Kotik

Chapter 11 New Year’s Eve #2

But then I recognized Misha, even bundled up in a thick scarf and an ushanka sitting tightly on his big head. Wasn’t he supposed to be in Tyumen?

It wasn’t the time to assess the holiday plans of someone who was more than likely a mafia goon at my door on New Year’s Eve. I opened it.

The man closest to me said, “Yekaterina Petrovna?”

“Yes…”

“Ey,” he turned to the rest of them, and there was a lot of shuffling as he pushed past me. I heard Mama fussing and asking all sorts of questions, and Vitali’s voice reassuring her it was okay.

“Happy New Year,” Misha said, taking off his hat, then squinted past me and yelled, “Take your shoes off, Blyad!”

“Is there room?” the man I recognized as Boris (of Boris and Ivan, the dinner-interrupting-possibly-brothers extravaganza) asked, peeking inside but not entering.

“Vitali said there’s room. Just have to move some things around with the plumbing,” Misha said.

“What?” I asked, slapping myself flat against the wall as the big men moved back and forth.

“To the left,” Vitali told them, then caught a hold of my arm and dragged me back to the living room where Mama and Maxim waited, wide-eyed.

“What’s happening?” I hissed, and Vitali grinned. “New appliance,” he said, and winked at Mama, who had already turned beet red as she watched strangers shuffle around her home.

“The sukin elevator’s broken,” Misha said, rubbing his hands together. “Lugged it all the way up six floors.”

“Mind your language,” Vitali said, “or I’ll mind it for you.”

“I’m sorry, Olga Nikolaevna.” The big man shrank under Mama’s glare. “Didn’t realize you were home.”

“And?” Vitali said.

“…And Katya.”

I glanced something large being dragged through the hallway and take an immediate turn toward the bathroom.

“They’re going to scrape the walls!” Mama gasped and hurried after them.

“I’ll get her new walls if they do,” Misha assured me.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Washing machine,” Vitali said, and this was confirmed with Mama’s gasps and wails down the hall. “I’ll have to bring a plumber in next week, it’s a bit tricky in these old buildings.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be in Tyumen?” I asked Misha, and Vitali gave me a quizzical look.

“Went, came back,” the big man said. “Babushka is in good health. Have things to do here in the city—couldn’t stay long.”

Mama was just returning when she heard that, and just like that, all five of the vicious-looking bear-sized men were forced into the finite space at the dining table which had to be pushed against the couch to fit them.

Just like the very first time Vitali had been brutally bullied into dinner, Mama made sure that her hostages couldn’t leave before they sampled every one of the dishes she (and she alone) ‘slaved over,’ and brought out more as the crowd slowly ate their way across the expanse of the table.

Four ‘someones’ happened to have cognac on them, and two of those, beer. It was the first time I’d seen Mama drink anything but champagne. The noise level quickly got riotous, and I’d never seen her more delighted as compliments of her cooking began circling the room.

Vitali grinned, and it was genuine. He drank, but minimally.

Apparently, this was the company and the occasion to indulge.

We were no longer seated next to each other (the logistics of it were impossible, and even he couldn’t fight math) but made eye contact often enough to reassure me I was on his mind.

Just before midnight, Misha took the liberty of quieting everyone so we could all watch the Presidential Address, and then the Kremlin’s Spasskaya Tower clock chimed, and Mama proudly led everyone in making a silent wish for the new year.

Mine would remain a secret; I was too afraid of it not coming true.

The fireworks went off, and we popped open the French champagne.

There weren’t enough crystal glasses for everyone, so Mama and I used metal cups, which was such an affront to everyone else present that they were immediately confiscated.

Vitali gave me his, but didn’t fill one of his own.

I only took a sip before I handed it to him, a little private celebration.

Just between us, because this was our year.

“A walk?” he asked, as everyone began putting on their coats and loudly praising Mama for a ‘night that surpassed any other New Year’s Eve’ they could imagine. Truly, it would be stamped onto their hearts forever, and they’d spend the rest of their lives chasing its match, they all insisted.

I nodded and hurried to trade my heels for something (only slightly) more practical. As I returned with a pair of heeled boots, I saw Vitali speaking to Misha, and it looked private enough that I had to listen in.

Unfortunately, the only word I caught was ‘Elit,’ which was next to useless to my curiosity, because it was just a club, and of course the big guys were going out.

The stinging cold air was a stark contrast to the stuffy apartment stuffed with men and a hundred different holiday dishes.

Outside, the world expanded into something infinite, with fireworks resembling the full color spectrum of stars.

People spilled out of their podyezds for the night’s real celebration to begin.

Of course, they had to navigate the two Mercedes and one BMW parked without law or order across the snow-swept sidewalks.

Vitali shook each man’s hand, and then they got in and began the slow, horn-blasting crawl through the thick crowds of pedestrians. Because God is just.

He offered me his arm, and I gladly pressed myself against him as tightly as I could manage and we strolled this way toward the heart of the noise.

Lights and snow-themed ornaments decorated everything in sight, and ice statues towered over the walkways.

Some were animals and some Father Frost. Large ice slides with lights trapped beneath the surface served as gathering places for the children whose parents allowed them to stay up.

I guessed that Mama would eventually let that be Maxim, but our family tended to be on the stricter side, even when it came to holidays. Maybe when he turned eighteen…

Bass thumped from open windows mixing with people’s drunken songs uniting in plumes of vaporous breath.

This was Russia, the proud Russia Vitali and I loved.

Tonight, there was no poverty, no violence, no greed.

Tonight, the people drank to everyone’s prosperity. Everyone’s health. Tonight was perfect.

Tonight was perfect…

Vitali seemed genuinely pleased with the evening. My eyelashes frosted over in the Siberian winter, but the warmth that knowledge gave me thawed out my world.

“Come on, Kotik, I want to take you somewhere,” he said suddenly, and we took a turn back. I began protesting, I wasn’t done with the evening, but he hushed me. “Trust.”

We were close to the podyezd and my heart sank because it couldn’t be over yet, but he veered off toward the BMW.

“I didn’t bring my heels; do I need my heels?” I asked as he held the door open.

“No.”

It took three cranks to get the engine going, and Vitali almost swore, then muttered something about missing the Mercedes.

We didn’t drive far, just outside my district, where there were fewer lights and almost no one around.

Those who went out had already left for the lively hubs near the parks, and those who stayed in were holed up in the warmth of their apartments. All was still, and dark.

He parked, predictably atop what would be a small field for kids to play football in the summer, and did not shut off the engine when he opened the door for me.

I tried to ask more questions, but he gently shushed me as he fiddled with something while I stood off to the side.

He left the back door open when he faced me again.

Its light cast across the untouched, sparkling snow, creating brilliant shadows and a soft winter glow. I stood in its spotlight.

Then, it all became clear.

So many years spent in the dark, holding the ashes of my spark… Chloé Dae began.

He offered me his gloved hand.

You were the sun breaking through, the warmth I found, I found in you…

I took it, breathless and relying on him to hold me up as my boots slipped. The momentum only made it easier for him to catch my waist.

There was no hope in me at all, then you showed up and made me whole…

The icy pavement crunched beneath us as he led me in the slow, careful dance.

You showed me all that I could do…

I tilted my head back to look into his eyes. They were fixed on mine.

Now I close my eyes and I am something new—because I loved and you loved me too…

His ragged breath spilled like smoke into the cold, and the leather of his glove pressed against the nape of my neck, the ice left over on their surface digging into my skin.

Our lips met in a violent collision. The kiss sparked, igniting heat driven by the taste of him.

Forbidden until now. Unknown until now, and perfect in every way because it was Vitali—in the exact way I imagined.

He held me tight, not even aware he was the one in danger of never getting away. This was everything I wanted, everything I dreamed of for this beautiful, irreplicable moment.

His other hand had caressed my throat, a thumb resting just under my chin as if I wasn’t ready to tear his clothes off in this -30°C weather.

The kiss was hot, and deep, and his mouth moved against mine with urgency that screamed uncontrollable want.

His thigh pressed into me and the heat spread wickedly through my veins.

His lips, his tongue, his scent—I was burning up.

All I could think was that this was the night, and I was ready for it to be this night.

Our night, even if it had to be in the backseat of his car.

—because I loved, and you loved me too…

And he pulled away.

No.

No…

“Don’t,” I begged hoarsely.

He didn’t—couldn’t look away from my lips like something fought inside him, and he was close to giving in. But no one had as much self-control as Vitali Konstantinov. His hand remained on the back of my neck.

I was ready to get on my knees and throw any ideals of being a modern woman right off the edge of the world. “Vitali, please…”

His hand shifted, no longer at the back but now holding me firmly by the throat, creating a barrier between him and I. He breathed hard, and lightly shook his head in disbelief at something I wasn’t privy to.

“Katya, if you only knew the kind of restraint I practice around you,” he said, and his hand tightened, still under control but hard enough that I knew it would hurt if he snapped.

A part of me wanted to test that. It had been the new year for less than an hour, and I already had a death wish pulsing between my thighs.

“So don’t…”

He shook his head with certainty this time. “I have to be somewhere. I’ll take you home.”

“Where?” I squeaked, almost crying as he trapped my arm under his. “Wait! Where?”

“Business.”

“Business!” I cried out, too furious to mind my tone. “What business! It’s New Year’s and you are here. You’re here, Vitali. With me!”

His jaw tightened, the car lights only accentuating the motion.

“Is it someone else?” I demanded, and the horror spread through me that the words left my mouth, but it was too late to stop. I could already imagine someone awaiting him, and she’d also be told he was busy with ‘business.’ “Are you seeing someone else?”

The car door shut with me inside. This only fueled my rage. This was the night. My perfect night. Our perfect night.

“Please,” I begged furiously, but he wouldn’t look at me.

When we pulled up, he did the gentlemanly routine while I begged him not to go. I refused to go up the first flight of stairs, blocking his way and not allowing him to walk me to my door if it meant him leaving.

“Why do you always have to go?” I sniffled, and in the darkness of the stairwell, his face almost looked pained.

“Are you going to let me walk you to your door?” he asked quietly. “There are only two ways tonight is going to end, Kotik. I walk you to your door or I leave you right here, but I have to go, and I have to go now.”

“Then leave me on the staircase.”

“If that’s how you want to remember it.”

He turned, and the podyezd door fell shut behind him, louder than it ever had.

The hurt thrummed through my chest, and my mind refused to process anything beyond the concrete darkness. It only manifested one word.

‘Elit.’