Ravage

She smiled when she saw me watching her hands. “It’s strange, but I can’t stop touching it.”

Her kind voice set me at ease, and I found myself asking, “How far along are you?”

“Six months,” she said. I could hear the excitement in her voice.

I turned to look out of the window, envious that this woman was so content with her life. Then Kisa said, “I understand why you’re angry, Zoya.” I stiffened, not wanting to hear it, but she pressed on, “I really do. I would never dare patronize or fail to see why you are so angry with Zaal. With Talia. With us all.” I tensed, but she continued, “Our families have had a horrid past; there’s no shying away from this fact. I get that you’re still living it, every single day.”

I looked at Kisa, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, all I saw was openness and understanding in her eyes. Leaning forward, she shifted her body toward me. “I was there when Talia told us she was in love with Zaal. And it wasn’t easy for her, either. She loved her babushka very much, and believe me, Talia hated your father for ordering the death of her dedushka. His widow was the woman Talia deemed to be her best friend. A woman she had not long lost.

“She fought her attraction to Zaal out of respect for her deceased family, but in the end, neither of them could fight their love. Zaal warred over his family’s—your family’s—memory and honor. But he was so alone, so confused, and very much in love with a forbidden woman. It wasn’t easy for anyone. Even my father-in-law, at first, could not bring himself to welcome your brother into the family—for exactly the same reason you refuse to accept Talia. But he has warmed to your brother, immensely. He now believes that it is not fair to continue to hold a grudge against the son of the wronged man. Or vice versa, as I’m sure you view it.”

“Right now, I find I can’t move past it,” I admitted after quiet seconds of reflection. My throat thickened, and I said, “It’s my family. The family I never got to know because they were taken from me. Brutally. And the worst thing is, I remember it all. I may have been young, but I remember it all. The smell of the blood, the stench of burning from the bullets cutting through flesh. Zaal was my hero. I cannot help but feel betrayed.”

Kisa cautiously reached out to lay her hand in mine. “Zoya, Talia is my best friend, and one of the best people I know. She loves Zaal with a fierceness I didn’t believe possible in my friend. And I also have come to know Zaal—the Zaal as he is now. He is quiet and reserved; he barely speaks. I know this is because he lives every day with the same sorrow and pain you do.” She squeezed my hand. “For your family. For not remembering his twin … for losing the little sister he talks of at every opportunity.”

My eyes filled with tears and I rasped, “He does?”

Kisa smiled softly and she nodded her head. “I feel I know you already, even though we have just met.”

Her sentiment warmed my heart. “I’m not sure I can move past it. How do I move past him marrying the enemy? How can I move past him imprisoning the man I love?”

Kisa shrugged. “You forgive, Zoya.”

“That easily?”

Kisa sighed. “Believe me, Zoya, my life, Talia’s life, has been filled with heartache, too, through people similar to those that took Zaal and your family away from you. One day I will tell you about it. But I found that if I did not forgive the past I wasted the new chance at life I have been awarded with lyubov moya.” Her eyes met mine. “The new chance we all have been given. You survived. Zaal survived. And you have both found your way to each other, right now, here in Brooklyn, far from your native land. I refuse to believe it is mere coincidence.”

I had taken a long deep breath, absorbing what she had said, when she added, “I’ll stop talking now, but I want you to know one thing. I was there when Zaal got news of you. That you were alive. It was as though the heaviest of burdens had been lifted from his shoulders. Before the news of your survival he would get lost in his head. Talia was the only person who could lead him out of the darkness. I always felt so sad for him.

“Then when we discovered you had been taken he changed. Gone was the quiet reserved giant, and born was a fierce leader. He gathered your people, those protecting you here in New York, and asked them to pledge their loyalty.” Kisa paused, then said emphatically, “Zoya, he took on the mantle of Lideri to your people for one reason only—to bring you home. Because you are home.

“Zaal had refused the title of Lideri until that day. Knowing you were out there somewhere, alive, awoke something within him. If you want us, Zoya, we are your family. And we will love you as hard as we do each other.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t respond to what she had said. All I could imagine was Zaal standing in front of our people, tall and strong, leading them on his own. It was always meant to be both Anri and Zaal standing there, leading our people side by side, but Zaal had taken on the role of Lideri, by himself, for me.

Just like my Zaal of old would have done.

My head flopped back against the leather seat, and I closed my eyes. In my mind I saw how lovingly he looked at Talia. How Talia defended him when I was angry. And I knew Kisa was right. Talia loved him deeply despite him being a Kostava.

My anger washed away. I felt tired. Tired of harboring hate. Tired of pain and heartache. And I so wanted to see Valentin’s face.

I wanted my beautiful monster.

As the streets passed by in a blur, I smiled to myself at Kisa’s hand still lying on top of mine. Inhaling, I asked quietly, “You are to be the Pakhan’s wife one day, aren’t you? Luka, he will be the Bratva boss?”

Kisa’s fingers twitched as she said, “Yes. Someday.”

I smiled wider this time. “You’ll be a good leader to your people, Kisa. Someone to look up to and admire. Someone to confide in and trust. A strong woman for other wives to emulate.”

A breath hitched in Kisa’s chest. I slowly rolled my head against the headrest to face her. Her shocked pretty face was locked on mine, and her eyes glistened in the glow of passing streetlights.

“Thank you,” she whispered, sincerity lacing her sweet tone.

Looking out of the window once more, I sighed. “It’s true. You are exactly what a pakhan’s wife should be. Luka should be very proud to have you by his side.”