scatter back into the sitting room, Anatoly stops me. He glances at Talia and smiles and then asks me in Russian to retrieve the information he needed on a local politician.
“I will look after your wife,” he tells me. “While you retrieve it.”
Instead, I call for Magda and instruct her to remain at Talia’s side.
“I will be right back,” I tell her. And with all of the eyes in the room on us, I lean down and kiss her as a husband should. Softly, on the cheek.
She smiles up at me, and I retreat upstairs to my office.
As I suspected, I am not in there for more than two minutes before Katya makes an appearance.
“Lyoshka,” she greets me.
My eyes move over her tall figure, filling out the blue dress she has chosen to accentuate all of her best features in the way she always does. She has the body of a model, and the face of one too. The gem that many of the Vory covet, but do not have the position to attain.
At least not permanently. Though I’ll never know how many she has been with besides myself and Nikolai. I was one of the few who had the rank she lusted after in a partner. Only, I did not have whatever else she needed.
I fell for her. And she made a mockery of me. And still, here she is, begging me back.
“When are you going to give up this ruse?” she questions, leaning against my desk and entrapping me into the space.
“There is no ruse, Katya.” I pull the information I need from a file though it’s clear to me Anatoly had only one intention upon sending me up here.
“This girl is not good enough for you,” she tells me. “She is not family. Not bred for being a Vor’s wife.”
“She was not bred for that,” I answer her. “That is why I married her.”
The insult does not go unnoticed. Katya flinches, but quickly recovers.
“It is not too late,” she tells me. “You can send her away and choose me instead. Tell me what I have to do Alexei. To win your forgiveness. Anything, and I will do it.”
“I want nothing from you.”
Her eyes move over me as she inches closer. So close that her leg brushes up against mine as she leans into my space, her perfume soaking the air around us. All calculated moves to get my attention. Katya is an expert of manipulation.
I was manipulated by her beauty and her words. But now, I feel nothing when I look upon her.
“It is only the chase that thrills you,” I tell her. “You need to give up these fantasies of yours now and accept reality. Take up with Nikolai. You two should be very happy together.”
She scoffs in my face as though I have burned her. “You know I can do no such thing. He is only a soldier. I am bred to be the wife of a high ranking Vor.”
I meet her wrath with a shrug. “He was good enough for you to fuck. What is the difference?”
“It was a mistake,” she utters. “Please…”
The desperation in her voice grates on me. I just want her gone.
A shadow falls over the doorway, and when I glance up, I find Talia staring back at me. Her eyes flick between Katya and I, questioning the narrow distance between us.
I reach out my hand in a gesture for her to come to me, pleading with my eyes that she will not misunderstand the situation.
She does, without hesitation. And once she is close enough, I pull her directly onto my lap, kissing her fiercely and possessively in front of Katya.
When I come back up for air, Talia is studying me, and Katya is barely able to conceal her disdain.
“Have you met my wife?” I ask her.
“No.” Katya’s lips curl into a false smile conceived from years of training. “I don’t believe I have.”
My hands move over Talia’s body, pulling her closer to me. It isn’t a calculated move on my part, but an instinctive one. Right now, she is pliable. Doing as I ask and playing the role of my wife as though she were born for it.
I like her like this.
I want to soak up every second of this mood while it lasts. Before I inevitably ruin it.
Talia reaches up and touches my face, kissing me softly before pulling away.
“Sorry,” she murmurs to Katya. “We can’t keep our hands off each other. Honeymoon phase.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Katya replies.
“I intend to.” Talia smiles up at her. “And on that note, would you mind?”
Katya remains in place, her jaw tense and her gaze burning into mine. Willing me to say otherwise.
“Shut the door when you go,” I add.
She swears at me in Russian, and then she does as I ask.
22
Talia
I don’t move from Alexei’s lap when Katya has gone. Instead, I pull my dress up lewdly around my hips and lean back against his desk, allowing his eyes to rake over me.
He’s watching me closely, waiting to see my next move. He doesn’t understand my motives. I don’t either. But seeing how much that woman wanted him makes me feel possessive. It makes me need him in a way that I shouldn’t admit.
My hand reaches out to trail over his jaw. Strong and freshly shaved. Smooth. He is beautiful.
I can see why she wants him so much.
But that isn’t what really bothers me.
“You wanted to make her jealous,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Because you loved her,” I add.
“No,” he answers.
“Liar.”
My lips come down on his, and I kiss him hard. Alexei’s hands roam the backs of my thighs all the way up to my ass. His hot palm slides into the back of my panties to cup my ass cheek, and then he pulls me down against his hardness.
“Do you want to fuck me and think of her?” I ask him.
“You’d like that,” he answers. “Wouldn’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“You would use any excuse not to feel the way you do right now.”
He’s right. He’s so right that it scares me. I feel something with him. Something more than the reckless behavior and the self-hatred.
I feel… safe with him. His house is my sanctuary. His body, my fortress. He is tall and strong and dangerous. And like Magda said, I believe that he will protect me.
That’s the most dangerous belief I could ever have with a man.
I need to level the playing field. I need him to know that I know his secrets too.
“That’s exactly what a hypocrite would say.” I lean close and murmur into his right ear. “Lyoshka.”
He freezes, his hands still on my ass, his head moving back to examine me. To question me with those pale blue eyes.
“I know,” I tell him.
“And what have you to say about it?” he asks.
His jaw is taut, his eyes hard and appraising. I know instinctively this man could spot a lie if I ever dared to utter one. But I only ever have my honesty to give to him.
“I like it,” I admit. “Because maybe that makes us even. Maybe that means it’s you and me against the world.”
He relaxes slightly, and his brows draw closer. I’ve surprised him with my answer. He expected something different.
Hatred? Disgust?
I can’t quite figure it out. But Magda’s words are ringing through my mind, loud and clear.
You are more alike than you know.
“How do you conceal it so well?” I ask. “How do you read lips without being obvious?”
“Like any skill, you perfect it by learning. Through practice.”
I nod, and he continues to watch me. And explain.
“I don't catch everything that is spoken. I catch pieces, and I put them together in my head. Like a puzzle. Everyone is different. Some talk too fast, some mumble. Some cover their mouth, or look away. Some are easy to read. Some are hard. It isn’t just about reading lips. Your face says a thousand things that your lips never will.”
“What do you mean?”
&nbs
p; His fingers come up to touch my chin. And then my brows. They trail over my face, examining me in a way he hasn’t done before.
“It's a thousand micro expressions. The way your eyes contract and expand. The flutter of lashes. The involuntary hitch of a shoulder or a tick you didn’t even know you made. There are so many emotions that go unnoticed because most are only used to listening to the words. But I learned to watch. And now I see everything.”
It makes sense. How he’s so observant. How he seems to anticipate my moves before I even know them myself sometimes.
“And what do you see in my face?” I ask him curiously.
“The pain you are too proud to admit you feel.”
“That’s rich. Coming from you.”
“Is it?” he asks.
“Do you drink so much because you feel sorry for yourself? Or is it because of Katya?”
He doesn’t reply. His grip on me is tight and unforgiving. I keep pushing him.
“Is that why we are married in name only? So you can fuck me and think of her?”
He kisses me again. Hard this time. All the while his fingers are pulling the zipper down the back of my dress. Freeing the material enough that he can shove it down and trap my arms at my sides, allowing the cool air to hit my breasts.
He pulls away and kisses at my throat, using his hand to grind my hips down onto his erection.
“I married you so that I can fuck you,” he answers. “And think of you while I do it.”
His mouth comes over my breast, and his fingers slip into my panties and then inside of me. Fucking me with his hand while I sit in his lap. I close my eyes and try to numb myself the way I usually do. To rid myself of the feelings he is provoking in me.
Lust. Desire. Want.
And worst of all… hope.
He squeezes my jaw tight in his hand and pauses, his voice tense when he speaks.
“You look at me,” he orders. “You think of me. When your husband is fucking you.”
I open my eyes and meet his. Dark and so hot I feel like he’s burning right through my skin.
“You will only ever think of me,” he orders again, harsher this time. “I want to invade your every thought.”