14. Konstantin
14
KONSTANTIN
NIGHT
I glance at the signet ring on my hand.
Sima gave it back to me shortly after I returned to the castle, but it’s the first time since returning that I’ve put it on. The immense weight in spite of its relative size returns, and it seems to grow heavier the longer I look at it.
This damn ring .
All of the terrible things that Emily has suffered was because of it.
I reach up to rip it off my fingers so that I might fling it into the lake in the distance. But my hand refuses to act, and I feel my own self-loathing rising.
“There you are, Konstantin Yurevich.” Ivica’s voice snaps me out of my self-loathing, and I turn to find that she has brought a tray of evening snacks and coffee. Although I’m not one for taking coffee late at night, I can use something warm to chase away the chill that’s permeated through my soul.
I take the steaming mug from the tray that Ivica has set on my table, sip at the bitter liquid, and look at her. She demurely keeps her eyes to the ground as she waits for me to finish.
“You helped Emily escape, didn’t you?” I ask. “There’s no need to hide it, Ivica. You can tell me the truth.”
“I did.” She finally looks up at me.
“Why?” I press on.
Ivica doesn’t answer, but I notice her own hands rubbing her forearm uncomfortably.
What is the appropriate punishment for betrayal? Alla had asked me that when I was in the midst of preparing for the fight on Capri.
That evil old bitch! I snarl silently as my hands ball into fists.
It’s no coincidence that Alla has left the castle after she had called me. To hear Sima tell it, when he returned to the castle, he found only Ivica and the household staff. They were instructed to tell him that Alla had taken to one of the outlying properties in Croatia out of an abundance for caution.
It seems, I muse, that caution was for when I inevitably find out about what she might’ve done.
“Ivica, I asked you a question,” I say. “And you need to answer me.”
“She was afraid, Konstantin Yurevich.”
“I know that.” I place the coffee down. “But why was she afraid?”
Ivica looks away.
“Did my grandmother speak to her?” I ask softly. “Tell me the truth. Eto moi prikaz .”
“She did, Konstantin Yurevich.”
My heart starts racing. “Did she do something to her?”
Ivica nods.
“What did she do? ”
“That is something I cannot tell you, Konstantin Yurevich,” she replies. “That is something only Emily Samovna can tell you. She swore me to it.”
“Is she your pakhan?”
“No.” she shakes her head. “But she is your wife, and what Alla Antonovna has done to her is something that you must hear from her lips, not mine.”
“Ivica!” Frustration growls in my voice. “Why can’t you just tell me?”
“Because I made a promise to her,” she replies. “You are my pakhan, yes. You have power over my life as you see fit. But I live to serve both you and Emily Samovna. In matters of the bratva, I must defer to you. But in matters of Emily Samovna’s heart, I cannot betray her.”
Ivica’s resolve to stand by Emily’s side is admirable, and I know that she’s right.
“I’ve been awful to her, Ivica. Haven’t I?” I sigh, nodding. “I’ve treated her like?—”
“Like she’s disposable?” Ivica interrupts me. Ordinarily, I might feel irritated by her interrupting me. But right now, I welcome it.
“I don’t know how I can make it up to her.”
“And how exactly did you think that you were going to make it up to her?” she asks. “Did you think you can paper over this with extravagant gifts? Were you thinking about buying her the finest jewelry in Europe? Maybe another beautiful dress?”
I’d be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But deep down, I know that none of those things are what her heart wants.
“Those won’t change anything,” I finally say.
“And you would be right, Konstantin Yurevich.” Ivica nods. “Might I speak frankly with you? ”
“Have you not been doing that this entire time?”
“Hmph.” The ghost of a smile flutters past her lips. “Do you know what the funny thing about love is, Konstantin Yurevich?”
“You should explain it to me,” I reply. “Because I’m in no mood to guess.”
“People often think that love is achieved by a single big grand gesture,” she says. “The passionate plea by a man desperate to not lose the woman he loves. The grandiose act of professing his love for her with a good grovel. Or an elaborate proposal scheme in the most romantic of places. But that’s rarely what true love is.”
“Then what is it?” I turn to her and give her my undivided attention. “Tell me.”
“True love is made of something different,” she explains. “It comes from the tiny moments between the two of you. Maybe it’s a joke that only she can understand. Maybe it’s a term of affection that only matters to her.”
Kitty Cat … the words suddenly swim to the forefront of my mind. And I realize with a start that since I left for Capri, I haven’t called Emily by that name once.
“Maybe a home-cooked meal,” Ivica continues. “A stolen kiss when you walk past each other in the morning. The wayward glances as if you’re lovesick teenagers who can’t stop looking at each other. Any one of a million little moments that she, and only she, can share with you.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” Ivica asks me pointedly. “You brought Emily Samovna here to Croatia with the expectation that things will end between the two of you. But you kept her here because you want the exact opposite, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I nod. “But she doesn’t love me anymore, Ivica. I told her I love her, and she couldn’t say it back. ”
“ Sranye ,” she swears in Croatian. “Have you not been listening? Are you a boy who must hear the words before you can believe them? Emily Samovna loves you. She may not be able to say it to you right now, but I see it clear as day from the moment she returned to this castle. You believe she doesn’t love you because she won’t say it out loud, but have you considered why that is?”
I fold my arms, and look down at the floor as thoughts turn in my head. Almost immediately, the answer comes to me. Emily told me herself about what she fears the most in this world: that she has to have something to offer in order for someone to care about her.
Then I remember what she asked.
If they tell you that you have to give up the Bratva for me, could you do it?
And I said no …
You fool!
“I made it seem as if my love for her is conditional …” I whisper. “And secondary to the bratva.”
“Precisely.” Ivica nods. “If you love her, and I know that you truly do, then you must show her that you love her for who she is and not for what she can offer you and the bratva.”
“Then tell me what to do,” I say. “Am I supposed to give up control of the bratva as a proof of my love for her?”
“You hear but you don’t listen, Konstantin Yurevich.” Ivica shakes her head and smiles sadly. “Didn’t I just tell you that love isn’t about these grand gestures? If you were to give up the bratva, all you would be proving is that so long as you can meet a condition she’s set, then you can exchange it for her love. That’s not love. That’s a transaction.”
“Then how?”
“Since the moment Emily Samovna has arrived to this castle, your grandmother has taken every opportunity to belittle her, to demean her, to humiliate her.” She pauses, her eyes flashing. “And whenever possible, to hurt her.”
“I will talk to my grandmother about this.”
“You need to do more than talk,” Ivica says. “Just because your boeviki obeys your every word and whim, does not mean that Alla Antonova will. She will smile and agree and show you the deference your title and that ring represents. But the moment your back is turned,” she pauses for a second to let the words sink in. “She will take out her anger on your wife. You must ensure that this never happens. You must make it abundantly clear that Emily Samovna’s safety is prioritized.”
A chill passes through me and I reach for the coffee again, forgetting that I’d finished it. I know what Ivica is suggesting, and it is almost unthinkable.
“What are you suggesting, Ivica?” I ask. “Be plain and specific.”
“You cannot allow Alla Antonovna to do as she pleases anymore,” she replies. “Neither here in this castle, nor anywhere that you and Emily Samovna set foot in.”
“The bratva will not accept this, Ivica,” I whisper. “For good or ill, my grandmother saw us through our darkest days after my parents’ death. She kept me and my sister alive. Many of the men’s devotion to her runs deep, and to do something like this …” I rake my hair. “There will be instability among the ranks.”
“Can you not hear yourself, Konstantin Yurevich?” Ivica throws her hands up in frustration. “Alla Antonovna is the bratva personified. Everyone knows this, from the household staff, to the boeviki and your brigadiers, to even Gerasim Petrovich. By putting her wants before all others, you are still putting the bratva ahead of your own wife. This is the exact fear that Emily Samovna has.”
“It’s not a decision to be taken lightly, Ivica!” I snap.
“And yet it is a decision that you have made once already!” She matches my tone with equal ferocity.
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember?” She shakes her head again, scoffing. “You rushed towards Emily Samovna at your wedding when Ferrata bullets cracked overhead. You hardly even glanced at Alla Antonovna as you ushered your new bride away. You’ve chosen already, and the bratva did not crumble because of that choice. You cannot hide behind this excuse forever.”
The strength drains from my legs, and I find myself falling into my seat. Memories of my own wedding comes rushing back, and I can see that moment clearly as if it had just happened. Emily ducking down as I shield her with my body. My grandmother shrieking my name as I spare just a passing glance backwards. The fear in Emily’s eyes when my own boeviki came rushing towards us, and the relief that followed when she learned that those were my men.
“You nearly lost her already, Konstantin Yurevich,” Ivica says. “And it is only by a stroke of luck that she returned to you. Don’t lose her again.”
“I won’t.” I look up. “Thank you, Ivica.”
She bows, picks up the tray, and walks out. I glance out the window at the dark sky, heart still conflicted at what I know must be done. Ivica is right. I’ve made the choice once already between the bratva and my wife.
But Ivica is wrong that it was a stroke of luck that brought my Kitty Cat back to me.
It’s not luck.
It’s fate.