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Guilt crashes over me in waves, and embarrassment lashes at my side harder than the winds that whipped around me as I fell.
I made him relive the worst day of his life.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” He speaks to me, but he’s staring at her.
The hurt is unmistakable in his voice. For the first time since I arrived in this beautiful gallery of a prison, I can imagine Nikolai with a family. I can imagine him as a little boy sitting in this studio as his mother paints.
“But,” I take a shaky breath. “Why does Larissa say you blame yourself for it?”
“Because I became my father’s heir,” he replies. “The one thing she never wanted me to become.”
Our mother’s death,Larissa’s voice echoes.He blames himself for that. More than he blames himself for our brother’s.
“Your brother,” I say, finally piecing together the different parts. “Dominika says he died a year before you became the heir.”
“Yes.” He nods. “His death was my fault too.”
“How?” I ask.
Nikolai takes his hand off mine and takes a step back. A chill descends in the air and unease worms into my heart. I fear that I’ve pushed my luck too far.He’s not going to tell me,I think.There’s no reason for him to tell me.
But to my surprise, he answers.
“Matvei died in the process of carrying out a hit that was meant for me,” he explains as he makes his way toward the painting of his mother.
His hand hangs at his side as he looks at the painting. Hesitantly, I reach out and take it in mine. He glances at me, a sad smile playing on his face as he gives me a slow nod. I lean against his body, and he pulls me closer as he returns to his cruel memory.
“When I was nine, my father called me into his office,” he says. “He told me that I would soon be the same age that my brother Matvei was when he first proved himself to the Bratva.”
I feel his fingers tightening against mine. His hold is at the edge of becoming painful, but he keeps himself in check as he continues to talk.
“He wanted me to kill a man of the Lanzzare Mafia,” he says. “A man who was closely related to their don, Emilio Lanzzare.” He turns to me, face weary with emotion. “Matvei, being the protective older brother, insisted to my father that this was foolish. That it was too dangerous. But Father disagreed.
“It was the only time they’d ever disagreed. And it would be the last.” Nikolai turns back to the painting of his mother, and I notice that he’s looking at the single drooping chrysanthemum. His voice fades to a whisper as if he can see the horrible day all over again playing out in his mind.
“I waited up for him that night,” he says. “But he never came home … When I came home the night of the gallery bombing and saw you waiting, reading a book … I saw myself.”
He looks into my eyes and blinks. In an instant, the coldness returns and he’s back in the present again. “But you weren’t waiting for me, were you, Eden?”
“No,” I admit.
Nikolai nods, acknowledging my honesty as he turns to the unchangeable past again.
“A year later,” he says, “Father forced me to kill a man in front of him. To prove to him that I could be the son that he lost. The son he loved. He told me that was what Matvei would’ve wanted me to do. So, I did. And when Mother learned what I’d done …” He closes his eyes as his free hand balls into a fist. “When she learned what thatnegodyaymade me do.” He opens his eyes. “Well, here we are.”
“I’m so sorry, Nikolai.” I press my face against his sleeve, unsure of what else I can do. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. Your mother sounds extraordinary.”
“She was,” he admits.
“I wish I knew my mom,” I whisper. “But she passed away when I was a baby.”
“And your father never remarried?” he asks. “Why?”
“He says he never got over her.” I shake my head. “But I don’t think that’s it.”
“Why do you think that?” He holds my hand firmly.
