by Tillie Cole
“Talia,” I said, the name sounding familiar, right, “My … sister.”
Talia cried and threw her arms around my waist. I tensed at the contact, fighting the urge to throw her off and attack. I didn’t know what to do. “You’re alive,” she sobbed. “I have you back. I have my brother back.”
Glancing at Kisa, I could see her hugging her father. She was happy for me, her blue eyes bright.
Talia pulled back and I stumbled back toward Kisa and held out my hand. “Kisa,” I said, desperately needing her close. It was all too much. My mind and body were exhausted and she was all I really knew. But as I held out my hand, the Pakhan—Kirill … his name was Kirill—took it and pulled me forward.
I braced my body again, but he said, “I never knew, Luka. I never knew … I believed you had killed my son and that is my sin to bear. I was so saddened that I didn’t suspect Abram or Alik. Abram was my brother in this life, I would never suspect he’d do such a thing. You were innocent and paid for a crime you didn’t commit.”
Kirill looked at Kisa. “And my action took you from her. My wife would be spinning in her grave if she knew that I had separated the two of you unnecessarily,” he dropped his head, “and gave her over to a lesser man … a sick man … a murderer.”
I stared at the pakhan and could see the sincerity in his eyes.
“Papa!” Kisa cried, but Kirill held up his hand.
“It’s the truth.” Kirill looked over my head and in the direction of Abram and pulled out his gun. He walked to my father and handed the gun to him.
“It’s your vengeance to kill him, Ivan.”
My father straightened his shoulders and a cold look spread on his face. “He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun, handing it to Kirill. “It’s both our kill. He ordered for Alik to kill Rodion.”
A sense of familiarity filled me. These were Bratva men. These were men that shouldn’t be fucked with. This was my family … this was where I belonged.
My father walked to Abram, Kirill followed behind. Abram was still staring at his son dead on the floor. My father took off his coat, wearing a black suit underneath, and in one strike, backhanded Abram across the face. Abram looked like he didn’t even notice it.
Kirill and my father lifted their guns. No words were spoken. And after a few tense seconds they both fired shots into Abram’s chest and he slumped to the ground next to his dead son.
Kisa wrapped herself in my arms and I kissed her head, gripping her tight.
My father came toward me and asked, “Luka? Do you remember your mama?”
My heart beat wildly and my muscles tensed, but now that the key to my past was opened, a dark-haired woman’s face came into view and I exhaled like I’d just ran for hours.
Kisa squeezed my waist and lifted her head. “She’ll be so happy. She never gave up the belief that you were innocent. She knew you couldn’t have done it. She always believed in your innocence.”
Nerves suddenly racked my body and I leaned down and pressed my forehead against Kisa’s. “But I’m not the Luka she knew. I’m a monster, a murderer. This version of her son isn’t innocent.”
“You are our Luka. You are our son,” my father said sternly from beside me.
“Kisa, we need to get you home so Dr. Chazov can see you,” Kirill said moving behind Kisa. “You need a cast on that wrist. You need stitches, and medication.”
Kisa reluctantly nodded and put her hand on my cheek. I hadn’t noticed how pale she was, how in pain. “You’ll be fine, Luka. I’ll come straight to your parents’ house afterward. You need to see a doctor too. You’re hurt, bleeding.”
“No,” I said aggressively. “I go with you. I see your doctor.”
“Luka—”
“No! Kisa, solnyshko. I go with you,” I bent down to whisper at her ear, “I need you with me. I only feel at home with you. I don’t … I don’t know these people like I know you. You’re my now, they’re still my past.” I stared at her helplessly. “I can’t be without you. I need you.” I swallowed and fought to breathe, as I admitted, “I have fear in my heart … I am fearful of all of this.”
Kisa’s eyes saddened and I knew everyone around us had heard me. Kisa took my hand and turned to my father and Talia while I kept my head low.
“I’ll go see the doctor with Luka, then we’ll come to you. You’ll have time to prepare mama Tolstoi.”
I kept my eyes lowered like a coward. But I’d felt more in the last five minutes than I had in my whole life and it was too much.
A hand placed on my bicep and I looked up to see my father. “It’s okay, Luka. Go with Kisa. Get fixed up. We’ll see you soon … son.”
I nodded, feeling that word settle in my heart and wrapped my hand over Kisa’s shoulders, leading her from the cage. In the holding room, we didn’t speak, but I could feel her watching me. I threw on my old familiar gray sweatshirt, the one I’d worn since the Gulag and followed Kisa to a back door. Keeping close to the other half of my heart and, for the first time ever, keeping my hood pulled back.
23
KISA
“Are you ready, lyubov moya?”
I turned to Luka, and he was stock still, staring at his mama and papa’s brownstone with an anxious look on his face.
I squeezed his hand and Luka finally looked down at me. He blinked, then blinked again. A completely lost look covered his face.
“I don’t know,” he answered in a husky voice. “I’m remembering so much, but none of it is making sense. I just get flashbacks of broken memories. None of them are in order. Just glimpses of what my life used to be like.”
He pointed to the brownstone that was as much a home to me as it was him. “Like this house. I remember sitting on these steps with you. I remember being in my bedroom, I think … with you.” Luka moved to stand in front of me and lifted my hand, the one free of a cast, and pressed it to his chest. “Every memory I seem to have has you in it.” His head was down, unable to meet my eyes.
A lump clogged my throat at how scared and lost he seemed right now. He had only a few hours ago killed the man that ruined his life. I think that goal drove him for so long that now without it, he had no idea what to do next.
The rabid killer of the cage was gone, a lost boy taking his place.
I moved forward and lifted his head with my finger under his chin. When Luka’s gaze met mine, those brown eyes, the left with a smudge of my blue, my heart soared. “That’s because we were never apart. Since we were kids, we were one. It has always been that way. We found a way back to each other, my love.”
Luka’s eyes bored into mine, a flare of possession in their glare. “And will always be that way,” he said assertively. “I’m never losing you again.”
Tears filled my eyes. “And will always be that way.”
The door of his parents’ home opened and Papa Ivan walked out onto the steps. I held up my hand sporting the cast, and Ivan smiled sadly at me.
Luka had frozen, his expressive eyes now showing every bit of his apprehension.
“Let’s go, baby,” I whispered, just for him to hear.
I pulled on Luka’s hand and led him toward the house. He had showered back at my house after we had both seen Dr. Chazov, both now patched up. One of my papa’s men had brought him some blue jeans and a white shirt.
He looked so stunning that I almost couldn’t take it. His huge muscles tested the material of both his jeans and shirt, his defined traps pronounced and his blond hair messy in the most attractive way.
I wanted him more than ever.
Luka gripped my hand, his hold like a vise as we ascended the stairs. Ivan embraced me, then awkwardly hugged his son, and I couldn’t stop the tears tumbling from my eyes.
“Your mama is desperate to see you again, son. She—” Ivan’s voice broke. “She won’t believe it until she has you in her arms. She’s climbing the walls with excitement.”
Ivan led us into the foyer, and I could feel the tension pulsing from
Luka, his hand rigid in mine. With a jerk of my arm, he pulled me into his chest, almost like he was using me as a shield as we walked into the living room. Talia was sitting on a chair, bouncing her leg in nerves and chewing on her thumbnail.
Mama Tolstoi paced in front of the marble fireplace, and when she saw us enter the room, she froze and stared.
I felt Luka stiffen behind me, and when I glanced up, his eyes were clenched, his head tilted to the side, and his cut full lips were pursed.
He remembered her. I now knew what his expression looked like when a memory fixed itself in place. My chest filled with happiness. He remembered his mama.
A sob escaped Mama Tolstoi’s mouth and she reached behind her to hold on to the mantel to keep upright. “Luka? Luka … is it you…?”
Luka’s hand fell from mine and he stepped round me. “M-Mama?”
Luka’s mama rushed forward upon hearing him speak and she held him in her outstretched arms. “Luka. It’s you … my son … my boy…”
“Yes.” Luka exhaled, and his mama wrapped her arms around his waist, her small frame tiny next to his large, broad heavily-muscled body.
“You’ve come home,” she cried. “You’ve come home to us … I knew you were out there. I could feel in my heart that you were still alive.” She pulled back and lay her hand on his stubbled cheek, standing on her tip-toes to do so. “My son … my son…”
Feeling like I was an intruder in the room, I backed out into the hallway as mother and son were reunited and walked through to the kitchen and out into the backyard. As soon as the fresh air hit my face, I immediately felt better.
Walking to a white bench in the small yard, I slumped down and closed my eyes, drawing in a long, deep breath.
I couldn’t believe everything that had happened. It all seemed so unreal. Like some dream I was about to wake up from.
Feeling the gravity of everything that had gone down of late—finding out Luka was alive, that Alik was responsible, the pain Luka had been put through over the years, and now Alik dead and Luka back in my arms—all I could do was submit to conflicted feelings of grief and joy.
Dropping my head into my hands, I just let it all go, my emotions pouring out of me through my tears.
“Kisa?”
Startled, I lifted my head, frantically wiping at my bruised face with my good hand and swallowed back my sobs. “Talia, you scared me,” I said, clearing my throat as she sat beside me, her stare fixing on the night sky.
Without a word, Talia’s hand reached out and held mine. I closed my eyes, just breathing in the Brooklyn summer air, when she whispered, “Thank you.”
Snapping my eyes open, I looked to Talia’s face that, I noticed, was changed, more relaxed. My chest tightened when I realized that for years, since Luka had “died,” this was the first time she seemed truly at ease.
How had I not noticed before?
“Tal—”
“I would never have believed you if you had told me you suspected … Raze … of being my brother. I wouldn’t have believed it for a second. Even if I’d seen him with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him. He’s so big, so aggressive looking.” Talia sniffed. “Kisa, I wouldn’t have recognized my own brother.”
“He’s changed, Tal. He doesn’t look the same,” I said, trying to be a comfort. “And he would always wear a hooded sweatshirt with the hood over his eyes. I think somehow he knew that people would know him when they saw his left eye. He didn’t know that though. He doesn’t know much. He needs to learn life all over again.” I squeezed Talia’s hand. “Nobody would have recognized him.”
She turned to me. “Nobody but you. You felt drawn to him, from the night he saved you in that alley. You pursued him and realized who he was. You brought him back. You never gave up. Saw through the bulk, the tattoos and scars. You saw it was him.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but I couldn’t speak, my emotions too high. So we just sat there, breathing properly for the first time in years.
“You saved him,” she then whispered and holding each other’s hands just that little bit tighter, I knew all our lives had changed for the better tonight.
After a while, I got up from the bench and entered the house. Mama Tolstoi was in the kitchen. As soon as I entered, her eyes fell upon my limping, beaten body.
“Kisa … my daughter,” she said quietly, holding out her hand for me to take, before wrapping me in her arms.
“It’s okay, Mama. Everything will now be okay.”
She pulled me into her chest and murmured, “God put a part of my son’s soul within you so when he lost his way, he would follow his feet and find his way back you. You’re the other half of his soul. You’re his savior … you’re all our saviors.”
Fighting back even more tears, I pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek. There were no words.
“Your mama will be rejoicing in heaven.”
“Mama…” I said, fighting a lump in my throat.
“Shh … all is well now. No need to fill it with words or explanations. Everything is as it should be. The past is in the past. Follow the newly lit path to the future. My son has returned, the man who took him away is dead and you love him with every part of your being. What more could I ever want?”
Drinking in those words, I smiled in pure joy and asked, “Where—”
“In his old room,” Mama Tolstoi interrupted.
Still smiling, I laid another kiss to her cheek and walked through the living room and up the stairs, hearing Mama Tolstoi singing for the first time in years.
Papa Ivan was in his office at his desk, and for a moment, I could almost pretend the last twelve years hadn’t happened. He was on the phone and I frowned when I heard him discussing the Gulag … discussing number 362.
“I want to know his name, where he was from and the names of the men that put him in that place.” There was a voice coming through the other end of the phone, but it stopped when Ivan slapped the desk and said, “I’ll pay whatever I need to pay, money’s no object, this is for my son! Find the men responsible and have them killed.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and sorrow filled my stomach. Luka was getting revenge for 362, his friend … on the men that falsely accused him.
Luka wanted to do this for his only friend. It almost broke me.
Opening the door to Luka’s old room, I entered to see him slumped on his old narrow bed, his head downcast. He looked huge sitting on his faded blue comforter. My stomach flipped. It was surreal seeing him now, older, in this room.
“Luka?”
Luka lifted his head and his brown eyes were shining. Shutting the door behind me, I walked to the bed. I went to sit beside him, but before I could, Luka carefully scooped me up in his large arms and sat me on his lap, tucking his head into my neck, breathing in my scent.
It made me smile how this was one trait he hadn’t let go of.
I stroked his hair and pressed a long kiss to his head. “Are you okay, baby?”
He shook his head indicating “no,” and I held him tighter. I couldn’t imagine the turmoil he was going through right now. The shock of being back here. The shock of realizing that he wasn’t alone in the world. Quite the opposite in fact.
He was loved. He was loved so damn much.
“It will all be okay, you know,” I soothed.
Luka lifted his head and his brown eyes met mine. “I don’t know what to do now. I’ve spent so long with one goal, one drive, and now it is done with.” His eyebrows pulled down. “What now, solnyshko? What do I do now? What if I can’t do anything else but kill?”
I cupped his cheeks and laid my forehead against his. “You learn how to live again. And I’ll be there every step of the way with you.”
Luka’s eyes filled with tears and a single drop fell down his scarred face … and it was quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing I’d ever seen.
“Baby, don’t cry,” I said, my throat clogged. “Everything is okay. I love you, I love
you so much.”
Luka’s eyes met mine, his long dark lashes wet and he lifted a hand to lay over mine on his cheek. “I’m free … I’m finally free … I can’t … I can’t…”
Heart exploding in my chest at the relief on his face, I held my soul mate as hard as I could against my chest.
Moving my mouth to his ear, I asked, “Can I have you?”
Luka stilled for a moment. Then I felt a decade’s worth of pain and loss flee his body. “You can have me, solnyshko. You can have all of me. You always have, and you always will.”
EPILOGUE
Six months later …
“Lyubov moya…” I moaned as Luka moved within me. I raked at his strong back, my head tilted as he kissed and nipped at my throat.
“Solnyshko,” Luka groaned, his hips picking up speed, his cock like steel, swelling within me the closer we came to release.
Our breathing came quick, and my hands moved to fist his hair. Luka stretched out his arms and gripped the iron of the headboard, thrusting powerfully inside me, making me lose control.
“Baby!” I cried, feeling my orgasm approach, clenching my legs around his waist. Luka’s head lifted to press his mouth to mine. Our tongues instantly clashed, wild and erratic.
“Kisa … Kisa…” Luka roared, breaking from my lips as his neck tensed, his muscles cording as he came, taking me over the edge with him.
Luka jerked inside me, then collapsed on my chest, his skin damp from hours and hours of lovemaking.
Yesterday we got married.
Finally. In our childhood church, by Father Kruschev.
I was officially Luka’s wife, and there was no one happier on Earth than I was right now, right at this second.
I ran my hand through Luka’s blond messy hair as he caught his breath. Lifting his head, Luka pressed a long, lazy kiss to my lips and said, “I love you, solnyshko.”
Running my finger down his cheek, I replied, “I love you too.”
Smiling shyly, Luka, after six months of never spending a day apart, still found his freedom impossible to get used to and he felt undeserving of my unconditional love for him.
