Chapter 19: Chapter 17

“I just looooove how it makes the lime taste less sour,” I slur before I lick the salt off my hand and knock back the shot of tequila, then lift the citrus slice to my mouth and suck.

The glow of the tealight at the center of the table reflects in Rafael’s eyes while he stares into mine, making it seem like his irises are on fire. He lifts his tumbler of whiskey and takes a small sip. He’s still working on his first drink, while I’ve downed at least four already. Or maybe it was five?

Rafael said the plane to Chicago is scheduled to depart in a few hours, so I’m not sure why he insisted we come out to this club tonight. But I’m not complaining. The music is awesome, and the drinks are even awesomer. I’ve been so damn nervous the entire day, racking my brain for potential stories we could tell my dad about my absence. The tequila allowed me to come up with options that I hadn’t considered before, and it’s making me think we can definitely pull this off.

It’s also making me wish all these people around us weren’t here. I lean in and take a deep whiff of Rafael’s scent. God, he’s so yummy.

“You should try it with an orange,” he says, beckoning a waiter over with his hand. “It brings out a slightly different flavor.”

“You know . . . if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk.” I grin, then grab a fistful of his shirt over his chest because the room started spinning. Can clubs spin?

“And why would I do that, vespetta?” Rafael’s arm wraps around my back, pulling me closer.

He dips his head and looks right into my eyes while speaking in Italian with the server who approached us. Feeling more steady on my feet, I let go of Rafael’s shirt but plant my palms squarely on his chest. I still need that contact to ground me. The heat of his body seeps through the soft fabric of his graphite gray button-down, and it strikes me that he isn’t wearing his usual vest and suit jacket over it. With the top two buttons of his shirt undone and no tie, this is the most casually dressed I’ve ever seen him in public.

“I have no idea. But I think you are.” A snort escapes me. “Are you plotting to have me do a dark deed for you again and need me intoxicated to make it happen?”

“Maybe.”

“I would, you know. Even sober, I would. I’d send all the fucking containers from every damn tanker in the world to China if you asked me to. It would create an international shipping disaster, but I’d do it. For you.”

Rafael just keeps watching me. Why are his eyes sad again? Is he worried about what my father might do to him when we get to Chicago? He shouldn’t be. I won’t tell Dad the truth. We’ll tell him that Rafael and I met by chance. And after I admit to Dad that I’m in love, he’ll understand.

The waiter returns and sets a new shot of tequila topped with an orange slice on our table. Staring fixedly into Rafael’s eyes, I grab the shot glass and throw back the throat-burning liquid.

“You forgot the orange,” he says, lifting the slice of citrus to my mouth.

My lips close on the orange piece and suck the tangy juices off the rind. “You were right. It does taste better.”

Rafael’s eyes flare. The fruit vanishes from my mouth, replaced with his hard lips and tongue. They take. Brand. Consume me.

Rising onto my toes, I bury my hands in his hair, pulling on the dark strands. A mix of flavors explodes across my taste buds. Salt. Him. His whiskey. Him. Orange. Him. Him. Him.

I feel a slight squeeze on my waist as he lifts me and deposits me on the barstool, all without breaking our kiss. His rough palm glides along the inner side of my thigh, bound for higher places. I hook my leg behind his. My head feels fuzzy, like I’m floating, but I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol running rampant through my veins or because Rafael’s fingers are sliding under my panties.

“You’re mine, Vasilisa,” he growls into my mouth. “You will always be mine, no matter what you decide.”

Decide? Decide what? The ability to form a coherent thought flees as his fingers push inside me, doing those devilish tricks of his that make me forget the outside world exists at all. His thumb moves over my clit in slow steady circles, while two of his fingers caress my spasming walls. In and out. Gentle. Maddeningly gentle pressure.

My body trembles, the tremors intensifying with every stroke, pushing me closer to oblivion. His other hand softly cups my chin, squeezing lightly once in a while as he demolishes my lips. The myriad of sensations is overwhelming. I moan while losing myself in bliss.

More. I sink my nails into the skin of his nape. I need more. And he seems to know it. Rafael presses his thumb on my clit and curls his fingers upward inside my channel. And I . . . explode. Coming all over his masterful hand.

“I’ll miss this, vespetta.” The husky voice next to my ear sounds distant somehow.

Everything seems to be spinning around me. I wrap my arms around Rafael’s neck, letting my body sag onto his. A beautiful weightless feeling surrounds me as he picks me up and carries me. Where we’re going, I don’t know. I don’t care. As long as I’m with him. But the lights hurt my eyes, so I bury my face in the crook of his neck. Music and voices growing distant.

“Sei pronto?” Guido’s voice. I didn’t know he was here.

“Si. Iniziamo,” Rafael replies, then dips his head until his mouth grazes my ear. “I have to sign some documents while we’re here. It won’t take long.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

Footfalls on the wooden floor echo around us as Rafael heads to the door at the end of the narrow hallway. Guido holds it open, allowing us to pass through. The room we step into smells of old paper and cigarettes. Several men are already inside, standing around with expressions on their faces that I can’t quite read. In the middle of the room is a desk, and an older man in a brown suit is sitting behind it, a massive thick red book open in front of him.

With me still in his arms, Rafael sits down on one of the empty chairs before the desk, making sure I’m comfortably situated on his lap. The room grows quiet, and then the old fellow across from us starts speaking. His soft voice and the melodic Italian words soothe me into that tranquil void where reality and dreamland mesh, leaving me feeling like I’m soaring upon warm currents of air.

Jesus fuck, I should have stopped after that second shot of tequila. I’m going to pass out in the middle of Rafael’s meeting. What if I drool? The man keeps speaking, but now he seems to be drifting far, far away. I’m so out of it that, for a moment, I thought he said my name. That doesn’t make sense, though. I don’t know him. I snuggle closer to Rafael, nuzzling his neck and inhaling his scent.

“Vespetta.” Rafael’s breath fans my ear. “I need you to say yes.”

“Yes,” I mumble.

My eyelids feel so heavy. The speaking continues. Then, there’s shuffling and rustling as people approach the desk. They seem to be signing something. It must be a very important contract since there are so many of them here. Rafael’s hold on me tightens as he takes the pen from Guido and leans forward, scribbling something into the thick red book.

“I need your signature here.” Rafael places the pen in my hand, but it slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor.

“You want me to sign?” I open my eyes to a blurry room. “Why?”

“To confirm that you were present at the signing of the contract. It’s tradition.” He hands me the pen again and pulls the book closer. “Just here.”

“You have weird traditions.” I giggle and, setting the ballpoint on the line at the bottom of the page where Rafael is pointing his finger, sign my name. “Will I get a cut of whatever deal you just made?”

“Yes.” His lips are on mine now. Tasting. Claiming.

I let myself be enraptured by his mouth while my consciousness slips away. The last thing I hear is the old man’s more vigorous Italian words. He’s probably chastising us for kissing in the middle of a business meeting.

“Vi dichiaro marito e moglie.”

Bright lights flank the runway. My plane is ready for takeoff, waiting for its passengers to arrive. Guido stops the car a few feet from the jet and turns off the ignition.

“Raff. We’re here.”

I sweep the hair that’s fallen over Vasilisa’s face away, lightly caressing her soft cheek with my knuckles in the process. She looks so young when she sleeps. “I am aware.”

“When will you be coming back?”

“I’m not going with her, Guido.”

“But, I thought . . . Why?”

“I told her that I love her, but she didn’t believe me. She said I don’t know what loving someone truly means. And she was right. I tried to make her stay with me by buying her presents. And issuing threats. I’m letting her go, so she can decide for herself.” I open the car door and step out with Vasilisa safely cradled in my arms. “Take your bag from the trunk and hurry.”

“My bag?”

“With a change of clothes. You’re getting onto that plane to make sure my wife arrives safely at her family’s home.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Calogero will retaliate in the next twenty-four hours. You need me.”

“I know. And I’ll handle him. Alone.”

“The fuck you will! He has more than ten men on his personal security team!”

“Shut. Your. Mouth. Because if you wake Vasilisa, I’ll strangle you,” I sneer through my teeth. “The deal I made with Biaggi includes a no-witness guarantee. I’m going to take down Calogero myself.”

“Raff—”

“This discussion is over.”

Standing at the foot of the airstairs, the flight attendant clutches the sides of her blazer to her chest as she watches me approach. I climb the steps, Guido following close behind me. Inside the cabin, I carefully lower my precious cargo onto the beige leather sofa. Vasilisa stirs, her eyes cracking a little.

“Are we home?”

I crouch next to her and brush the back of my hand along her chin. “Soon.”

“Okay,” she mumbles.

Her eyes flutter closed. I never imagined that letting go of something could hurt so much.

Sharp talons are slicing through my chest, trying to tear out my fucking heart. I reach into my pocket and take out the ring I put there earlier. It’s one of mine. Just a solid band of plain silver, worth practically nothing at all. I had the jeweler resize it to fit her delicate finger. He tried to convince me that it would be too small, as if I wouldn’t know every inch of my wife. Taking her right hand in mine, I slide the band onto her ring finger. Russians traditionally wear wedding rings on the right hand, and I want to honor that custom. The ring is a perfect fit.

“Farei qualsiasi cosa per te, vespetta,” I whisper as I lean toward her and kiss her slightly parted lips. “Perfino lasciarti andare.”

Vasilisa’s lips pull into a slight, sleepy smile before she turns around, tucking her face into the soft cushions of the sofa. I take off my jacket and cover her with it. After one last look, I straighten and rush toward the aircraft exit, feeling like every step is shredding my insides.

* * *

The videoconference window pops up on my laptop screen, showing Roman Petrov sitting at the desk inside his office.

“Rafael. It’s been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

“My plane will be landing at a private airfield outside Chicago in ten hours. I’ll send you the exact location. You want to be there when it arrives.”

“Why is that?”

“Your daughter is on board.”

Petrov leaps from his chair, his shocked face drawing close to the camera. “What is my baby girl doing on your plane?!” he snarls.

“She’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“You took her.” A low growl comes from Roman.

“Yes. I did. Her IT skills are extraordinary. I had her brought to Sicily to complete a job for me. It’s all wrapped up, so I’ve sent her back home.”

“If you’ve touched a single hair on her head, Rafael,” he says in a gravelly voice, “I’ll level that whole fucking island within twenty-four hours! Don’t you ever, fucking ever, dare to look even at her picture, you son of a bitch.”

I smirk. “I see where Vasilisa gets her poetic streak from.”

“Do. Not. Use my daughter’s name, motherfucker!” He grabs the screen, shaking it. “You are a dead man!” he yells.

I watch him lift a gun toward the camera. A split second later, the bang of a gunshot explodes and the video feed goes black. An unmistakable sign our meeting is concluded—Roman shot the laptop, aiming for my head.

Gripping the edge of my desk, I stare at the blank background of my display. It’s been less than an hour since I put Vasilisa on that plane, and already I’m feeling as if I’m partially dead inside. What will happen tomorrow, when she’s back in Chicago with her family?

Will she forget about me? Will she forget the foolish man who loves her enough to let her go, knowing it will likely kill him? Knowing the chance of her coming back to him is nil?

A raucous roar rips out of my throat. I swipe my arm across the desk, sending my laptop and other shit flying. It doesn’t ease the hopelessness and misery that’s suffocating me.

How long will it take before she calls me to say she’s never coming back?

A week?

A month?

I will fucking die in this goddamned limbo of not knowing.

Grabbing my phone, I send a message to Guido, then, another text with additional instructions to my pilot.

The low rumble penetrates my consciousness, ratcheting up the ache in my head. My throat is dry like I’ve swallowed cotton balls. The smell of leather invades my senses, and there’s more. Cypress, with a hint of orange zest.

“Rafael?” I mumble. “What time is it?”

“Almost five in the morning,” Guido’s voice replies.

I slowly sit up, blinking my eyes open, and take in the interior of the airplane. “What’s going on?”

“You should put your seatbelt on. We’ll be landing shortly.”

“Landing?” I fix my eyes on Guido, who’s sitting on the sofa across from me. “Where?”

“Chicago.”

Confusion hits me, then morphs into excitement. I’m going to see my family again! Happiness. Relief.

“Where is Rafael?” I ask, looking around.

“He stayed in Sicily.”

Pop.

My joy bursts, and I plummet straight into a pit of dread. “Why?”

“You kept asking him to send you home. So he did it. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He lays my old backpack on my lap. “Your IDs and other personal stuff are inside. I programmed Rafael’s and my numbers into your phone. Now, fasten your seatbelt. We’re descending.”

My hands shake as I take the backpack and move it to the spot next to me. It feels much heavier than I remember. I stare through the wide elliptical window at the city lights twinkling beautifully and growing bigger with each passing second. Closer to home. Farther away from Rafael.

I’m returning. Alone.

He sent me back.

No explanation. No goodbye. Just dumped me on his plane, like I’m some unwanted package.

I wipe my eyes while a hysterical laugh escapes me. Just months ago I cried like this because he wouldn’t let me go home. And now . . . Now I’m crying because he did.

By the time we land, my tears have dried up, but I’m still wrecked inside. I grab my backpack off the seat (it’s definitely heavier than it should be) and head down the aisle toward the exit. My feet feel like they’re made of lead, each step slower than the previous one.

“Watch your footing, miss,” the flight attendant says as I reach the door.

Three people are standing at the edge of the runway, their shapes backlit by the ground lights. I recognize my father’s formidable form immediately. My brother, a mere inch shorter, is on the left. And my mom, standing between them. She looks rather funny, flanked by two human mountains nearly plastered to her sides. I dash down the stairs and across the tarmac, falling into their embrace.

“Mom!” I cry out and wrap my arms around her neck, squeezing her to me.

“Vasya, baby.” My dad sweeps the hair off my face. “Are you okay? What did that bastard do to you?”

“I’m fine.” I release Mom and, a second later, end up wrapped in Dad’s bear hug. “I missed you so much.”

* * *

“Here.” Dad sets a tablet in front of me on the kitchen island. The screen displays a map. “Point to the location of that cocksucker’s lair.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Now, Vasilisa.”

“Roman.” My mom sends him a warning look as she passes me a cup of tea. “Not now.”

“That bastard kept our daughter prisoner for two months, malysh! I won’t wait another second. Where is he, Vasilisa?”

I press the heels of my hands over my eyes. It shouldn’t have happened like this. The plan was for me and Rafael to face my family together. With a happy cover story of how we met. I didn’t expect Rafael to tell my father that he kidnapped me. With my father thinking the worst, how can I explain to him that I’m in love with Rafael? Dad would never believe me. And it would just make the whole situation so much worse.

“I told you, I wasn’t a prisoner,” I say. “We had a deal. I did the work he hired me for, and he sent me back when I finished.”

“Really? Just what kind of work did that asshole need you to do?”

“It concerned his company. I can’t disclose the details.”

“Why did you lie to me then, hmm? And why won’t you tell me his location?”

“Because I know you, Dad. Don’t you dare send anyone to do something to Rafael.”

“Why? Rafael De Santi is a first-rate assassin, Vasilisa.”

“I know.”

He leans forward, his face drawing level with mine. “Did he touch you? Did that fucker put his dirty paws on my baby girl?” His voice is barely above a whisper. I know that tone. It means he’s furious.

I swallow and force myself to hold his gaze. Telling him the truth now is out of the question. I know my father all too well. If he even suspects that there was something between me and Rafael, he’ll kill him.

“He was a perfect gentleman.” I lay my palms on the countertop. Immediately, my mind is flooded with images of Rafael ravenously eating my pussy on a similar-looking kitchen island.

“Whose jacket are you wearing, Vasilisa?” my brother’s voice booms from the other side of the kitchen.

I look over my shoulder and find Alexei leaning against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s been staying out of this conversation, so I completely forgot he’s here. Panic rises in the pit of my stomach. Before he left for college, we were inseparable. But with too-short visits over summer and holiday breaks, not to mention my father’s demands on my brother’s time when he’s here, we’ve kinda drifted apart. Alexei, however, has always been the most perceptive person I know. And he knows all my tells.

“It’s Rafael’s,” I choke out.

“Mm-hmm.” He pushes away from the fridge and approaches me with slow, deliberate steps. “I’ll go upstairs and get you a sweater. You can take that off. I’ll throw it in the trash.”

“No!” I snap and tug the jacket tighter around me. “Don’t you dare touch it!”

Alexei’s eyes narrow, then he looks at our father. “She’s lying.”

“I’m not lying! I’m tired and just want to go to sleep. Can we continue this interrogation later, please?”

My father grips the edge of the counter, his fingers flexing on it over and over. Then, he takes a deep breath. And another.

“Sure, baby.” He pulls me into him and kisses the top of my head. “Everything is going to be okay. Get some rest.”

With a soft stroke on my cheek, he turns around and leaves the kitchen, his cane clicking on the tiled floor. Alexei trails behind him.

“I’ll make you something to eat,” Mom says as she takes a plate out of the cupboard. “I’ll bring it upstairs.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Exiting the kitchen, I notice the light at the far end of the long hallway—my dad’s office door has been left slightly ajar. He’s speaking with someone in a hushed voice. Whatever he’s saying is in Russian, and I don’t catch much because of his rapid words. I’m not too great with Dad’s language. I do okay, but only in conversations where the speakers don’t talk too fast. And right now, my father isn’t pacing himself for my benefit.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, standing at the threshold of Dad’s domain.

He nods, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Okay, baby.”

“You’re staying up?”

“Might as well. I have some . . . business to discuss with Sergei.”

“Tell him I’ll drop by soon.”

“Sure. Sleep well.” His tone of voice when speaking with me is warm, but the instant I turn my back and Dad returns to the conversation with his brother, his words are hard and laced with rage. Uncle Sergei must have fucked up. Again. Real bad this time, by the sounds of it.

On the upper floor, I sneak into Yulia’s room and tiptoe to her bedside. After kissing her cheek, I head into my room, which is next door to my sister’s, and plop on the edge of the bed. My eyes wander over the familiar walls and furniture, yet everything feels surreal. I glance at the window overlooking the backyard. The early rays of the sun are breaking through the clouds. If I were in Sicily now, I’d be hearing the crickets perfecting their song. And I’d be lying next to Rafael, with my face buried in his neck. I dip my head, pressing my nose to the lapel of his suit jacket. It still smells like him.

Taking my backpack off my shoulder, I drop it on the bed beside me and unzip the main compartment. More than a dozen velvet boxes of various sizes are inside. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I pull out the packages, one by one. No wonder the damn backpack was so heavy. Rafael sent me home with several pounds of jewelry. And . . . My hand wraps around a smooth bell-shaped object at the bottom of the bag. A single fig.

I carefully pull it out, but it’s beyond saving. Almost fully squashed by all those jewelry boxes he piled on top. My old phone is also beneath the loot, fully charged. I unlock the screen and find Rafael’s name in the contacts list. My finger shakes a little as it hovers above the call button. I swipe to the right and press the phone to my ear.

“Vespetta,” his husky voice answers immediately. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. We landed a couple of hours ago.”

“I know. Guido told me.”

I take a deep breath and lean the back of my head on the wall behind me. “Why weren’t you on the plane with me?”

“I never said I would be. You made that assumption on your own,” he says. “Do you like the ring?”

My eyes dart to the simple, thick band. Quite a change in aesthetic from his prior presents. “A parting gift?”

“Well, that depends on you.” A small pause follows. “It’s one of mine,” he continues after a breath. “If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back and buy you something prettier. If you decide to return.”

“Just like that? You dumped me on the plane, while I was unconscious! You sent me home without even a goodbye. What if I just decide to stay here? What then? Why did you do it?”

Nothing but silence on the other end of the line.

“Why, Rafael?”

“Because, if I’d have waited for you to wake up, if I held you in my arms even a second longer, I never would have let you leave, Vasilisa! I would have found a way to keep you with me. I would have lied and spewed empty threats against your family! It’s the only thing that ever swayed you.”

“Did it never occur to you that I may have wanted to stay with you? That you didn’t need the fucking threats?” I bury my face in my hand. “Jesus, Rafael.”

“Don’t you ‘Jesus, Rafael’ me, Vasilisa. I’m not delusional. Why the fuck would you want to be with someone like me? I hoped that buying you pretty things would somehow help diminish the ugliness you were exposed to while being at my side. To somehow lessen the hideosity of waking up to a fucking beast in your bed every morning. It was the only way I could outmatch all the other perfect men who would take you from me. So yes, you’re right. I pressured you to stay because I was afraid that given a choice, you would never choose me.”

A loud crash, something big and heavy, sounds through my phone’s speaker.

“So I did it. Kept you caged. You—the most precious thing in my world. And it didn’t matter a lick that it was all because I’m in love with you. I’ve hurt you, manipulated everything to make you stay. I’ll have to live with that. Will have to keep pushing the air through my lungs while the truth punches me in the gut every day. Because I do love you, whether you believe me or not, and I realized that I would rather let you go than force you to stay with me when it’s not what you want.”

More crashing sounds come through the line, as if he’s demolishing everything in his vicinity.

“You said you want the freedom to make your decision, vespetta. I simply granted that to you. So choose,” he growls. “My plane is still at the same airfield where it landed. Waiting for you. You have until seven tomorrow night to make your decision. If you’re not on board by then, it will depart without you. And I’ll take that as your answer.”

He cuts the call.

My vision blurs with unshed tears. I throw the phone on the bed and rush into the bathroom so I don’t wake Yulia. Sitting on the closed toilet lid, I press my hand over my mouth to keep the whimpers from escaping. God! I thought all that damn jewelry he’s been showering me with was nothing more than his way of flashing his wealth. A tactic to show off how much “better” he is than everyone else. It never occurred to me that he actually viewed himself as somehow lacking. As if he wasn’t good enough. How could I have been so blind and didn’t realize that?

I swallow the bile that’s threatening to choke me, and give in to the ugly tears. They burn like acid down my cheeks while my heart feels like it’s being squeezed inside my chest.

He loves me.

He wants me.

Why did I not see his pain?

I never saw him as anything other than drop-dead gorgeous. That’s my only justification for being so oblivious to his insecurities. And he hung up on me before I got the chance to tell him that. To tell him that I’m in love with him, too.

And that I am coming back.

“Vasya?” My mom’s voice drifts in from inside my bedroom. “Where are you? I thought you—” Her words get cut off as soon as she opens the bathroom door. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve, then smile. “I’m returning to Sicily.”

My mother goes eerily still. “What?”

“I’m in love with him, Mom. I’m in love with Rafael.”

Mom rushes to me and crouches by the toilet, wrapping her arms around me. “Hush. You’re just confused, baby. It’ll pass.”

“I’m not confused, Mom. This is the first time in months I’m thinking clearly.” I squeeze her arm. “I’m going back to him.”

She rears back and grabs my shoulders. “What? No. I won’t allow it.”

“I don’t need your permission, Mom.” I wipe the tears off my cheeks, then meet my mother’s frantic gaze. “You of all people should understand that when your heart chooses someone, there’s no coming back from that.”

“You can’t fall in love with someone in two months, Vasilisa!”

“Oh? How long did it take you to fall in love with Dad?”

“That was different.”

“Yeah. He blackmailed you into marrying him! Twice, I might add.” I snort. “He says you fell for him within a day.”

“Absolutely not! It took me at least a month.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “There you go.”

My mother’s face falls, concern written all over it. “Are you sure you have feelings for that man?”

“Yes.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-nine. What does that have to do with how I feel?”

“I’m just saying. He’s much older. Experienced. I understand how someone like him can make a young woman fall for him. It’s just an infatuation, and it will pass.”

I take her hand and press her palm to the middle of my chest. “There is a hole inside me, right here. It formed the moment I woke up on that plane and realized Rafael wasn’t there with me. Just thinking about the possibility of never being with him again makes that hole spread. I feel empty without him. I came back. But my heart remained in Sicily. With him. And no one can live without their heart, Mom.”

“But . . . You can’t just take off. Your dad is going to lose it, Vasya. He would never allow you to leave.”

“I know. So I’d like you to explain to him that I’m no longer a little girl he needs to shield from monsters. That’s not what I need from him anymore. I want him to understand that even though I love him and always will, it’s time for me to start living my own life.”

“You know how maniacally protective your father is about you and Yulia.”

“Yes. But I don’t need his protection, Mom. I need his support.”

“Okay,” she chokes out. “You know, there are times when your father still wakes up covered in sweat because of a dream about that explosion at the mall. I have nightmares about that, too. God, I’m so grateful you were so little then that you don’t remember it.”

“It was ages ago.”

“Doesn’t matter. Things like that lodge in your mind, and, no matter how much time passes, you can’t forget them. You can’t even imagine how terrifying it was, Vasilisa.” She squeezes my hand and shudders. “So much blood. Roman got to you first and had to basically extricate you from that man who saved you. He was clutching you to his chest—so hard—practically enveloping you with his whole body. Shards of glass were embedded in his hands and arms. And his face . . . Jesus Christ. I will remember his shredded face for as long as I live.”

His hands . . . His face . . . The floor falls out from beneath my feet. My mother continues speaking, something about the ambulances arriving, but the words don’t penetrate. Hands and face. Shredded. No, it can’t be him.

My mind zooms to the afternoon we spent together in the bath. Rafael, asking me about the scar on my back. He said something . . . Something about kismet.

Destiny.

“What did he look like?” I whisper. “The man who saved me?”

“I . . . I don’t know. He was covered in blood. I think . . . He had dark hair. And he was tall. Broad. I remember thinking—his being so big was likely the reason he was able to shield you from all that glass. Roman tried to locate him. After. He went to Endri Dushku, the leader of the Albanian cartel, because of the tattoo your dad saw on the young man’s arm. But Dushku told him that none of their members got hurt that day.”

“And . . .” I swallow. “What does the Albanian gang mark look like?”

“Um . . . I’m not sure. I think, it’s two daggers with a green snake—”

“Coiled around them,” I interrupt, as tears once again threaten to spill from my eyes.

“Yes. How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen it.”

He knew. He knew and didn’t say a word. He must have figured it out when we were talking about my scar. But he didn’t let on to gain an advantage. No bargains. No deals. No calling in the debt to make me stay.

You’re not indebted to him, he said.

I wrap my arm around my mother’s back and press a kiss on her cheek. “Yulia will be mad because you guys didn’t bring her along to the airport with you.”

“She hasn’t been feeling well the past few days, so we let her sleep. And we weren’t sure what to expect, Vasilisa. We didn’t know what state you’d be in. That man kept you for months and . . .”

A sad smile pulls at my lips. “Let me assure you of one thing, Mom. That man’s arms are the safest place I could ever be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because it was him,” I whisper. “The man who saved my life all those years ago. It was Rafael.”