15. Emil
EMIL
“Blood! So much fucking blood!” I hear Fia wail from upstairs before I even have both feet inside of the house.
Luka regards me from the kitchen, a concerned look plastered across his face.
“Fuck,” I grunt, rushing down the hallway. “Has she been like this all night?”
“Thankfully, you came back at the right time,” says Luka. “She’s starting again.”
“What was she doing before?”
“Screaming.”
“Bylat.”
“Blood! Get it off me!”
I clench my jaw, rushing upstairs, barreling straight into the room. The screaming reaches an abrupt halt as soon as I enter.
“Are you okay?”
Fia pants, terror dripping from her eyes. Her face is coated in a thick layer of sweat, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m… not sure yet.”
“What were you dreaming about?”
“Is it true that I was almost killed?”
Bylat.
“Speak to me, Emil, oh my god. This isn’t the time to be stoic.”
I rake a hand through my hair, sitting on the edge of the bed, desperate to tear this suit off and nap for a few hours after being awake all night. But there is no rest for the wicked.
“Yes,” I answer. “It’s true. You were almost killed,” I say, catching her terrified eyes. “What else happened in the vision?”
“You saved me,” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
“After you fucking decimated the attacker.”
“He gave me no other choice, sweetheart. He was about to kill you.”
“Why?”
“Like I said before, you’re too curious for your own good.”
“I don’t understand,” says Fia, blinking away the confusion. “Why was I wandering around the dockyard in the middle of the night?”
“Searching for answers. The time of day is irrelevant. Once you set your mind to something, you develop tunnel vision and struggle to rest until you’ve put your curiosity at ease, which is why you’ve come close to death several times.”
“Several times?” she repeats.
“Yes,” I sigh. “You were almost taken out by a car, Fia.”
“Yeah,” she says absent-mindedly, glancing at her palms. She fiddles with her fingernails, looking anywhere but my face.
“Tell me what else happened.”
“I remembered you warning me about visiting that place, but for some reason, the docks have always called my name. There was a feeling I struggled to shake off, like I needed to get to the bottom of something.”
The man who almost killed her was a Kuzmin hitman.
The family had docked in Seattle, being a pain in the fucking ass as usual.
I never told Fia we were in conflict with them because she had no business knowing.
Knowledge gets people killed in this industry and she was the single person on this earth I wanted to protect.
I stare at her. Usually, I have no trouble getting into her head, but the pages are glued together today, making it impossible for me to read her.
“How did the dream end?”
Fia frowns, confusion obscuring her vision as she interprets the vision. “You told me I’m not leaving your sight ever again,” she says, gaze still focused on her palms. “And then there was so much fucking blood. I felt like I was swimming in it.”
“Yes,” I say. “The man got what he deserved.”
“You dismembered a body to save me,” she states, finally returning to my face.
“Believe me, spitfire, I’d do a lot more than that.”
Lines appear between her brows as she regards me from the bed.
“Luka said you were screaming earlier. What was that about?”
Fia’s lips part as she interprets my question, like I’m missing the hidden meaning underneath. “That was… nothing. Just a recurring dream, not a vision.” She deflects the spotlight. “You were gone all night.”
“You missed me?”
“No,” she says, snorting. “Not when you’re repeatedly out stabbing men in the chest.”
“Unfortunately, there were no deaths tonight.”
“No,” says Fia. “Just more keeping secrets.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Alexander Kuzmin,” she states, poison filling her eyes. “I’m not a child, Emil. You can tell me what’s going on.”
“And risk you being killed?” I shake my head. “Ignorance is bliss.”
“No, it’s cruel. I’m your wife, living under your roof, carrying your two children, and you can’t even tell me the truth.”
“I’m protecting?—”
“Sure,” she drawls. “Like you actually give a fuck about me. You’re afraid of losing me.”
“Of course I’m afraid of losing you.”
“That’s not love,” Fia states, looking at my face blankly.
My chest tenses. Love crashes over you unapologetically, without warning. Love is a feeling, a card you’re dealt with.
My love for Fia didn’t fit the other cards in my deck.
I was dealt it out of nowhere, unsure what to make of the feeling.
Running a Bratva and being in love is like being dealt the King and the deuce.
For the first year I met Fia, I spent my days resenting both her, myself and the world for making me feel such weakness.
She was a problem, and I had to take care of that problem strategically, waiting for an opening to drop the low card so I could focus on my other higher cards.
But every time I stalked her, kidnapped her; every time she came close to reporting my suspicious behavior to her boss, something switched.
I wanted to keep the card. She was everything I’d never seen in a woman before.
She was grounded in her beliefs, sticking up for what she believed in, never changing, even when the odds were against her.
She went from being a deuce to a king—the most important part of my life.
Where my mother and sister both died, letting circumstances get the better of them, Fia remained stubborn and strong, proving to me that she could survive…
Until she prioritized answers over her own life, like she valued work more than her own life.
It was like I was standing in front of a mirror, staring at myself, my own insecurities coming to light. She shone a flashlight on everything that was wrong, encouraging me to become more like a man, less like a monster.
“There’s more than one definition of what it means to be in love, sweetheart,” I tell Fia. “And what I have with you is real…”
Until she falls asleep tonight and connects the pieces, finishing the rest of the dream when I force her into marriage after she was almost killed.
I saved her from herself, but she’ll never see it that way.
My phone buzzes. I break eye contact with Fia, checking my phone. Alexander Kuzmin has surprised me with a text message.
What a delightful way to start the day, attending a ceasefire meeting with a man who, for years, has failed to call it quits with me.
“Who is it?”
“Alexander Kuzmin wants to arrange a meeting with me,” I tell Fia, rising from the bed.
“You should go. Perhaps you’ll figure out which one of your men is leaking information to him,” she says, winking.
I grind my jaw, leaving her alone in the bedroom. Luka needs to give it a fucking rest and stop telling her all of this information.
I return downstairs to see him sipping coffee over the island, nonchalantly flipping through a newspaper.
I slam both hands down on the table, catching his eye. “Congratulations. You’re on your way to putting Fia in another coma.”
“How’d you draw that conclusion?”
“The more she knows, the more interested she becomes. I’m dizzy from how many times I’ve been going around in circles, reminding her of this point. Now I’m having to lecture you.”
“No lecture needed, bratan. I understand.”
“Do you?” I lean in across the island. “Fia works as a financial forensics investigator. And now she has amnesia, which means she’s putting her skills to the test even more than before, determined for answers. She’s my wife, five months fucking pregnant. Stay out of my relationship."
“Believe me, bratan, I have no interest in breaking up your relationship, but Fia was looking lost.”
“I pay you for business guidance, not for help with my personal life. I’ll be the judge of what Fia needs as her husband,” I say, stealing Luka’s coffee, necking the rest of it. Returning the cup to the saucer, I look back into his eyes. “In other news, Alexander has asked me to meet him.”
“Which confirms he’s back in Seattle,” says Luka, the corner of his mouth twitching. “What does the bastard want?”
“My empire, but he’s wanted that for years. The man is like Teflon—nothing ever sticks with him. If he was powerful enough, he would already have my Bratva.”
“Things can change, bratan. We all need to stay alert.”
“If he wants my dockyard, then he shall have it,” I say, pushing away from the table, “when I pin his dead body to the lookout tower and watch the birds fight over his flesh.”
“What is the purpose of this meeting?”
“He’s calling for a ceasefire.”
Luka frowns, crossing his arms over the table. “That sounds very unlike him.”
“Exactly.” I cross the kitchen, grabbing my sharpest kitchen knife and sheathing it under my belt, patting the area. “I’ll have the truth extracted from him in no time.”
I return to the dockyard, gulls cawing as they perch on the top of cranes.
A cold wind blows through the expanse, strong enough to shift metal. Old cables clang, accompanied by the sounds of howling wind, giving the place an eerie edge.
Not much these days causes the hairs on my arm to stand on end. Shoving my knife into warm flesh brings me joy, not suffering, but the thought of my late father’s spirit floating through this place gives me the creeps, as he witnesses me save a woman and turn a blind eye to business.
Balancing the two is possible, until it comes to a situation like this where both are on the line.
I maneuver around warehouses and rusted shipping containers, left abandoned for decades, and head up to the operations room where Alexander Kuzmin has asked me to meet him, not like this is my dockyard or anything…
I slip into the elevator, the old mechanics screeching as it spits me out at the top of the watch tower.
Wind shudders the glass panes, teasing the highly vulnerable infrastructure. Not only is this tower incredibly high, but its foundations are also older than time itself.
“What an honor,” starts Alexander, turning around in the seat he has decided to help himself to.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I say, stepping into the room.