Chapter 4
Kasimir~
Not only was Viktor checking on me constantly, but my father was also calling me every few hours, making sure that I wasn’t about to go on a killing rampage, which was fair.
I’d never felt this level of unease before, and that was saying something when you considered how I’d grown up and the things that I’d seen during my formative years.
It was also more than just controlling my anger about the situation. Viktor kept trying to guide me through doing what was best for Zoya over my desire to demand answers, and it was hard.
Really fucking hard.
I wasn’t used to not doing what I wanted, and even my father and brother couldn’t stop me when I was feeling like this, something that they had struggled with since I’d been young.
However, I was learning firsthand that love really did change a man, because instead of going on the killing spree that I really wanted to go on, I was waiting to question Zoya about the details that she’d left out.
While my family was behind me getting justice for Zoya, they wanted me to do it smartly, keeping myself out of prison if possible.
So, in a bid to keep myself grounded, once we’d gotten Zoya home, I’d gone to her mother’s house, had retrieved everything that she had packed, then had helped her make herself at home on Martin Street in Bakers Hills.
She also hadn’t fought me on it, which had been a good thing when you considered my state of mind at the time, which hadn’t been much better than it was right now.
Now, was I happy to finally have Zoya with me?
Of course. Here at home, she was safe. Here with me, no one could hurt her again.
Yeah, she was still mourning the loss of her mother, and her injuries had her especially depressed, but she was alive.
She was alive, and she had the chance to pick herself up and move past her guilt.
Of course, I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she’d ever get over the death of her mother completely, but Zoya was a tough girl, and I had no doubt that she’d find a way to live with it eventually.
I walked into the library, and Zoya was sitting in a chaise lounge that I had specifically purchased for her, and she had a paperback in her hands, and though she looked exhausted, she also looked comfortable, which was a win in my book.
“What are you reading?”
“Your library is made up of mostly classics and thrillers, so I grabbed The Count of Monte Cristo,” she answered tiredly.
“A book about a long, drawn-out revenge,” I remarked as I sat on the chair, pulling her legs over my lap. “Interesting choice.”
“It was that or a bunch of who-dun-its, and I’d rather not fill my head with any of that right now,” she replied, making me want to hit the streets to bloody them up.
“If this was a public library, what kind of book would you be reading right now?” I asked, eager to know everything about her. “And why don’t you have one of those e-reader things?”
“I used to have one,” she admitted. “But when it finally died on me, I couldn’t afford to get a new one.”
I made a mental note to get one for her later today before asking, “So, what’s your favorite genre to read?”
Zoya set the book on her lap, but she kept her middle finger in between the pages, saving her spot in the story. “I like romantasy,” she answered.
“I’m sorry, what?” I chuckled.
“It’s romance, but in a world of fantasy,” she explained. “I like the idea of...something that’s not this world. Of...of something more out there.”
“So, you’re a fan of dragons, warlocks, and faeries?” I teased.
Zoya grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m just a fan of possibilities, I guess.”
After a moment of silence, I said, “It’s been a couple of days, Zoya. You need to call your grandparents and tell them what’s happened.”
Her back immediately straightened. “I haven’t found the words yet.”
“There are no words for something like this, lepestok,” I pointed out as kindly as I could. “You’re waiting for something that isn’t going to come.”
“So, what? I’m just supposed to blurt out that their daughter is dead?” she bit out. “I’m just supposed to express my condolences, then call it a day.”
“No,” I replied firmly. “You explain to them what happened from the heart and then hope that you can grieve together.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. “While I realize that this may be a foreign concept to you, not everyone is used to or comfortable with delivering death notices to unsuspecting family members.”
I cocked my head, then turned to face her as she removed her legs from my lap, scooting as far away as she could from me. “You say that as if those who I’ve killed were good people, Zoya. You say that as if I should feel bad about delivering the news.”
“You’re not God,” she spat. “What gives you the right to decide who lives or dies?”
Five...four...three...
“You’re no better than they are,” she went on, needing a target for her pain and anger. “You’re a criminal just like them. You kill people with no thought to what it does to their families. You’re just as evil as the men who shot me and killed my mother.”
I stood up, then slid my hands into my pockets as I stared down at her.
“Just so that we’re clear, I’ve never broken into an innocent woman’s house to rob and kill her.
” Cocking my head again, I added, “What I do is far much worse, lepestok. What I do, a person can never recover from; they grieve forever.”
“And you’re proud of that?” she hissed.
“Yes,” I answered coldly. “I am proud of everything that my family has accomplished and what it’s taken to accomplish it. I’m not one for regrets, lepestok. If I was, then I wouldn’t be good at my job.”
“You’re a killer.”
“Baby, I’m a survivor,” I clarified. “I’d been raised to survive this life since the day that I’d been born, and I will continue to do whatever it takes to stay on top, along with my family.
I’ll also do whatever it takes to make sure that you survive this life as well, and I’ll definitely have no regrets over that. ”
“I don’t want this life,” she lied.
“So, are you saying that you no longer want me?” I challenged. “Because there is no separating me from this life. I am the bratva.”
Zoya didn’t say anything to that, but what was there to say? I’d already made it very clear that I was never going to let her go, and our current situation hadn’t changed that. No matter what, Zoya would never be free of me, and once her grief waned, she was going to remember that.
“I’m tired,” she lied, dismissing me.
“Whether you really are or aren’t, I will let you be,” I told her.
“However, I advise you to handle matters before I do it for you, Zoya. I can appreciate that you are grieving and dealing with a lot, but you cannot continue to hide from the world at your leisure. Call your grandparents, so that we can finally make arrangements for your mother.”
Instead of letting her respond to that, I gave her a terse nod before walking out of the library.
That familiar melody was playing in the back of my mind, and so I made my way to the back of the house to where my personal gym was located.
I needed to find a way to work off the violent energy consuming me from head to toe.
I wasn’t handling her distress as well as I was pretending to be, and I could only take so much before I began to ignore all of Viktor’s married-man sage advice.
I wasn’t used to doing nothing, and I wasn’t handling it well; I could admit that.
Zoya’s unhappiness was a problem for my mental stability, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be able to keep it together.
I wanted to hurt someone, but I still didn’t have a name to take my anger out on.
I also didn’t appreciate how she had compared me to the two men who had shot and killed her mother.
I wasn’t anything like them, and I was sure that she knew that.
Her accusations had come from a dark place that wouldn’t allow her to think straight, and she was lucky that I understood where she was mentally and emotionally.
I loved Zoya.
I needed Zoya.
I couldn’t be without Zoya.
So, even as understanding as I was trying to be, it was in her best interest to make the most of the grace that I was offering her.
While I had no problem with her needing to grieve and get a grip on her guilt, I was not going to allow her to be happy without me.
I had no problem with taking responsibility for all the evil that I was comfortable unleashing, but I was not going to let Zoya blame me for something that I’d nothing to do with.
Not this time.