Текст книги "Reap"
Автор книги: Tillie Cole
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Two
Talia
I usually avoided this place like the plague. It smelled of death. That was the only way I could explain it. The scents of blood, sweat and dead animals permeated every inch of this underground hell making it almost impossible to breath in the thick stagnant air.
Straightening my shoulders, I walked through the training gym of the Dungeon, forcing myself to nod politely at the new fighters’ trainers and sponsors filling up every inch of spare space. Well, I say “fighters.” They were mostly rapists, murderers, and generally just sick motherfuckers used by various mobs and career criminals to make a quick buck. No one would miss them if they died in the ring. In fact, it would be a blessing to society, in my opinion.
I didn’t mind my job. I was good at it. I was the sponsor recruiter for the Dungeon. My duty was securing the sponsors, arranging collections on gambling debts and finding only the best fighters for our enterprise. And I never failed to deliver excellent fighters, season after season. That didn’t mean the sight of these men didn’t make my skin crawl. I generally worked from home, thank God. Being in this place of death day by day would drive me insane. I had no idea how Kisa did it. I sighed in relief that I was finally getting a break. I was getting to leave Brooklyn for the next couple of months. I was using my long overdue vacation days to just check out of this life for a short reprieve.
After everything that had happened over the last year I needed a breather. I needed to not be Talia Tolstaia, the great Ivan Tolstoi’s daughter, just for a while. I needed to be somewhere new. I just hoped my father wasn’t going to flip his shit when I told him I was going.
Heading into Kisa’s office, I walked through, shutting the door behind me. Kisa was sitting behind her desk typing away on her computer. “Hey, Kisa,” I called, and moved to sit in the chair in front of her.
Kisa lifted her head from her work and I frowned. “You okay? You look kind of green,” I said, seeing Kisa run her hand over her clammy head.
She batted her hand in front of her face. “I’m good, Tal. Just feel like I may be coming down with something.”
“You sure? Seems you’ve been like this a while,” I questioned.
Kisa threw me her usual bright smile. “Yeah, honest.”
Lifting off my chair, I took the register of new fighters and their sponsors for the Dungeon’s fighting ring and laid them on her desk. “Here’s all the information you’ll need while I’m gone. If you need anything else, I’ll only be a phone call or an e-mail away.”
Kisa took the folder and placed it in a draw before leaning back in her chair. “Thanks, Tal.” Her eyes dropped to the table, then she looked at me again. “I wish you weren’t going. I know you’ll only be a couple of hours away, and Christ knows you deserve the rest, but I hate the thought of not seeing you every day. It’ll be weird.”
Moving around the room to drop my ass to the edge of her desk, I winked playfully. “It’s my winning personality, Kisa. You’re addicted to me.”
Kisa laughed and patted my knee. “I am. There hasn’t been a vacation in our lives that we haven’t gone on together.”
My smile faded and I squeezed her hand on my knee. “I know, dorogaya moya. But after this past year—Luka coming home, my parents coming to terms with the fact their son was turned into a straight-up killer, and now the recent news that the Jakhua Georgian’s are back in Brooklyn to probably start a war with us, I just need a fucking time-out from it all, you know?”
Kisa exhaled a long breath and nodded her head. “I know what you mean. It’s been intense.” Kisa glanced away and I caught her blue eyes shimmering.
Leaning forward, I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Kisa didn’t move for a few seconds, but then looked to me again. “Luka’s been having nightmares again. He’s not in a good place lately, Tal. I don’t know what to do.”
My stomach tensed. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”
Kisa got to her feet and stood before me, throwing me a dismissive smile. “Nothing for you to worry about.” I went to argue that fact, but Kisa pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in her arms. “Go on your break, Tal, relax, find your happiness again, and come back refreshed. You never know, by the time you return everything might be back to normal—the Jakhua’s may be dead and buried, Luka may have made a full recovery, everything swimming along nicely.”
I hugged Kisa back and, after a few seconds, she pulled away. Her lips pulled into a wry smile. “One can dream, hey? One thing’s for sure, there’s never a dull moment in the wonderful world of Volkov!”
“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a laugh. Then I hesitated knowing there was something more she wasn’t telling me. She was acting weird.
Kisa rolled her eyes at me as I stared. “Tal, go. I’ve got everything covered here.”
I headed to the door, but stopped to say, “Do you think Luka will be okay?”
Kisa wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m sure he will. I’ve left him in bed today. He had a rough night. I’m going to meet with our fathers this afternoon to see if they can help him.”
I frowned. “What needs to be done? You’re being very vague, Kisa.”
Kisa gave me a tired smirk. “Just something from his gulag days, a piece of information that’s been playing on Luka’s mind. I’m hoping our fathers can shed some light on it. It’s what Luka needs to finally embrace his training as the future pakhan. I think my father’s getting antsy about how distracted Luka is. I think he’s doubting whether he has what it takes to lead the brotherhood one day.”
Walking back to Kisa one last time, my stomach rolling at yet another arising issue my brother now had to overcome, I gave her a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “Anytime you need me, you call. And if you need a break yourself come to see me. You shouldn’t have to take all of this on either. It’s starting to make you ill.” Kisa tensed in my arms. “Promise me, Kisa,” I pushed.
She nodded against my shoulder. “I promise, Tal. And … thank you,” she whispered.
With both hands on her shoulders, I pushed her back to stare her straight in the eyes. “You’re my sister, Kisa. That was true even before you married my brother. It’s been me and you, always. Sisters ‘til the end.”
Kisa wiped a stray tear that had fallen and she waved her hands at me in a shooing motion. “Go. Get on the road to avoid traffic. Rest. Eat lots of chocolate and, most importantly, have some fun. We don’t have enough fun round these parts.”
I let out a single laugh. “I’ve got to tell my father I’m off first. My mama knows the score, we’ve planned it together, but we figured suddenly surprising my father that I’m taking a break would go over better than giving him time to talk me out of it. You know he’ll try and guilt me into staying.”
Kisa chuckled and said, “I’ve always envied you, Tal. You do what you want, when you want. I could never do that. I was too busy trying to be the perfect Russian daughter.” She huffed to herself. “For all the damn good it did me.”
I sobered at Kisa’s compliment, and something down deep caused me to confess, “I wouldn’t envy me too much, Kisa. I may live on my own terms more than most in this life, but you’ve got the one thing I’d give anything to have. Sacrifice anything to have.”
“What’s that?” Kisa asked, her face now confused.
I fought a lump in my throat. “Love. You’ve got someone who adores you probably more than you do him. I’m on my own, have always been on my own. I’d give anything to have that soul-shattering type of love. But how that’ll happen in this life is beyond me. Who the hell’s going to date the daughter of a Bratva boss?”
Kisa’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Tal—”
I held up my hand. “Shit. I’m talking nonsense.” I paused, then forced a smile. “I’d better go, Kisa. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
I left the office before Kisa could say anything more, all the time rubbing the dull ache of loneliness in my chest that my little confession had brought on.
I needed this break.
I’d earned this break.
I wanted to be normal.
I wanted to be plain old normal Talia from Brooklyn, if only for a little while.
Chapter Three
Luka
My body ached from lack of sleep, but I forced myself out of bed. Kirill, the Pakhan, had told me I had to be in his office this afternoon. He was meeting with the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra, the Italian Mafia here in New York. Kirill wanted me to meet all the bosses at a neutral location; he wanted to introduce me as the Bratva’s future leader. He said he wanted them to see me in person. He’d smiled when he’d informed me of that. Said he couldn’t wait to see the fear on their faces when they saw the future of the Volkovs enter the room.
Walking to my side of the closet in the bedroom I shared with Kisa, I pulled out one of the damn designer suits I had to wear whenever I was on Bratva business. Minutes later, I looked in the bathroom mirror as I straightened my tie and my hands dropped to my sides. I felt like I was going fucking crazy. Every nightmare was of me killing 362, of his brown eyes glazing over with death. Most of my days were spent trying to find out who he was, where he’d come from, and so far I’d come up with nothing.
Turning from the mirror, I made my way downstairs to find Mikhail, my personal guard, and head of the byki, waiting in my town car.
Without speaking, he drove me straight to Kirill Volkov’s house. I stepped out and strode into the huge hallway, heading toward his office. When I was just outside the door, I heard my father and Kisa’s voices coming from inside. But just as I was about to enter, their hushed conversation brought me to an abrupt halt.
“Have you discovered something about 362? Have your leads brought in new information?” Kisa asked.
There was silence in response, and my heart began to pound. My hand tightened on the doorknob when my father cleared his throat.
“We’ve known for several months about 362’s identity, Kisa.”
“What?” Kisa whispered in shock. “Months? Yet you haven’t told Luka?”
“It’s a delicate situation, Kisa,” my father spoke, “one that’s recently arrived at our door. And we can’t make an already bad situation worse”—I heard a chair creak—“especially not for him. Not for 362.” My father spoke “him” and “362” like they were poison in his mouth.
“I don’t understand. I don’t … what?” Kisa mumbled. “Who is 362?”
My father then replied coldly, “He was a Kostava.”
Kisa must have reacted to that name, as my father then added, “It’s true, Kisa. Of all the people, of all the families in the world, the one man who finds my son in hell and befriends him, is a fucking Kostava.”
The conversation came to a stop, but all I could focus on was that they knew. They’d known all this time who 362 was. And they’d fucking kept it from me.
Feeling a surge of anger rip through me, I slammed my shoulder into the door and burst into the room. Kirill was beside his desk, my father and Kisa sat before him.
All three turned to me as I stood in the entrance of the office, my nostrils flaring with the intensity of my erratic and rapid breathing.
“Luka—” Kisa whispered, her face white. But I ignored it, my gaze fully focused on my father.
“You’ve known all this time?” I thundered. I stormed forward until I towered over him. I almost cooled when I saw a flicker of fear run through his brown eyes, but then I reminded myself he’d kept information from me. Information I desperately wanted.
Kisa touched my arm, but I wrenched it free from her light grasp. “No! Don’t!” I snapped at my wife, and looked back at my father and Kirill. “I want to hear this from their fucking mouths! I want to hear why they kept this from me. Why they didn’t tell me the only fucking thing I’ve ever asked of them!”
My father held out his hand. “Luka—”
But I was too far gone. A pained roar ripped up my throat. Moving to the desk, I gripped the edge with both hands, and flipped it on its side.
“Luka!” Kisa screamed, but I’d already begun to pace, feelings of betrayal making me lose my fucking mind.
My feet pounded the floor as I ran my hands through my hair. “For months you told me you didn’t fucking know!”
My father shot to his feet and I turned to stare into his face. “I killed him! I fucking killed him!” I held out my hands to my father. “With these two fucking hands. I murdered him. I murdered him—”
“To save me,” Kisa interrupted. My eyes immediately fixed on hers. I stepped forward and Kirill got out of his seat. He edged toward Kisa, like he didn’t want me to get near his daughter. That only pissed me off more. Kisa nodded at her father and he backed the fuck off.
Kisa reached out to cup my face. My rigid body relaxed as my wife’s palm connected with my hot skin. “Calm, baby. Listen to your papa.”
Kisa pushed her fingers through her hair. My eyes squeezed shut as I breathed slowly and steadily through my lips.
When my eyes opened again, Kisa glanced to my father’s tense face, then back to me. “Luka. 362. He was a Kostava.”
A thick fog clouded my mind as she spoke those words. A Kostava? I had no idea what that meant, who that was. The name didn’t mean anything to me.
Kisa’s forehead dropped to mine. “Luka—”
“I don’t understand…,” I whispered, my head beginning to ache from trying to remember something, anything, about that fucking name.
“You don’t understand?” Kisa questioned, her blue eyes glistening with worry.
“I don’t understand why him being a Kos … Kos…”
“Kostava,” she offered.
I nodded my head. “A Kostava is so bad.” I glanced down, wracking my brain. “I don’t remember why it’s bad.” My stomach tensed with anger. I knew I should’ve known this, but the memory just wasn’t there for me to find.
“I should know this, right, solnyshko?” I asked Kisa.
“Your memories are still in pieces.” Kisa stroked my hair. “Don’t worry. We can explain. We can tell you the family history that’s been lost.”
I nodded, feeling like a million needles were running over my hot skin. I looked to my father and saw him curse. When I faced Kisa again, her blue eyes were boring into mine. My hand lifted to run down her face. “Tell me,” I begged, “tell me about him, please.…”
Clasping my hand, she entwined her fingers through mine. With a squeeze of her hand, she led me to take a seat. When she tried to sit beside me, I pulled her down onto my lap instead. As soon as she was in my arms I relaxed.
As Kisa’s eyes stayed glued to mine, she pressed a soothing kiss on my cheek. Kisa faced Ivan. “Ivan, I think it’s best if you explain this.”
I listened to every word out of my father’s mouth. Every part of the story in fine detail. I learned about the Kostavas. Fractured pieces of my family’s history were suddenly put into place. But all I could hear, all I could focus on was that 362 finally had a life to me. I knew where he came from, who he was, who his family were. But more important …
“He has a name,” I whispered into the room as my father finished explaining why they’d kept 362’s identity from me. Kisa’s hand landed on my cheek and I glanced up, repeating, “362 has a name.” I took a deep breath and said, “Anri. His name was Anri Kostava.” My eyes closed just hearing his name said aloud. Then they snapped open when something else my father said hit home.
“He was a twin. Anri had a twin brother.”
In a flash, I stood, placing Kisa back on the seat, and began pacing. My mind was instantly focused, my will, driven. “What was his brother called? What was Anri’s twin brother’s name?”
My father watched me carefully. He didn’t say the name, until my gaze narrowed, daring him to keep that piece of information from me.
“Zaal. Zaal Kostava,” my father said reluctantly. I nodded, committing that name to memory.
“And where is he now? A gulag? Is he alive and fighting to the death in a fucking prison too?” Silence roared in my ears as my father refused to divulge Zaal’s situation. Bones burning, I turned to the nearest wall, and sent my fist straight into a large mirror, shattering the glass to the floor. I swerved and glared at the Pakhan and my father. Pointing a bloodied finger at their faces, I snarled, “You will tell me where he is! I need to know this.”
My father stood and approached me. “Luka. Stop!” he boomed, and I froze. My jaw clenched as I fought to rein back my rage.
“Tell me!” I growled in a guttural voice.
My father stood strong, his expression ice-cold. “This family will never help a Kostava,” he replied grimly. “No son of mine will ever help one of them.”
“Then Zaal is alive?” Kisa said from across the room. My father’s shoulders tensed.
That was a fucking hell yes. Hope sprung in my chest.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“Luka—”
“Where is he!” I turned and paced once again. “I don’t give a fuck who he is to us. Zaal is the brother of the man who saved my life. The man I had to kill because fucking Alik Durov threw him into the cage to kill me! When he should have been free!”
I stopped right before my father, and pushed, “Now tell me where he is. Now.”
My father’s shoulders slumped and he glanced back to Kirill. The Pakhan raised his eyebrow and sat forward, catching my attention. “We have no solid proof, Luka. But our sources have reports of a man Jakhua has in his clan.” The Pakhan laughed a humorless laugh. “I say a man. More a savage fighting dog, really, from what I gather. A man conditioned to Levan Jakhua’s every command. Drugged to kill. A mountain of a man Jakhua has experimented on for so many years he’s lost all humanity. He is insane, unsalvageable. A prototype, a demonstration of some obedience drug he’s started to sell on the black market.” Kirill’s face hardened. “Started to sell to other crime organizations in my fucking city. Just one of many reasons his pitiful mob needs to be squashed.”
My muscles seized with anger. Zaal had been experimented on until he’d gone insane. A forced killer. Just like me and Anri had been. But he was alive. He was still fucking alive.
In an instant, a decision was made.
Suddenly stepping up to my father, I said, “I’m going in to the Georgian stronghold to get him. I’m getting Anri’s brother out from that piece of shit Jakhua.”
My father’s nostrils flared and his face dropped, filling with redness. “Never. No Tolstoi will ever help a Kostava!”
I stepped even closer to my father, my chest brushing against his, staring him down. “Anri wasn’t a Kostava to me,” I informed pointedly. “His family name means fuck all to me. You need to get that straight, right now.” I pointed to Kisa without looking away. “He freed me from that gulag so I could reunite with my family and marry my wife.” I inhaled slowly, and added, “I promised 362 retribution as he died. And I will honor him by saving his brother and slaughtering those who captured him.”
My father’s cheek twitched. “You go in, and you’ll start a war with the Georgians.”
I walked over to Kisa and nudged my head toward the door. Kisa followed me to the exit without question. I then turned back to my father and Kirill. “Jakhua came back to Brooklyn to take us all down, we know this to be the truth. The fucking war’s already begun. Me going in for Zaal just speeds up the conflict’s beginning.”
As I turned the doorknob, my father said, “I’ll gather our best men to help you. I won’t see you killed over this. But if you get that Kostava scum out of there alive, take him the fuck away from me and Brooklyn. Or I’ll kill him myself. I never want to lay my eyes on that family ever again.”
I nodded my head once. “Understood.”
With that, Kisa and I left the room. Kisa, clearly seeing the look of determination in my eyes, reached down and took my hand.
I wrapped my fingers through hers, then drew to a complete stop. She cupped my cheek. “What is it, lyubov moya?”
Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead to hers. “I’ll kill him, Kisa. If I get a chance, I’ll slaughter Jakhua in Anri’s honor.”
I could see the sadness on Kisa’s face. She never wanted me to kill again. But it was who I was. I just wasn’t sure if she’d ever be okay with this side of me.
“I know you will,” she said quietly.
I closed my eyes and exhaled in relief. As they opened again, I whispered, “I love you, solnyshko.”
“I have you, Luka. Whatever you need, I have you … always,” Kisa said in return, then kissed me on my lips.
