Chapter 24 Katya
“You have failed, Katya. You are weak, like your father was.”
“Otets, please! I’ll do—”
A harsh sting vibrates across my cheek and my shoulder sings with pain as I collide with the concrete floor. “Never beg. Romanovas do not beg.”
A man I’ve never seen before drags me from the ground, gripping my arms tightly, and I can already feel the bruises blooming beneath my skin.
I kick and scream for him to stop but he’s quiet and steady as he hauls me to a metal table.
He holds my wrists above my head as a boy, only three years older than I and the one I failed to beat in the ring today, holds my ankles down.
His cheekbones are painted by purple hues, shades I put there with my small fists, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t strong enough.
“Father, she’s only ten. She’s only been training with us for a few months.” Ilya comes to my defense. Training for the Romanova family begins at ten years old. But to be an Owl, starting at ten puts me five years behind.
Since I arrived a year ago, Alexey has done nothing but force me to train like one of his precious Owls.
It’s not simply about physical strength, but emotional fortitude and mental endurance as well.
I’m not only expected to fight but to be literate in different languages and study medicine.
I train longer and harder than the boys, yet my punishments far outweigh anything they must endure.
Alexey doesn’t see me like the rest. I’m his stolen daughter, meant to kill blindly and serve with unyielding loyalty.
“Victoria could take out four of us by the time she was eight. Katya is behind and it is your fault. You’re too soft on her.”
Alexey’s heavy steps come near, and I snarl. “She’s feisty, she could be,” his meaty fingers brush a strand of my blonde hair from my face, “marvelous. Even better than Victoria.”
Ilya, only two years older than me, stands next to his father. “She will get there.”
The mafia boss looks to his son, his pride and joy and future heir, and hands him a knife. “I know she will, because you will make her marvelous.”
“Wha-What do you expect me to do?”
“Give her a reminder of who she belongs to. She will see your work and know who she failed to protect. Every time she sees herself in a mirror, I want her to be reminded of the reason she is alive today. To serve you and only you. She will rise or she will die trying.”
Ilya’s icy blues blow wide as he begins to tremble. “I can’t.”
“You do it, or I will. I will not have another Owl defect because of her weaknesses! Choose!” Spit flies from Alexey’s mouth as Ilya backs away.
“Ilya, pleas—” Another smack across my cheek silences me. My vision swirls and my stomach twists but I force myself to stay awake. My words silenced, I beg my new brother with a single look, please do it. I won’t survive if Alexey lays his hands on me. I won’t.
Ilya steps up to me, understanding overcoming his fears, and cuts my sweat and blood-soaked shirt open. Chills run rampant up my spine as the cold air brushes against my exposed skin. He traces over the length of my abdomen, searching for the perfect spot to mark me.
“Where no one will see,” he reassures me and I understand his meaning. Where I can hide the scars one day.
My breasts are not even fully grown when I get my first scar. The tip of the blade presses an inch below the center of my sternum, and he hesitates. His eyelids fall closed, and a tear slowly traces down his cheek.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
The blade slices through my skin as searing pain radiates through my body and a scream rips out of me. I pull against the men holding my wrists and ankles but I’m not strong enough.
I’m not strong enough.
You’re not strong enough, Katya.
I jolt awake, sitting straight up in bed, the covers soaked with sweat and my heart pounding furiously as I grip the center of my chest over my t-shirt.
The dark room is illuminated lightly by the bathroom light left on and the door cracked.
The thundering of my heartbeat and the screams of my younger self echo in my mind.
If I were home, I’d tip toe down the hall to Ilya’s room and climb into his bed.
He’d hold me as I cried, whispering ‘it’s okay’ over and over into my ear because he knows.
He knows the memories linger, they haunt him too.
“A nightmare?”
I jump at the sound of Rafael’s voice from the corner of my room where the accent chair sits. I glance at the matching one in the opposite corner to be sure Enzo isn’t lurking in the shadows.
Squinting, I can barely make out his large form.
He’s shrouded in shadows, but I can see him dressed in dark sweats, no shirt.
His olive skin, warm and decadent, calls me closer.
Unlike Enzo, Rafael doesn’t have a single tattoo on his flawless body.
His elbows rest against his knees with his chin perched upon his knuckles.
Propping myself up on my elbow, I put every effort to sound upset into my words. “You shouldn’t be in here.” What I don’t say is I’m glad he is.
“I heard you scream; I thought you were in danger. But you were sleeping.”
“It was just a silly nightmare.” Instinctively, I pull the blankets up to cover my chest, even though I know my shirt covers my scars.
These devils and these memories have shaken me.
“Don’t lie to me, Lucy.”
My eyebrows furrow at his accusation. “I didn’t—”
“It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”
His gravelly voice, heavy with sleep, makes my thighs squeeze together at the memory of his filthy whispers in my ear earlier tonight and I shift in the bed, scooting myself up until I’m sitting cross-legged under the covers.
Rafael’s presence makes me uncomfortable in the most unexpected yet welcomed way.
He’s uncharted waters, and I don’t know if I should be running or pulling him closer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Rafael stands, striding toward me. The bed dips under his weight when he sits. He’s entirely too close and I hate it. Because when he’s this close, I lose all sense of logic and control. His intoxicating scent invades my space and makes me dizzy.
One of his arms extends over my hips, resting on the other side of me and he leans in, making me lean back into the headboard. He grips my chin, and lifts my gaze to meet his.
“A nightmare…or a memory, Bellissima Cerva?”
My jaw drops slightly and his stare drifts to my lips. “A—”
“I do not like, nor do I tolerate liars, so think before you speak to me.” His lips linger close to mine, moments away from consuming my own.
“A memory,” I whisper, fearing if I speak any louder, he’ll disappear. As if he were merely a ghost sent to haunt me.
“Brava ragazza.” His words resonate through my entire body. “Now tell me who gave you those scars.”
“I can’t.” My voice wobbles and I’m not sure why.
It’s not out of fear. I don’t fear Rafael but maybe.
..maybe it’s from the need to tell him but the inability to do so.
Like I’m in sleep paralysis, screaming but no sound comes out.
With him so close, with the way he’s staring at me like he cares…
I want more than anything to give in. To tell him the truth and to never return to where I belong.
To vanish inside him because I know there, I’ll be safe.
There’s no justification for why I feel this way. In fact, there are a million reasons to not feel like this. It’s an instinct, an illogical pull to a man I barely know.
His hand falls from my chin, and he leans back a fraction, giving me room to breathe.
“This was my mother’s room.” The confession shocks me, and I scan the room, trying to envision her here.
“She had many memories that surfaced at night. Like you. When Enzo and I were young, we would hear her cries, and we would come in and climb into bed with her. As we grew older, her cries continued. Instead of laying with her, we would sit in those chairs.” He nods to the two chairs in the corner opposite the bed.
“We would watch over her in the night. When she would wake, we would be here.”
His deep brown, bottomless irises find mine and the depth of his sorrow shines through so vibrantly it pierces like lightning on a dark night.
“We could never erase her memories, but we could give her comfort in her waking moments. She was our mother, but we were her sons, and it was our job to protect her.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I heard your screams, as I heard hers and like her, you are ours to protect. We will not fail again. But I cannot kill a memory, so I’ll ask again, who gave you those scars?”
Rafael’s presence consumes my every thought. The assignment, the false identity, the war between my heart and my head, it all fades away.
He’s like nothing I’ve ever known. His gentle dominance is a stark contradiction I want to fight but can’t help but fall for.
When he promises protection, I can’t deny I believe him.
It’s intrinsic and even though he’s meant to be my enemy, I can’t help but feel he’s more aligned with being my protector.
“I—I don’t remember who gave me these scars,” I say as his fingers tip my chin to meet his unveiling stare.
I know he doesn’t believe my lie, but he also doesn’t push.
Maybe he understands some stories must be delivered delicately, in small doses, to keep from overdosing with the pain they bring.
Whatever his reasons, I’m grateful he allows me the silence to continue.
“I was young, and the faces have blurred over time. When I was nine, I was taken, kidnapped from my family, and held hostage. The son of the man who took me gave me these scars anytime I didn’t react the way they wanted. He didn’t want to but…they forced him.”
I shift in the bed, feeling more exposed than I’ve ever felt. I can’t tell him the entire truth, but I can give him the closest version. I can only hope it will be enough.
His shifts back, no part of his body touching mine any longer. I miss the warmth of him and even though he remains sitting next to me, his distance is noticeable.
“What did they want from you?” he says with restrained rage underlining his question. I recognize the strength of holding one’s tongue; I practice it myself almost daily. Most of the time failing.
“They didn’t want to see me cry or beg. They would beat me until I could no longer scream and only once I was silent would they stop.”
“And how long did they keep you?”
The blade under my pillow digs into my lower back, but I don’t move for fear of Rafael finding it.
I want to hold it, grip in in my palms, let it be my armor while Rafael wrecks me into ruin.
“Sometimes it feels like I never left,” I answer as honestly as I can, feeling the war within myself escalating.
Why couldn’t these two men who want me to dream and banish my memories be monsters like I’d grown up believing?
Why did they have to show me a side I could have never imagined?
A side forcing me to question everything.
Rafael stands, clenching and unclenching his fists three times before heading for the door. “Goodnight, Lucy.”
“Wait.” I shoot out of bed, my oversized T-shirt falling to rest above my knees. “Will you stay?”
Why did I ask that? I don’t want or need him to stay.
Rafael peers over his shoulder, his gaze running up the length of my legs before settling on my lips. “Goodnight, Bellissima Cerva.”
The door slams and I run up to it, ensuring the deadbolt locks, and lay my forehead against the cool wood. I don’t understand why I wanted him to stay. Why, despite all my training, I wanted to beg him to wrap himself around me in a cocoon of darkness that would overwhelm my own.
I couldn’t sleep if I tried so instead, I walk into the bathroom and turn the shower all the way hot.
Bellissima cerva. Beautiful doe. Do I appear weak, docile…does he see me as his prey?
The hot water runs down my body as my fingers run over my scars and it reminds me of Enzo’s reaction, Rafael’s touch.
Waking to Rafael was startling. What if my shirt had ridden up, revealing more than I’m ready to show?
The invasion of my privacy should scare me, should infuriate me, but having Rafael there comforted me in a strange way.
Not even Ilya could soothe me so deeply.
As soon as I knew Rafael was with me, my mind transformed from a place of horror to peace.
Like a shot of morphine after hours of pain, he provided a relief I never realized I could experience.
And there’s no explanation behind it. He’s practically a stranger.
But that’s not true either, is it? I’ve known Rafael and Enzo since I was fifteen.
Not face to face but through something greater.
Through a connected trauma. We are far more similar than I could have ever predicted.
My heart and mind thrash against the bars of who I’m supposed to be, what I’m meant to believe.
I came here sure of my ability to complete this assignment but now these feelings I have for the brothers challenges my loyalty to my brother.
But it’s not about my feelings. I have always held true to the conviction that I only kill those who are guilty.
Enzo and Rafael’s hands may be bloodied, but from what I have seen, their souls remain pure.
But if I don’t complete this mission, I will give up everything. Every scar, broken bone, bruise, every night I prayed for death and was denied by a God who never saw me…it will be for nothing.
Alexey Romanova must die. I must be the one to kill him.
And the only way to ensure his death is to go home.