14. Fia
FIA
“If you run, you make it worse,” threatens my father from downstairs, his voice reverberating through the entire house.
I curl up into a ball, hiding underneath the covers in a poor attempt to drown out the noise.
My hands are clamped over my ears, my eyes screwed shut, and I can still hear every little detail, picturing Mom on the floor wasting away, covered in bruises that she’ll try and hide tomorrow when she knocks on my door, asking to borrow my concealer.
My father won’t let her wear makeup, saying she looks best natural.
“I hate you with every fiber of my being,” she says, fighting back, refusing to give in. “One day, you’ll find yourself alone and begin hitting yourself to keep the sick obsession alive.”
Chair legs scrape against the kitchen floor as my father pushes Mom into the table, my eyes stinging with tears.
“You’re okay, Fia,” says a soothing voice, interrupting the scene.
I come around from the dream with my hands clamped around my ears, knees brought up to my chest as I lie in the fetal position, shaking.
Sweat trickles down my back. Waking up, I realize my pajamas are completely drenched, like someone dunked me in a swimming pool.
And then gasp when I see who’s watching me.
Much to my surprise, it isn’t Emil. He’s usually topless, staring down at me, wearing his usual stoic expression as he reads my face. I’ll refuse to tell him about my dream, which will lead to him embracing me in a hug.
His gigantic arms would feel amazing wrapped around my body right now, holding me up, but I find myself staring at Luka instead, who looks just as concerned.
Perhaps even more.
I sit up in bed. “Why… are you here?” I consult the time on the nightstand. “It’s almost 3 a.m.”
“I know,” he says, bowing his head respectfully. “I apologize for bursting in here, but I heard you screaming and I thought someone had broken in.”
“I didn’t know you were staying the night.”
“Neither did I, until Emil asked me to stay here while he went out to investigate the docks.”
“Did something happen?”
“Not yet,” reassures Luka. “But he only has so many surveillance cameras. He’s trying to find out who’s leaking information to Alexander.”
“What?” I burst out, sitting up in bed.
Luka narrows his eyes. “Emil hasn’t told you?” He covers his mouth. “Shit, my bad.” He turns on his heel, walking toward the door.
“You dropped a bomb and now you’re gonna leave?” I call after him. “You can explain yourself first.”
“There’s a reason Emil probably decided not to tell you.”
“Of course,” I huff. “To keep me safe. That seems to be the common denominator in all of this. I have some mild amnesia. I’m not clinically insane.”
“No…” says Luka, halting in the door. He narrows his eyes down on me again, searching my face. “Before I tell you anything, I need you to promise me that this information will stay inside of the Bratva. No running and telling your friends.”
“Like I can even see my friends right now,” I mutter, folding my arms over my chest. “Fine, you have my word. Now tell me.”
Luka is just as dramatic as Emil, clenching his jaw, tiptoeing around secrets like they’re worth diamonds.
He sits on the edge of my bed, searching my face in the darkness. “Alexander Kuzmin has been on our back for quite a few years.”
“Who is that?”
“Another Bratva leader based in Vancouver. He owns a dockyard over there, basically a Canadian version of Emil.”
“Right,” I groan. “They’re playing battleships. So what?”
“Someone in Emil’s Bratva is feeding information to Alexander Kuzmin,” says Luka, continuing to search my face. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”
“Why would I?”
Luka takes a beat, staring intently at my face. Concern lines his features, all of them rendered hard. “When you were attacked at the dockyard before, did you see who the person was?”
“I was out like the count. All I remember is waking up and drinking that hot cocoa, which made me feel worlds better, so thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” says Luka, his voice remaining steady. “You have no idea who this person could be?”
“None,” I say, shrugging. “I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help. My brain is cloudier than this weather we’re having at the moment.”
“I know,” consolidates Luka, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’re going through a lot of shit at the moment.”
I note his hand, remembering where it has been. A few days ago, he was vigorously scrubbing my hotel room carpet, disposing a dead body and questioning nothing. By default, it’s hard to see Luka and not smell the antiseptic.
But his features, although rendered hard, still offer more reassurance than Emil ever could.
Luka offers me a small smile. “Relax. Your memories will return in their own time. Stressing yourself out reflects badly on the twins, and it will also make the memories harder to recover.” He continues searching my face.
“But I have to admit, you seem more settled than you did before. What changed?”
I’ll spare Luka the details about all the riveting sex I’m having with his best friend.
“It sounded like you were in quite a state before I walked in here, though. Are you okay? What were you dreaming about?”
I shrug it off, always desperate to sweep my childhood under the rug and pretend it never happened. But Luka actually appears worried, as opposed to his reckless best friend who allows the smallest things to crawl under his skin.
“It’s a reoccurring dream from when I was hiding in my room as a kid, hearing my father beat up my mother.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
I’m stalled by the question, completely speechless. Nobody has ever questioned why, myself included.
I shrug. “He was a misogynistic asshole hiding in plain sight.”
“There’s more out there than you think,” says Luka, shuffling further back into the bed, making himself comfortable. “People who grew up around weak mothers subconsciously learn to resent women around them.”
“My mother remained strong throughout it all.”
“I’m sure,” says Luka, pondering something. He stares into space, a sentence forming on his lips, but he closes his mouth and thinks better of it.
“What? You were about to say something?”
“I’m not sure if I’m overstepping here, Fia.”
“Telling the truth isn’t overstepping.”
“Emil lost his sister when he was sixteen years old. That was the first time he committed murder, in an attempt to save her.”
“I never knew he had family.”
“Technically, you’re his family, but yeah, there was a time he cared about something bigger than himself, and you, of course.
” Luka continues looking into space. “His mother and sister were both weak, defenseless. I think part of him has always resented them for being unable to protect themselves. When you carry resentment close to your chest, it tends to become more widespread, affecting your perception of other women.”
“You’re saying my husband is a misogynist?"
“No. You have good judgement and would have refused to marry him if you believed that,” says Luka, staring hard at the wall. “All I’m saying is, in an effort to prevent the past from repeating, he tends to be a little overbearing when it comes to protecting the things he loves.”
“Which is me,” I state
“Indeed,” says Luka. “You, the Bratva, and your children. He’s afraid of those above things slipping through his fingertips. Freedom translates to danger in his eyes, making him extremely vulnerable to loss.”
I stare at Luka, processing his words. “What are you saying?”
“To be careful around him, Fia. Your love for him is all consuming. I saw it before, and I have no doubt that your feelings will return… but at what cost?”
I search the ground, allowing my thoughts to wander. Freedom and independence are two things I built my entire life around as soon as I graduated and could make my own income.
Emil taking those things away from me, out of his own insecurities and fear, makes me question if I ever loved him in the first place.
“Look,” sighs Luka. “I’m not telling this to make you feel uneasy,” he says.
“You're the sister I always wish I had, which is why I’m telling you. You deserve to know your own mind.” He rises from the bed, continuing to look at me, emotion etched in his expression.
“When I saw the man behind the steering wheel drive straight into you without looking?—”
“Wait,” I say, blinking repeatedly. “You saw the person driving? All of the witnesses at the scene say he was wearing a mask, unidentifiable.”
“Apologies,” says Luka, shaking off the thought. “I assumed the driver was a man.”
“If you saw the person driving, you should tell me, since you see me like a sister and care.”
“Sorry, Fia,” says Luka, heading toward the door. “I’m afraid I didn’t see either.” He loiters in the doorway, the light from the hallway turning him into a silhouette. “I should let you get back to sleep.”
He shuts the door softly behind him, darkness enveloping me again.
I slide down the pillows, shaking off the conversation. Emil is guilty of lying to me right now, not his friend.
By the sounds of things, Emil and I were completely obsessed with each other. Cutting myself off from the world for an entire year, abandoning Chloe, my independence, even work, means I was completely infatuated.
I shut my eyes, laying a hand on my baby bump as I drift off to sleep.
Emil revisits me in my dreams, his gorgeous face suddenly lathered in blood.
Pain explodes in my head, my temple meeting cold, hard concrete.
I scream, kicking and shoving as an attacker appears. He materializes through the shadows, avoiding the floodlights, wanting to keep his identity hidden.
He keeps to the shadows, making his way back to me.
I hoist my legs into the air. Kicking is my only defense mechanism. I know how to solve a financial crisis, how to appease rich clients to squeeze a good tip out of them, but self-defense is a skill I never thought I would need.
After leaving my father’s house after graduation, I never saw the point in learning how to fight. I put as much distance between me and his psychotic ass as possible, never needing to fight.
But I find myself in grave danger. Emil tells me to stay clear of the docks, but I always hear the foghorns calling my name, enticing me back, not like this place feels like home.
Cranes shoot up into the sky. From this angle, they appear even more threatening, standing proud in the night, silhouetted by floodlights.
“You’d look good on my dinner plate,” says the man, squatting down in front of me.
I kick my legs in a propeller motion, fighting him off. Pathetic fucking idea. The man grabs both legs, steering me closer.
He slips a knife, the blade smiling in the harsh, white floodlights, waiting to be painted red.
“Perhaps Emil will hate you even more than he hates me,” says the man, his face still concealed in shadows. “You will always be his weakness, and he’ll never be the same again.”
“Neither will you,” grunts another voice.
Emil drops his hood, his black eyes lit up like the night sky.
Time stands still as I lock eyes with my savior, my modern prince charming, who wastes no time killing the man who almost killed me.
He stabs and stabs until the man is reduced down to blood and guts. I see his face now, but he barely resembles a human.
“Oh my fucking god,” I gasp, terror seeping into my bones.
Emil drags me from the ground, slinging me over his shoulder like I’m an item of clothing, not a person.
“From this day forward, you’re not leaving my sight ever again.”