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***
As we walk away, I wonder how different this experience would’ve been if I had been able to show my feelings as a boy. As a man, the range of my emotions is limited to a deep-seated mixture of resentment and fury. Compassion made me vulnerable to Vasily’s cruelty.
My father would taunt me, claiming that I was a “fairy” for feeling “girlie” emotions. But I couldn’t stand by and let him hurt Eva. And he knew it.
He tested me, and I tried to pretend that I didn’t care about other people. Then one day it finally happened. I didn’t care who he hurt as I stood by and idly watched Vasily slice a thieving guard’s thumbs off with a knife. The man shouted with agony as my father worked the hunting knife through bone. With my pity gone, the only thing left was to hurt those I hadn’t wished to hurt before.
The absence only really hit me when I stole Paige from her life. I’m only good for killing her mother’s murderer, not for comforting my grieving wife.
Mother stops and opens the door to a guest room. The mattress is stripped, with no sheets or pillows, and the curtains have been replaced with a set of vertical blinds. The blinds are slatted so the midday sun leaves a striped pattern across the nearest wall. An ancient oak dresser stands in the corner of the room.
“I thought I taught you better, Andrei Vasilyevich.” Eva lifts her index finger into my face.
“What do you think …” I comprehend quickly, disgust leaving a stale taste in my mouth. “She …” I stop speaking before I can say those damning words:she wanted it.
I realize too late what it looks like. “I would never do that.”
But her gaze doesn’t soften. She looks at me as if she can’t decide if she wants to hate me or not.
I turn my back on her and lower my voice. “I am not Father.”
“But he is a part of you.” She won’t look at me. “Just as much as I am. His cruelty is yours. It’s in your blood.”
I wince at her words. “Sometimes I must be cruel,” I reply. “It’s up to me to make hard decisions for the Bratva.”
“You sound just like him.” She closes her eyes, brows furrowing. “And I don’t even have to pretend that hard to see him standing where you are right now, Andrushka. You can be cruel, that I accept and understand.” She opens her eyes at me slowly. “But not withher. You have no right to be cruel to her.”
“This is why we can’t have a decent life.” She laughs bitterly. “We aren’t made to love, Andrushka.”
“I never said I was in love.”
She shakes her head. “That’s because you weren’t taught. I hoped she would teach you, but your heart is too hard. You’ll break her and then hate her for failing you.”
Her words come deep from her heart. She stood next to a man on the altar who vowed to love and protect her. But instead, he broke her body and spirit time and time again. He promised to love her and care for her, as I did for Paige.
“I don’t hate her,” I reply stiffly. I swallow hard, and now it’s my turn not to look my mother in the eye. “I’m falling for her. Even if it doesn’t look that way.”
Eva approaches me and takes my hand in hers. “Don’t hate her for it, Andrei. Love will make you stronger. When you stood up to your father for me, you did it because of love. You can love without being weak. Don’t believe in Vasily’s lies.”
“I showed my love for you by defending you.” I pull my hands out of hers. “And I will do the same by avenging her mother’s death for her. No one will touch her or her family again.”
I stand in front of the dresser and slam down my fist. The crack of wood resounds in the sparsely furnished room. Mother’s gaze flicks toward the antique dresser as she wrings her hands.
The violent action does something to me. Rage makes me certain of myself again. I know this feeling. I understand this territory, and my footing is secure as I leap back onto familiar terrain.
When I express my anger, it’s like I’ve found myself again.
“If Igor Karamazov is responsible, he will pay with more than his life,” I say coldly. “I will destroy everything of his—his family, his men, his businesses. I will crush everything he cares about into the ground and then bury him beneath it.”
“You can’t.” She rushes toward me as if she can hold the rage back with her delicate hands. “Even if you’re sure, you can’t. This war is not your war. So let it go, Andrushka. Don’t do this. You won’t win.”
My eyes narrow on hers. “He thinks I’m a pale replacement for my father. So, he’s toying with me, seeing how much he can take. This is why this happened. My first day as pakhan, I should have struck. I should have shown my power, but I played games. Not anymore. One blow. One strike will put them all in their place. I’ll make an example of Igor Karamazov. I swear it.”
Eva grabs my hand again, and something drops to the floor, rolling under the bed. I stroll over to get it as she grabs for my shoulder.
“No, Andrushka.” She tugs at my sleeve. “Leave it.”
The look on her face alerts me that something is very wrong. I have to see what she’s trying to hide. I shake her off and reach under the bed as she tugs at my other arm, pleading for me to leave it alone.
