Chapter 8
EIGHT
IGOR
THE PAST
Julian’s eighteenth birthday
June is always so freaking hot on Kalliste.
My armpits are damp as I peruse the scene in front of me.
It makes me self-conscious. I hate it. I hate it mostly because it makes me fidget, and even though Pietro wouldn’t beat me up for showing weakness, my father would have.
His lessons were so hard learnt, even two years without them didn’t erase the apprehension of his fist on my face.
He’s dead now, and can never touch me. Pietro told me yesterday.
He looked at me with compassion in his green eyes as he said it, but all I felt was relief.
He can never hurt Misha. Or me. Or this family I’ve come to really like.
Rumour has it that my brother did it, choking him with his bare hands under the watchful eye of the Pakhan, who sanctioned it.
Good. I wish I could thank my brother, but I didn’t dare ask Pietro.
I never want to abuse the kindness of my…
fuck, I don’t even know how to call him. My employer, I guess.
I pull on the collar of my white dress shirt, then immediately drop my hands down as though the skin on skin contact burnt me. I need to curb these outward evidence of what I like and dislike. I don’t want anyone to use them against me.
On the corner of the feast table, someone left a pack of cigarettes.
I look around but no one pays me any mind as I take one from the pack and flag a server for a lighter.
The hit of nicotine burns my lungs as it goes in.
I almost cough. It’s its own test. I hold it in, then exhale the blue smoke, and clear my throat, before taking another drag.
The smell is harsh, yet familiar. I shouldn’t want to have anything to do with a father who beat me bloody and starved me.
As I bring the cigarette to my mouth though, it’s almost like something settles inside me.
This deep longing for a home that never was, maybe.
It could just be addiction at work already, I don’t know.
My hands stop shaking. My shoulders drop. And the acrid taste at the back of my throat is a subtle punishment for enjoying living with the Morettis.
I look at the cigarette, half burnt in my hand.
It will be a good tool.
I pocket the whole pack.
The party set in the Bartoli gardens is something straight out of a movie.
The long table dressed in white holds platters upon platters of finger food, and servers in formal attire serve the best champagne and wine to the hundreds of guests who came for Julian’s birthday.
They all seem to be bearing the heat better than I do, laughing, sunglasses covering their eyes from the early evening sun.
I didn’t even know Mr Bartoli knew that many people but I guess with being Pietro Moretti’s associate, Julian’s father is just as feared and revered.
I don’t see him often. He’s the chemist, always baking up new products to sell on illegal markets, while Pietro is the strategist and face of their empire.
They haven’t even brought out the cake yet when the first fist fight starts.
I shake my head when I see who is involved. And give him a three minute head start.
Julian might be hot-headed but he usually doesn’t throw punches first. At least from what I’ve seen.
His style is more riling up others so they attack and he can claim self-defence.
This time, he’s yelling and pummelling another guy to the ground, all under the horrified—and a few amused—eyes of the gathered guests.
“You piece of shit,” Julian yells at the red-head, who’s trying to protect his temples as best as he can.
I sigh, discard the cigarette I was smoking and haul Julian up by the back of his collar. He turns on me, ready to go for my throat. I don’t know what pushes me to do it. I seize his jaw while I hold his shirt with my other hand.
“Calm down, pup.”
Our eyes meet. The world around us fades. The usual baby blue of his irises has taken on a stormy colour, and his breath has turned shallow with exertion. Violence thrums underneath his skin, calling to a primal part of my brain I didn’t even know existed.
He licks his lips.
I follow the movement.
My cheeks heat. Another weakness I’ll have to temper down. I can’t let Julian Bartoli affect me. And I can’t let anyone know he does.
“You’re all fucking trash,” the other boy spits, and everything comes back to focus.
I recognise him. He goes to the same school as Julian, Lana and Giulia. I thought Julian would have only invited his friends to his party but this guy looks at him with venom in his eyes.
I don’t like it one bit.
Some people watch us with interest. From her place next to her cousin, Giulia winks at me. Gosh, she’s a trouble maker, that one. Almost as bad as Julian himself. I’m surprised her best friend is Lana for how serious she is.
I release Julian and step back.
He turns to the boy he just beat up. His words are cold with fury when he speaks. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“You think I take orders from fags?”
My fist flies before I make the conscious choice to hit that boy. His nose cracks under my knuckles with a satisfying crunch. Weird. I usually don’t feel satisfaction when I hit someone. Pietro has made me hurt a few people, trained me to be ruthless. But it’s a job.
This? It has liquid fire spreading through me, and a smile stretching my lips at the crimson pouring out of the kid’s nose.
He howls in pain, and I take his disorientation as my cue to grab his stupid polo and march him towards the gates.
The soldier guarding it frowns but nods respectfully. We train together. He’s a good man. And loyal to the Bartolis.
“This fucker is barred from entry. Forever.”
“Noted, Igor.”
I don’t linger to hear the protest of the boy threatening to sue and what not—good luck suing the family who owns the island—and walk back to where the party is held.
I pause on the side of the mansion before I step back into the fray. I need to will my heart to slow. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose, fumbling to light another cigarette. I exhale, massaging the bridge of my nose.
“Quite the display of violence, Igor. Who knew the cold tundras could be so… hot?”
“What do you want, Giulia?”
When I open my eyes, Lana’s cousin leans against the side of the walls a few steps from me. Her red hair billows around her freckled face. She doesn’t look anything like the Morettis, except for the same big bright eyes, and that cunning I’d know anywhere.
She shrugs, and reaches out her hand for my cigarette. “Are you even old enough to smoke?”
“I’m the same age as you, babe.”
I give her mine and light another one.
“So… You like him?”
“What?”
“Julian.” She says his name like I’m stupid. I know who she was talking about. I just don’t know why she’d say anything like that.
“I didn’t punch that guy because I like Julian. I did it to defend his honour. It’s his birthday. And his fucking house. No one insults him in his fucking house. Especially not that.”
She hums. “Okay.”
She doesn’t look like she’s okay with what I said, but she smiles conspiratorially and returns to the party, leaving me with… emotions. Emotions I have no name for.
“Fuck.”
I feel him before I see or hear him. It should be concerning, but I find that I don’t mind understanding on a molecular level where Julian is at all times.
“There you are.”
I turn, slowly. It still doesn’t prepare me for the force of Julian’s beauty. And his vulnerability. The violence from moments ago is gone, replaced with something I haven’t seen before. He’s almost shy as he steps into the shadow of the house, closer to me.
“Hey.”
I hide how utterly stupid I feel behind one last drag, then I extinguish the cigarette under my boot.
Maybe that’s why I’m so hot. I’m wearing combat boots and dark cargo pants.
And a white shirt. I must look like a clown.
Everyone’s dressed to the nines and I’m basically in training attire at the birthday of my…
of Julian. One of the most important people on the island.
And my friend’s best friend. Can he see the sweat stains?
Can he smell me? Fuck, I hope I don’t smell.
“Since when do you smoke?” Julian asks.
The voice in my head pauses. As though the monster inside perks up at his rasp. Intrigued. Like I am.
“Tonight.”
Julian blinks. Then throws his head back and laughs. A full belly laugh. A joyful sound. Unbridled. Free. Fucking raw and beautiful. When he laughs like that, his shoulders shake, and his throat moves with the sounds he makes in the most mesmerising way.
The laughter dies down slowly. And I can’t stop watching him. The blond waves around his face have lightened with the beginning of summer and his daily swim in the Sea. His tanned skin is almost bronze already. He’s breath-taking.
“Anyway, I came to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Throwing Max out. I shouldn’t have lost my shit like this. Especially in front of Dad’s guests, so I’m glad you took over. Like a true, good little soldier.”
I don’t take the bite at his jab. He was too earnest when he thanked me.
I shrug. “It’s your birthday. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
He puts both his hands in his pockets, but they seem relaxed. His whole posture shifts as his head drops slightly to the right and his lips purse.
“Right.”
Observing him is like when I first arrived on Kalliste and I needed to know how people moved to determine if they were a threat. It’s a dedicated study, and completely engrossing. It’s survival.
Julian drops his eyes to his feet, then he says, “Don’t you want to know why I hit him?”
“Tell me.”
The command escapes me. Julian’s face remains neutral, like he’s expecting me to judge him.
“He called Lana a whore.”
“Then, I should have hurt him more.”
“He also called me a whore.”
“Are you telling me all this to make me go out and beat him up all over again, Julian?”