by A. Zavarelli
“He wants you back.”
My legs wobble, and he tightens his grip on me to keep me upright. But he doesn’t stop talking. It doesn’t even faze him.
“You are just as beautiful as I remember.” He presses his nose into my hair and inhales, and my stomach roils at the sight of him touching me again. “Perhaps we could spend some time together before I must return you. I did always enjoy your company.”
And this is the thing that snaps me out of my frozen horror. I turn around and shove him away from me, and to my surprise, he does not argue. He simply laughs and moves towards the door, giving me one last lingering glance.
“Your new lover plays chess, yes?” he asks.
I don’t reply. But he already knows.
“Perhaps you should remind him that it is never wise to leave the queen unprotected, little one. En Prise, as the French like to say.”
He reaches for the door, and I crumple against the wall.
“Deliver that message for me, Talia,” he tells me. “And I will see you soon. Very soon.”
And then he’s gone.
31
Talia
I move through the hall in a daze. Adrenaline flooding my veins and making every shadow appear as a threat.
I have only one target in mind. I need to get to him. My safety.
Alexei.
I stumble into the room full of women, and they all stare at me in shock and disgust. My face is swollen. My mascara running. The whore that they all believe me to be. The imperfect match for Alexei.
I don’t care.
I only know that I need him. Right now. In this moment. And I haven’t needed anyone for a long time.
But when I find him across the room, it is not me he is thinking of. With Katya at his side, her hand on his arm as she smiles up at him with her beautiful and perfect smile. His attention is on her too. With no concern for me.
And just like Dmitri, I realize he has fooled me too.
Because this man is not my safety.
He is just like the rest of them. Only worse. Because I thought he might be real. I thought for a moment, he could have cared.
My knees buckle, and I collapse. Tanaka rushes over to me, swiftly followed by Nikolai. He glances around the room, worried. And then he sees what I saw too. Alexei and Katya together. And he makes a decision.
“Come.” He lifts me up in his arms and gestures for Tanaka to follow.
They take me down the hall and set me on a chaise. Tanaka sits beside me, taking my hand in hers while Nikolai kneels in front of me again.
They both ask me what is wrong, but I can’t answer. I can’t even look at them.
“Get Alexei,” Nikolai instructs Tanaka.
She squeezes my hand and then does as he bids. More tears spill down my cheeks while we wait in the silence.
Nikolai is kind. He does not press me for answers. He simply remains at my side, a comforting presence. Until Alexei is storming down the hall, and Nikolai rises to meet him.
More angry words fly between them, and so do one of Alexei’s fists as he tries to take a swing at him. It is Tanaka who intervenes, speaking to them calmly in Russian.
They are all looking at me now, but Alexei still has not calmed. He speaks to Nikolai again, something that sounds like a threat. But Nikolai looks to me, and replies in English.
“Do what you must. I was comforting her. As you should have been. Instead of playing this game you continue to play.”
Alexei is quiet, his gaze moving to me and back to Nikolai.
“If you wish to punish someone, Lyoshka, then it needs to be me. Not her. She has done nothing wrong, and yet you treat her as if…”
“Do not tell me how to conduct myself. This is my marriage. My business.”
“I am not telling you as a Vor,” Nikolai replies quietly. “I am telling you as your brother. This is not the man that I know.”
The room falls completely silent as his words settle over everyone. Even Alexei seems shocked by his admission although I cannot understand why. Why they don’t want anyone to know they are brothers. Which would make Sergei- the same man Nikolai warned me about- Alexei’s father.
Footsteps echo down the hall, and soon, Katya has joined in on my public shame and humiliation. Her eyes move over me, and she gives me a false sympathetic smile.
“Your wife looks ill,” she says under the guise of being helpful. “You must allow my maid to watch over her so you can come back and enjoy the party, Lyoshka.”
He glances at her and back to me. And there is a flicker of shame and remorse on his face as he shakes his head. He doesn’t meet Nikolai’s gaze again as he comes to lift me into his arms.
“I am taking her home.”
“But you can’t,” Katya insists. “There is still so much more to come. I have worked so hard on the planning…”
“My wife is more important than your party.” He meets her gaze and then moves towards the door. “She is the most important woman in my life.”
32
Alexei
“What have you done?” Magda demands from her position across my desk. “She is wrecked again.”
I toss back the rest of my cognac and meet her eyes. “You knew that would happen. It was only a matter of time.”
She turns to leave, the frustration evident on her face. But then she pauses at the door and points a shaky finger at me.
“This is not the man I raised you to be, Alyoshka. This is not you.”
When she leaves, I move to pour another glass of drink. But she reappears before I can finish, and surprises me by grabbing the bottle from my hands.
“In case I did not make it clear. You need to go to her. Now. You need to fix this.”
This time, when she leaves, she takes the bottle with her. I don’t argue.
It has been a day. I have not spoken to Talia. Not fixed anything the way that I should.
Because everything Nikolai said was correct. It should have been me there to comfort her. Instead, I was the cause of those tears. He believes it is a game to me. That I do not care for her and simply wish to make Katya jealous.
When I went to Katya that night, it was with one intention in mind. To embarrass Talia the way she had done to me. With Nikolai.
It was too soon. To take her to that party. To expect so much from her.
To believe that I could trust her with Nikolai. It still burns me.
I want another drink. But since Magda has taken it, I have only one choice.
I walk down the hall and into her room. She is on the bed, curled on her side. Awake, but despondent. As though not a day has passed since her arrival. She has retreated to the identity she knows. The one that she believes will protect her. But it cannot protect her from me.
I am angry with her, still. And I want to claim her.
It’s exactly what I set out to do when I reach for her ankle and pull her slight body towards me on the bed. I spread her legs apart and lay myself between them, pressing her into the mattress as my fingers grab her face.
“You need to give me a baby,” I demand of her. “You need to take my come inside of you every day until you are swollen with my child.”
She meets my gaze, and there is nothing on her face. No emotion. No expression at all.
“I don’t want you.”
She could have said anything to me. Anything at all. Except for those words.
The effect is immediate, and I cannot contain the honest emotion on my face. I move off of her, and she flinches. Her hand reaches out to me, but it is too late. I am already gone.
I move downstairs and lock myself in the gym with a fresh bottle of cognac. I take to the bag, directing my aggression towards the leather. But it does not temper the feeling inside of me.
Neither does the drink, this time.
And when I glance in the mirror, it is my father’s voice I hear.
He is defective. And I do not want him. I don’t want either of you.
For all
the days of my life, I will never forget the vacant expression on my mother’s face when he cast us out. And when I look in the mirror now, it is that same vacant expression staring back at me.
I tried to fix what I had done. With crayons and paper and gifts that promised her things I could not deliver at the age of ten. But that I someday would.
I did not get the chance.
I do not want your gifts, Lyoshka. I want nothing from you. You are my greatest shame.
My fist sails into the mirror. Over and over again. The blood pouring down my arm only serves to remind me of her too. Of that day. Of the last gift I tried to give her. Which she rejected. And then bowed out of my life completely.
The door opens, and when I look up, I am not surprised to find Franco standing there. He is always watching me. Looking out for me.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what I ever did to earn his loyalty, besides paying off his debts in exchange for a job. One which, he returns to faithfully. Every day, he is by my side. Looking out for me.
He sighs at the sight before him although it is not a shock to him. This is not the first time my temper has bested me. The first time the memories have come back.
But this time is worse. Because it involves her.
Franco shuts the door behind him and retrieves the first aid kit from a cabinet by the door. I watch through bleary eyes as he stitches me up and then helps me stumble upstairs to my room to pass out. Which is exactly what I do when my head hits the pillow.
A warm hand moves over my arm, rousing me from my sleep.
When I open my eyes, I’m not sure if it is an angel or devil I see.
“You’re hurt,” she says, her fingers tracing over the stitches on my swollen hand.
I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and trapping her body against mine.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she says.
Her eyes flutter shut as though it pains her to admit it. I know the feeling well.
She is still angry with me, and I with her. But I need to be inside of her. I need her to…
I just need her.
It hits me hard. And I swallow. My fingers move up to touch her face.
“You are my wife,” I tell her. “You should not be speaking with Nikolai unless I am present. You should not be speaking with him at all.”
She looks up at me, and my hope that those words would serve as an explanation for my behavior dissipates quickly.
Her eyes are glassy. Vulnerable. And soft.
“You let him touch me,” she whispers. “You didn’t protect me from him. Your star didn’t protect me either, and you promised.”
My hand shakes with the force of my anger as I examine her, digesting her words. “Nikolai touched you?”
“No.” She blinks up at me. “Dmitri did.”
I am certain I misunderstood her. Misread her lips somehow. But as I examine her, I know that is not the case.
Dmitri is Russian, but he is not a Vor. He could only be considered an associate, at best. He had no business being at that party. I only know of him from my research when I was searching for Talia. But I need her to confirm it. To confirm what it is I believe to be true.
“He sold you.”
Her fingers dig into my arms, clinging to me. “I thought he was my boyfriend,” she admits. “I thought… and you promised this would protect me.”
The words die off, and only her pain remains. She is touching my name. Gutting me with her words. My failure.
“Tell me what he did. At the party.”
“He found me in the bathroom,” she answers. “He said he would retrieve me for Arman. Soon.”
My rage cannot be contained. I am holding her too tight, but she does not protest. She does not say a word even when I have drawn breath and calmed myself.
“That is all you ever had to say, my sweet.”
I reach for her hand and place it on my chest. Over the very star tattoo that makes me who I am. I hope she will understand that by swearing on it, my words mean everything. My honor. My loyalty.
She has it.
“Do you feel that?” I ask her.
My heart beats beneath her palm, my chest expanding with every breath. She feels it like a child, with soft fingers that flutter over my skin in the same rhythm.
“Yes,” she answers.
“As long as there is breath in me, as long as my heart beats, I will protect you, Solnyshko. You will remain by my side for all the days of my life. And even after my death, you will have others watching out for you. This, I can assure you.”
She blinks up at me with worried eyes. “You can’t die.”
I don’t argue with her. She does not yet understand the Vory way. That these words are my promise to her. That death is not something to fear, but to be honored.
She fears losing me.
And right now, nothing else matters. I know there is only one thing to do. Now that she has confirmed it. I know what must be done.
But first, I must repent my sins. I must make her forgive me for the things I always said I wouldn’t do. That I would never be like my father. The way I was with her that night.
I failed her.
She is right. I promised to protect her. And instead, I have shamed her. And left her vulnerable while I was blinded by my anger.
“I will never allow that to happen again,” I assure her as my lips meet hers. “I am sorry, Solnyshko. I am sorry that I failed you.”
She cups my face in her palms and kisses me. Hungry. Needy. Just as I am for her.
I roll her onto her back and quickly dispose of her clothing. Leaving her naked and exposed and vulnerable only to me. The way that she should be.
I kiss my way down her body, murmuring my apologies as I go.
“You should be worshipped every day,” I tell her. “And I am sorry that you have not been.”
When I reach the apex of her thighs, she opens for me without being asked. My woman is shy and sad and sometimes broken, but she is open for me. Still willing to give me a chance. I thank her, and then I bury my face between her legs. Eating her out. Tasting her. Fucking her with my tongue and grinding her hips onto my face.
“Today you will come just like this,” I tell her. “Give in to me, my angel. Allow me to pleasure you without any pain.”
I know I don’t deserve to ask this of her right now, but I want this of her right now. And she gives in to me, just as I ask. She relaxes and simply feels, for once. Without any shame. When she comes, it is cathartic for both of us. The pleasure she needed that I was able to give to her. And then her eyes are on me. Pleading at the same time her mouth does.
“I want you, Lyoshka.”
Those words are exactly what I need from her. And it should bother me that she knows that. That she has seen this part of me. But when I bury my cock deep inside of her, it doesn’t bother me at all.
She is so wet for me. So pliable to me. She allows me to take her as I please. To suck on her throat and wrap her legs around me and let me all the way in.
I like that. I like it very much.
But I want even more from her.
I pick her up and adjust our position so that we are both sitting upright. She is in my lap. On my cock. Taking me as deep as it will go. Her hands are on my shoulders, and then in my hair as I watch her. Fucking her face to face. So close I won’t miss any of her expressions. Her sighs or the flutter of her lashes.
“Let me hear your voice,” I tell her.
She pulls me closer, her lips finding my ear. Her teeth grazing it as her hot breath hardens my cock to the point of unbearable pain.
“I want you,” she tells me again. “I want you too much, Alexei.”
“Lyoshka,” I grunt. “That is what you call me.”
“Lyoshka,” she murmurs into my ear. “You have the power to destroy me.”
“I won’t,” I assure her, but I know it is a li
e.
She doesn’t argue. She kisses my throat and I fuck her hard and deep. Her body contracting around mine. Sucking me in and squeezing my cock.
It is too much. And I come inside of her, thinking about her pregnant with my child. I want to start a family with her. And I am impatient with that desire.
I won’t admit the reasons why. To myself or to her.
“Come.” I lay her down and position my body beside hers, patting my chest. “Lay with me.”
She curls into my side and rests her face against the place where my heart beats. Her finger tapping out the rhythm on my skin. My other arm curls around her body and I kiss her forehead.
“You will sleep in my bed from now on, Solynshko. My wife should be in my bed every night.”
33
Talia
I am woken by Alexei’s arm wrapping around my waist as he slips his cock inside of me from behind.
He takes me twice this morning. Kissing my throat and murmuring things in Russian. And once he is sated, he leaves me in bed to rest while he showers.
Magda pokes her head in the door, and when she sees me in his bed, a smile lights up her face.
“Miss Talia,” she says. “I was looking for you.”
She seems happy. And I feel uncomfortable. There is hope in her eyes. So much hope.
“I have breakfast for you. Would you like to take it in here?”
My eyes move around the room, filled with Alexei’s things. It still feels too unfamiliar, so I shake my head.
“In my room is fine.”
She nods and disappears down the hall, just as Alexei re-enters with a towel wrapped around his waist. There are still droplets of water on his skin and hair as he turns and rifles through his closet. I watch the muscles of his back expand and admire his frame.
Beautiful. Strong. Solid.
When he turns, he catches me looking. It does not seem to faze him as he removes his towel and reveals his plump cock, hanging heavy down his leg.