25. Sofia
SOFIA
We ended up in his bed last night. In the throes of passion, he carried me up here, then we made love late into the night. I fell asleep after, wrapped up in his arms, our legs intertwined under the covers and my head on his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.
It’s morning now and I’ve been watching the room lighten with the coming morning. I wish I could stop it from coming. I wish we could just lie here suspended in time.
We said a lot of things to one another last night. Things that people say when they’re caught up in horny passion and may not necessarily mean. It’s a greater tragedy than people ever talk or write about, the moment when you fall in love with someone who couldn’t possibly love you back.
I lift my head and look at his sleeping face. Silver hair mussed with long strands lying over his face, mouth slightly open as soft breaths brush my face, his salt and pepper beard a little fuller than it was yesterday… Damn. He actually looks even sexier right now than he did last night.
I maneuver my way out from under his arm and out of bed. I’m gonna pee, then go downstairs and make myself some coffee… then…
Then, I don’t know. He and I need to talk.
Whatever he might actually feel for me in the daylight hours when he’s clothed and standing upright, I do not intend on standing in the shadows while he wades through all the bullshit to get his son back.
I’ve been a lot of things in this crazy situationship, but I’ve never been a weak damsel in distress.
After peeing, I come out of the bathroom to see he’s shifted around to sleeping on his side. His back is to me and turned toward the hazy filtered light coming through his curtains. If I climb back into bed with him, I might wake him. If anybody needs sleep, it’s him.
I spot his robe lying across the bed and slip it on. It fits me like a huge, silken blanket. I have to tie the belt around twice to keep it closed and it still drags behind me. I didn’t think he was this much bigger than I am.
I leave his room, closing the door as gently as I can. The moment I step out into the hallway, I smell the warm scent of coffee coming from the kitchen downstairs. I guess his staff decided to get started early on making breakfast. Good. He’ll be expecting to eat when he wakes up.
As for me, I could use the coffee.
Downstairs I go. I walk on my tiptoes across the cool floor, Titus’s robe dragging behind me. The house is the kind of relative quiet it usually is without the presence of all of his men. I can still see a couple of them patrolling outside, but I imagine the rest are out looking for Titus’s son.
When he’s found, I almost feel bad for what he’s going to do to those twins…
I stop at the kitchen door. Ignat is standing at the counter wearing nothing but a pair of sweat pants. He’s got his back to me. Large bandages with heavy brown and yellow stains cover parts of his back in patches. The bits of skin I can see have deep blue and purple bruises.
He’s leaning on his arms, putting all his weight forward as the counter is the only thing keeping his head from colliding with the wall.
“Ignat?”
He starts a little and glances at me over his shoulder. Both his eyes are swollen and puffy, but not so much that he can’t see out of them. “Morning,” he croaks.
I walk over to him and realize that he’s standing in front of the coffee maker while it brews the coffee.
The container is open and there’s coffee grounds all over the counter.
He must have had a hell of a time making this happen in his condition.
I put a hand on his shoulder and he flinches slightly.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I say to him. “Come on, at least sit down. Let me do this.”
He gives me a slight glance, but he listens, slowly standing on unsteady feet. I take his hand and lead him to one of the chairs by the kitchen table and ease him down to sitting.
“I know better than this,” he says with a little snicker.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told Titus to rest when he needs to heal.
You know, I’ve known him since he was a boy.
When we were both boys, really. I’m only about three years older than him, so…
when I was a young boevik, he was a six, doing everything he could to get our Pakhan’s attention. ”
I listen to him as I sweep the coffee grounds into the sink and get cups for us out of the cabinets. At least he’s talking, albeit a little weakly. I can hear him laboring to breathe at the end of every sentence.
“Most people have the hardest time taking their own advice,” I say. “I know I do.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” He goes silent. Well, not silent. His breathing takes up the space between us.
“So, you and Titus,” he says as I pour coffee into the cups. “You two have become quite close.”
“You want cream in yours?” I ask him, reaching for the powdered creamer in the cabinet.
“No. I take my coffee black. Thank you.”
I put the creamer in my coffee and take a moment to decide how I’m going to answer him. “Haven’t you heard?” I say as I stir the creamer, watching the powder melt in the steaming brown liquid. “I’m a prisoner of war.”
“A blind man could see that you’ve become more than that. You’re not fooling anyone.”
I sigh and bring the coffee over to him. I set the cup down in front of him and take a seat in the chair next to him. “And a tactical man might see that it benefits me to get close to my captor rather than fight him.”
He tilts his head. His normally well-put-together short haircut is ruffled terribly around the large bandage on the side of his head. “Touche’,” he says and takes a sip from his cup. “Although, I don’t know if it’s all that wise a plan to admit that to Titus’s sovietnik.”
He’s got me there. I look down at my cup and take a sip from it. It’s too bitter. He must have dumped half the container in the coffee maker. I should have put more cream in it.
“Speaking of plans,” I say in an effort to change the subject, “how goes the search?”
“You think I would tell you?” He smiles at me slyly. “Hmm. Well, I have always said that a pretty woman would one day be my undoing.”
That makes me smile. He’s not as stiff as he comes off to be, I guess.
“So far,” he says, “Cyrus and Cyril have managed to avoid their normal haunts, which makes me think that they’ve chosen someplace that’s less conspicuous.
If I had to guess, I’d say a motel. Someplace on the outskirts of the city where they’d have to pay cash.
Or perhaps one of the homes or families of the ones who’ve chosen to turn their backs on this Bratva. ”
I nod slowly. That sounds about right. It’s exactly what I would do—what I did do, in fact.
“Wherever they are,” he goes on, “I doubt the plan is to stay in hiding forever. They want something from Titus. They’re going to use Luka as a means to collect it from him.”
Holding a little boy hostage is deranged, in my opinion. Especially when the only reason you’re doing it is so that you can be in charge. “They’re pretty sick to do this,” I say. “Luka’s just a kid. He doesn’t even know what his father is. He shouldn’t be involved.”
“You should know better than anyone how impossible that is, Sofia Aristov.”
My face flushes. Ouch. “I guess I just think that Titus should have clued him in on his situation, that’s all. Maybe start to train him how to defend himself… I don’t know.” I let that thought fall. He’s only seven. How much fighting could he ever do against two grown men?
“For all you know, he was probably going to end up there eventually.” He says it with a sage smile. “Titus loves his son. And he is well aware that the road he was on was going to have to change eventually.”
“Keeping him locked away wasn’t doing him any favors.”
“Agreed. I think that Titus has been stuck for quite some time. The relationship he had with Luka’s mother… I think it changed something in him. For the first time, he had someone to care for other than himself. And when she was killed…”
He trails off. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, though. I’ve been at the business end of his cold rage more than once since I’ve been here. In a way, I guess I can relate.
“And now, here you are,” Ignat says, sipping his coffee. “A prisoner of war wearing his robe.”
I glance down at the robe self-consciously. I guess he’s right. A blind man could actually see what’s happening between us.
“When the twins do make their move,” Ignat says, “he will do anything to see Luka safe. Including sacrifice himself if he thinks it’s the only way. Luka’s life is paramount. He would readily give all this up for him.”
I believe that. I’ve been on the business end of the way he cares, too. “The brotherhood would go on,” I say to him. “I mean… Pakhans come and go—”
“He built Arkhangelskaya up to what it has become. Every brick that has led us all to glory has been because of him. If he steps down without naming an appropriate successor, it will be the end of us.”
“There’s no one else? No one—”
“Not at this time, no. I suppose I would be the next logical choice, but between you and me, being Pakhan has never been my goal. I would, of course, accept if he wanted me to do it, but the one thing we both know is that I am a poor choice.”
His candor is surprising. I don’t think I’ve ever met any Bratva who would openly admit to not being fit to rule.
“If it comes to it,” he says, “and if you think you have any sway over him, you must bring him back from the ledge. If he makes that kind of sacrifice, we’re all doomed.”
“You’re closer to him than me,” I say. “You can’t think that he’d ever listen to anything I say.”
“What I know is that the last time I saw him move the way he has with anyone, it was with Angela. You have more power than you think you do when it comes to him, Sofia. Keep that in mind for these next few days.”
He pushes his half cup of coffee to one side and pushes himself up to standing. I stand with him, my arms out to help him. “If you don’t mind, I really should be getting back to bed.”
“Let me help you.” And I do. I wrap his arm around my shoulder and we walk together out of the kitchen.
I take him back to the room he was resting in, the whole time thinking about what he’s said. The very thing I was contemplating this morning. Where am I in Titus’s heart? If I mean that much to him…
I never expected to be in this place. I never expected to feel like this about my father’s killer. When did all that change? At what point did I stop looking at him as a means to seek the revenge I’m owed to start looking at him as a man I could love?
Ignat settled, I walk back to his room and open it slowly.
He’s awake, standing and looking out the window, a picture frame in his hands. As I step in, I realize that the photo is of a baby in a crib. Even from here I can see his big, blue eyes. Full of innocence and ignorance of the cruel world that awaits him.
Ignat was right. Titus loves him above all. I believe he would give all this up if it meant getting him back.
Dammit. I never expected Titus to be a better man than any that I’ve ever known. Not within a Bratva.
I back out of the room silently and make my way down the hall to my room. If this had happened within the first few weeks of my being here, this would be the perfect time to get my revenge. Hell, I could probably just walk away while he’s distracted and let the Archangels kill themselves.
Everything’s changed, though. And I can’t let Titus throw it all away. When the time comes, I’m going to show him another way.