Page 21

I sauntered almost aimlessly around the house, going nowhere but enjoying the feel of everywhere at the same time. With one hand placed protectively over my small baby bump, I stretched the other one out to caress a monochrome painting hanging up on the wall. The artwork depicted a serene but dark landscape, a withering tree at its center with gnarled branches stretched toward the sky, its dead leaves shimmering in coated black and silver. Surrounding the tree, rolling hills met a horizon of silver moonlight. It was sad and beautiful but looked out of place in the midst of nothing else but a vast, empty wall. And being drawn to the masterpiece, there was an instant connection.

Years ago, I never would have thought I’d be the girl with the complicated life story, where her own brother would kidnap her to save her, or where she’d be married to one of the leaders of the Russian mob and be expecting his child. Undoubtedly, it was still a hard truth to digest, but even as I moved past the painting and wandered down the hallway, I knew I’d come to terms with my current reality. And the scarier part was that I didn’t want to change it.

Even if it meant having to patiently wait, possibly for eternity, until my husband and brother formed a respectable and cordial relationship. Enzo Colombo was still being held captive God-knows-where. Timur vehemently refused to tell me, claiming he didn’t want to have me worried about unimportant things that did not concern me when, in truth, I knew he withheld that information to stop me from snooping around. But my brother….

Since the showdown, I hadn’t seen him, and all Timur offered were assurances that he wasn’t hurt. Not that he was fine ; he just wasn’t…hurt.

I’d seen the look in his eyes when he walked past Jay. He wanted to kill him but restrained himself because of me. But I was one hundred percent certain that if I wasn’t in that room, and Timur was given even the slightest chance to teach my brother a lesson, he would have made the best use of the time as he always did.

I was glad he didn’t

Testing each door I passed while heading deeper into the long-stretched, none of the door handles budged under my grasp except one. Pausing, I held my breath and tried again. The tall wooden frame creaked under its weight while it slowly swung open. I poked my head through the gap. Everything about its lavender walls, dusty sheets, and antique furniture said I shouldn’t come in.

But I wanted to, and so I did.

Shutting the door behind me, I ambled closer to the old dresser in the corner of the room, carefully raising the dusty cloth above it to peek underneath. It had drawers, and when I grasped one of them, the handle gave way, falling to the ground with a low thunk .

“Oops.”

Grinning sheepishly, I tried another one. This time, it smoothly rolled out, revealing three big black books with hardcovers. I picked one up, turning it to the sides for closer inspection. When a colored square paper slipped out of it, I realized it wasn’t just any book but a photo album.

Picking the paper from the floor, I suppressed a gasp. Finding a photo album of anything in Timur Yezhov’s house was a big deal, especially when he had a photograph on the front page.

I backed away from the dresser, scooting closer toward the edge of the bed, eager to see more inside. I’d barely wiped off all the dust from the edge of the bedframe when the creaking of the door and sudden movement startled me. Accidentally, I’d dropped the album to calm my racing heart.

“Oh, my God! Klavdia!”

“Mrs. Yezhov.” She crossed the room, her eyes narrowing at the black book now sunk in dusty sheets. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve already told you to call me Serena.”

Her eyes narrowed even more, if it was possible, and she completely ignored my statement. “You’re not supposed to be here.” As always, she wore her stern face, with her head held high in a sleek bun, not a hair out of place. Guardedly, she smoothened a crease on her skirt, straightening as she picked the album up from the bed and waved a disapproving hand at me. “The master would be upset if he finds out you were here.”

Like any normal person, Klavdia had her days when she’d be more annoying than usual, and today was probably one of them. While I had the option of muttering a curt, half-hearted apology and returning to the master bedroom, my curiosity and fanned desire to delve deeper into Timur’s past forced my chin up defiantly.

“The master in question is my husband, and he has never forbidden me from doing anything or going anywhere in this house. As you have clearly noticed, I am his wife, not his prisoner. So, you will hand me that book right now and not say a word to him about my coming here.”

“Mrs.—”

“Right now, Klavdia. And you will call me Serena.”

There was a moment of hesitation before she reluctantly handed me the album with a heavy sigh. I wasn’t sure what the sigh was for; my head was still spinning in the euphoria of the brief but triumphant moment. I’d never before had to exert that much intimidation or authority to get anything in the house. As far as I was concerned, that was my husband’s role. Now, I’d done it, and though a tiny part of me felt awful for speaking roughly to the woman, who was old enough to be my mother, I was satisfied.

She knotted her fingers together and cleared her throat, staring at me with a sober expression I’d never seen on her before; her gaze flickered to the book and back to my face. “There is a reason this room is isolated.”

Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair. I shouldn’t have been mad at her for just doing her job. “I guessed that much.” I raised the album. “He doesn’t talk about it, about anything. And it’s not…. I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, but he knows more about me than I do about him. Sometimes, it’ll be nice to know I’m married to an actual person and not someone who could have been carved out of stone, for all we know.”

Klavdia surprised me with a chuckle, as hoarse and unfamiliar as it was. “Go on, open it.”

My eyes lingered on the book, and my heart swelled with anticipation. “You’re sure?”

“No.” She shook her head, a small smile dancing on her lips. “You’re not sure, either, but you’re going to open it either way.”

She was right. Mingled in that anticipation and curiosity was a tiny mix of fear at what I might discover hidden in those memories. It thrilled and terrified me at the same time, but I was going to open it either way.

Sucking in air through clenched teeth, I sat on the foot of the bed and steadied my fingers between the pages of the album.

“Here goes….”

And I opened it.

My eyes widened, and my jaw hung agape in shock. Although pictures of young Timur were plastered on every page, he looked different, more like the actual person I wanted to know. He was bubbling with cheesy smiles, life in his eyes, and so much hair on his head—a sharp contrast with the muscled man I knew today.

“I don’t—I don’t believe it.”

Klavdia’s voice floated around me, filling the spaces of silence as I flipped the pages. “The master would never talk about it, about his past, because it is the one thing he wants buried the most. At least, the part after his childhood was taken away from him.”

Startled, my eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

The smile on her lips was long gone, now replaced with a frown that expressed more than her words were willing to let on. “I’ve worked long enough for this family to know that you would be wasting your precious time if you ever expect him to engage you in a heart-to-heart talk about his family. When he was younger, he was lively, playful, human. He, his brother, Rafayel, and their cousins never hesitated to be adorable little rascals. That was until their father thought they’d had enough of being young and eager to explore the world. I’m sorry to use such colorful language to describe a man who was my employer, but…that man was an animal, a cruel bastard that deserved to rot in the depths of hell for the trauma and pains he put his sons through.”

Unable to concentrate on the photos any longer, I closed the book. My heart was heavy, and I’d not even heard the full story yet, but I’d taught children, raised them, and loved them like they were my own. The thought of causing any one of them harm made a wave of nausea wash over me, and the look of disgust on the old maid’s face as she spoke about Timur’s father left my imagination running wild in the worst possible ways.

“Did he….” I swallowed, barely able to find my voice, and when I did, it was merely a whisper. “Did he physically hurt them?”

“Hurt them?” Klavdia’s laughter was harsh, biting, and regretful. “That man destroyed what was left of their souls. He broke them, shattered their hearts to pieces to make sure they’d grow up without one. Most days, when he’d be raving mad in the house, looking for an outlet to vent, he’d pounce on Rafa, the younger one, but Timur would try to fight him off, offering to take the blows and beatings instead. One of those horrible days, during a heavy rainstorm, he had his men drag Timur to the old study in the house where he took care of his captives.”

I didn’t bother to ask her what she meant by “took care of;” the meaning was all over her face.

“I’d seen them when the men took them out of the car in the parking lot: a mother, father, and a teenage girl. She was around Timur’s age then. Under the rain, I snuck around the hidden passages and caught Rafayel watching through the cracks. The screams were terrifying, and the sound of gunfire continued echoing through every wall that night. Timur walked out of that room with blood on his clothes and splashes on his face, deadly silent. Till today, only he and his brother know the exact details of what went down in that study. But I know his father made him watch the torture and forced him to sit through it while he murdered that young girl and her parents. The only evidence that he was there was the incessant nightmares he battled with every night afterward. Rainy days only made it worse. All that man cared about was having his sons rise in the ranks, becoming top leaders in the Bratva. And he succeeded in making Timur the man he wanted him to become: successful, powerful, ruthless, and vain.”

I remembered what he’d said to me that night about their father.

My father wasn’t crazy about children. I believe he probably wouldn’t have given a fuck if he had none. If he did, he might have…. My brother and I would have had a better parent.

Considering the gravity of Klavdia’s confession, Timur had been putting it very mildly for my sake. Everything made sense now: the scars on his body, his hatred for the rain, the reason he acted like a monster to others.

I wanted to throw up all the contents in my stomach until there was nothing left.

How could a father do that to his own sons?

I wanted to cry for him, wishing I could do something to turn back the hands of time and restore his childhood. I wished that maybe, just maybe, I could have a chance to reignite the happiness in him before he was robbed of his humanity. I had a hard time believing that Timur had to endure such horrible tortures when he was young.

“Until now.”

The sound of hope in Klavdia’s voice reeled me back to the present, and I stared at her through a blurry vision. Distracted, I blinked back tears, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands. “Until now, what?”

“He has not had a single nightmare since your arrival in this house, and I think I am the best person to bear witness that there’s been a lot of changes as well. Before you came, I’m afraid, he was more like his father than the man you see today. Oh, my, his temper…. You didn’t want to be anywhere close to him. Such a short fuse he had. But he’s changing now….”

“Changing?” I wasn’t quite following. The Timur I’d gotten to know was intimidating enough to condone, and she was saying he was, what, worse?

“Yes.” She nodded. “Everyone around here has noticed the way he looks at you—it’s softer, gentler, more considerate. Where you’re concerned, he’s not rash. He even smiles.” She laughed. “There was a joke that used to fly around here; whenever the master smiled or laughed, it meant someone was in the worst trouble, and whoever they were would most definitely not come out unscathed. But not you. With you, he tries to be genuine and more present than I think he would ever admit to himself.”

Despite the welling tears in my eyes, a blush reached my cheeks, and I used the moment to appreciate what the others recognized as rare and priceless.

Klavdia made a curt move with her head, smiling slowly. “In summary, Serena, I know your level of discipline and moral standing might make you disagree, and that’s fine. Timur is not necessarily a bad person. By ill-fated luck, he just happens to be a Yezhov.”

With that, she turned around on her heels and left me alone in the heavy silence.

Holding a photograph of a happy Timur, my mind went back to the lonely painting on the wall. When I’d seen it, I thought I was the withering tree surrounded by the darkness and silver moonlight, but now, looking at his beaming face, it was clearer. That tree was Timur. He’d suffered so much, and I couldn’t help but believe he might have had a different life if he had a choice. This violence, the bloodshed, and the spread of only evil that seemed to have taken root in his heart were all because he was born into this and wasn’t allowed to choose.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I clapped the book shut and stomped out of the room. I might have had high moral standings and discipline, but I wasn’t going to give up. I wasn’t just going to sit back and deceive myself into thinking all hope was lost. If Klavdia was right, and there was a slim chance that Timur had a soft spot for me, I was determined to take advantage of it and prove to him that he did have a choice. He didn’t have to live his life based on the haunting shadows of the past. I was right here, by his side, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

Just one chance.

All I needed was one chance to hug him, kiss him, and whisper into his ears:

You are not alone.