13. Emily
13
EMILY
THREE DAYS LATER
For the first time in the three days since my return to the castle, I have seen neither Alla nor Alisa anywhere. And although I’m glad for the absence of the former, I’m starting to grow worried about the absence of the latter.
All of that changes this morning when I walk into the dining room and see Alisa sitting quietly at the table, with a plate of untouched food in front of her that looks like it’s gone cold hours ago.
Sitting across from her is Konstantin, who holds his knife and fork so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.
“Aliska …” he says, but she ignores him.
She doesn’t look up until I take my seat beside her. And even then, all she musters is a weak smile to acknowledge my presence before she pushes her plate away from her.
I take a quick glance and see that nothing has been touched.
“Have you eaten at all since you returned?” I ask her gently .
She nods her head—a motion so slight that I might as well have been imagined it.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want,” I say. “I can have someone send the food to your room when you’re ready. Would you like that?”
She looks over at me, and her lower lip trembles slightly before she clenches her jaw shut again. Finally, after a few more seconds, she nods. Glancing at Konstantin and finding no resistance from him, she pushes herself away from the table and quickly shuffles away.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Konstantin sighs.
“She’s been like this since she returned,” he says. “It hurts me to see her like this.”
“You have to give her the time and space she needs,” I remind him. “She’s?—”
“A child, I know.” The utensils clatter to the plate as he drops them. “But every day she remains silent like this, I …” He rakes his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about what she had to endure in captivity. About what might’ve happened.”
“You want to know if Domenico raped her, don’t you?” I ask. “If she might be pregnant with his child?”
There’s no point in dancing around the topic. And it surprises me at how easily I am able to broach this topic to him when I can’t do the same about my own feelings and fears about him.
Or about the details of what I suffered from the hands of both Domenico and Alla in his absence.
Konstantin’s hands ball into fists as he looks at me. Then, he nods.
“Did he?”
“No,” I tell him. “She told me so herself when we were locked together in the basement on Capri. And I have no reason to believe that she would lie. ”
“And you’re sure of this? How?”
“Because …” I feel a rush of inexplicable anger leading the sea of emotions crashing through me as I recall what Alisa told me of her ordeal.
Of what my sister Olivia did to keep her safe.
Of what Domenico threatened to do to me at the wedding.
A familiar nausea roils my stomach again, and I swallow it back.
“My sister Olivia offered to take her place,” I finally say. “Back in New York to prevent that exact thing from happening.”
“What?” Konstantin whispers.
I take a deep breath, and slowly, recount everything Alisa told me about what happened. Everything from how Olivia tried to stop Domenico and his men from taking Alisa from the restaurant, to her making meals for Alisa in her apartment, and then about what happened to her at the very end.
Finally, I tell him the threats that Domenico made to me. How he intended to humiliate Konstantin by hurting me. I leave out no details in my recounting and leave nothing unsaid.
By the time I’m done, tears are falling fast onto my plate.
Konstantin rises from his seat, walks over to me, and holds me close to him while I soak the front of his shirt with my tears.
He strokes my hair and back while I cry. And that’s when the cause of my inexplicable anger hits me, and realization sends me ugly-crying even harder into Konstantin’s shirt, not just for my own sister but for myself and Alisa.
Konstantin’s obsession about the possibility of Domenico raping his sister is centered around what it might mean if Alisa was pregnant with Domenico’s child.
It’s no different than how Alla would only ever release control of the bratva to him if I’m pregnant with Konstantin’s child.
Are we forever doomed to be nothing more than just the collateral damage in the pursuit of power by men like Konstantin and Domenico?
Konstantin will offer me his sympathy, and he will show Alisa his relief. But for Olivia? I doubt he’ll ever care about her suffering.
Which is why it surprises me when I pull away that I see the tears brimming in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Emily,” he says. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, and to your sister. Even while I’m thankful for what both of you did to keep mine safe.” He kneels down beside me and takes my hands in his. “I was so focused on being a pakhan that I forgot to be a brother and a husband.”
A husband …
“Konstantin.” I wipe at my eyes. “There’s something else you need to know.”
“What is it?”
“The reason I left the castle …” I start.
“I know,” he says. “It’s because of me. Because I went out of my way to hurt you.”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not why. Not the whole reason, anyways.”
“Then why?” he asks, the ice in his eyes give way to concern and sadness.
“All of my life.” I look away from him and focus on our interlocked fingers. “I was told that I have to have something to offer to someone for them to care about me. First it was my parents, and then it was every man I’d ever dated.” I try to blink back tears, but it’s no use. “My sister was the only person in my life who didn’t believe that, and she tried to tell me that my worth isn’t what I can give to others. But then I saw how she tried to live by that mantra and suffer for it. When you first told me that you needed me to marry you in order for you to secure your inheritance, I thought that you were no different than the rest.”
“Emily, I …”
“Let me finish,” I tell him. “I kept rationalizing to myself that all I needed to do was to keep myself from falling for you through this marriage. And as long as I can use you to find the truth about my sister’s death, and if necessary, avenge her, then I can avoid the inevitable heartbreak.”
Now it’s my turn to grip his hand tightly in mine. “But the truth is, Konstantin, I started falling for you from the moment you found me at that hotel in the Amalfi Coast. I dreamed about you on the way back home to America. And when you chose to save me first at our wedding, I really thought that things could be more than a fake relationship between us.”
“They are.” He nods.
“I know …” I sniff. “But I also know that you couldn’t be here forever to protect me. I knew that there will always be someone who hates the fact that I’m here. Someone who hates me for simply existing. Someone who will never accept me as your wife.”
“My grandmother.” His eyes narrow, and the warmth in his eyes congeal into fury. “I know I asked you already what she did, and I know you told me that it’s nothing I haven’t already done to you. But that’s not the whole truth, is it?”
I shake my head. “It’s not.”
“Please,” he pleads. “If this relationship … no, this ma rriage, has become real, then you shouldn’t feel like you need to keep this information from me. You were brave enough to tell me what Domenico did to you and your sister. You’re brave enough to tell me what my grandmother did to you.”
I look back into his eyes, and see that he’s sincere.
Go ahead, I think. Tell him. He needs to know. Sooner or later, he’ll find out.
But my tongue refuses to form the words. Somehow, the trauma remains too fresh for me to recount. The threats whispered in my ear still ring too close to home.
Memories of needles—both the ones used to hurt, and the single one to extract a small vial of blood—haunt me now that I’m back here.
I fight the urge to move my free hand to my belly as another wave of nausea roils my stomach.
Could it have happened?
Am I pregnant?
Just then, another thought enters my head. As soon as it does, ice floods through my veins.
Is Alla the only person who knows?
Realizing that Konstantin is still waiting on me, I look back at him. “I can’t,” I whisper. “Not yet. When I’m ready, I will tell you. But I’m not ready. Not when your grandmother still holds so much power in the bratva.”
His gaze shifts, and I’m not sure how he might react. Slowly, he squeezes my hand and nods.
“She’s not the pakhan."
“Her words still carry influence.”
“As do yours.” He reaches up, hooks his finger under my chin, and gently tilt me until I’m staring into his eyes. “You are my wife. That ring on your finger is there because I wanted it to be there. You asked me once, why it had to be you. I was telling you the truth when I said that it was because I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was obsessed with you from the very start. From the moment you ran into me at the airport, to the moment you opened the door at that gaudy hotel with your shirt soaked in sweat. All the way until I found you in that basement on Capri.”
Each word he says gives my heart another squeeze, and I want to desperately to believe him.
But how many times in my life has someone held my hand and professed that my value doesn’t come from what I can do for them, only to throw me aside when they don’t need me anymore?
How many times did Mom and Dad tell me that they’re proud of me, yet their pride disappeared as soon as they’re unable to use me to brag about their achievements as parents?
How many boyfriends goaded me into taking the blame for their mistakes—always just one more time—until the final one sent my lifelong dream crashing down?
A more na?ve Emily might’ve accepted this confession from Konstantin, but I’ve become wary of words because words are easy.
He came back for you on Capri when he could’ve left you behind. I remind myself. Why can’t that be enough?
And truthfully, I don’t know.
“If you were forced to choose,” I say quietly. “Between me and the bratva. Which one would you choose?”
“You,” he replies quickly. “It will always be you.”
“And if they tell you that you have to give up the bratva for me?” I press on. “Could you do it?”
“I …” He hesitates.
I close my eyes, feeling the tears squeezing out, and turn away from him. His hesitation tells me everything I need to know.
“The bratva gives me power to do things that I cannot do as an ordinary man,” he continues. “If I have to choose the bratva in order to keep you safe so that I can choose you, then that’s what I’ll have to do. I hope you can understand that.”
“I do …” I tell him.
It’s the truth. I do understand it, and I know that had he charged forward into Capri for me without the bratva at his back, both of us would be dead … or worse.
“I love you, Emily,” he tells me, and my heart skips a beat at his confession. “I know I may not have been the best at showing it to you, but I love you.”
“I …”
Say it … I urge myself. Just say it!
But the words refuse to take form on my lips. Maybe it’s because I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I’m back here, where I thought I’d never return.
Or maybe … that evil little voice in my head whispers. Maybe you won’t say it because you know that there’s a chance Konstantin will choose the bratva over you.
So, I remain silent, and feel my heart break when I see Konstantin’s crestfallen expression when I don’t reciprocate his confession of love.
“I’m sorry …” I whisper.
“Don’t be,” he replies solemnly. “I don’t want you to say something that you don’t mean.”
With that said, he leans in close, and feathers his lips against mine. The kiss is soft and warm, chasing away the coldness that enveloped me. But I can taste his disappointment .
Because he means it when he says he loves me, but I can’t say it back to him.
And knowing that hurts me more than anything else in the world.