Chapter 15
Salvatore
Iwoke before the sun and found Yelena’s hand curled around the firebird notebook as if someone might try to steal it from her in her sleep.
The room was blue with early light. The sea moved beyond the open doors. Slow water. Soft wind. Nothing urgent except the pulse in my chest whenever I looked at her.
Her hair had fallen across my shoulder. Her mouth was slightly open. The notebook rested against her ribs, its gold bird catching one thin line of dawn.
I had spent most of my life waking with a list already forming in my head. Cargo. Payments. Men. Routes. Threats.
That morning, I watched the woman I love breathe. I felt an urge, a hope, that things might stay like this forever, but a fear that they most certainly wouldn’t.
My secure phone vibrated on the table.
TONIO.
I took it into the hall before answering.
“What?” I said quietly.
“Charming as always, fratello. Wanted to let you know we made it to the ranch and all is well.”
I could hear cooking behind him. Pans. Voices. Someone swearing in Italian. Tonio sounded tired and pleased with himself, which usually meant he had created a problem and fed it.
“Is Kiryl safe?”
“He is safe. He is also sunburned, offended, and currently peeling potatoes for twenty guards.”
I stopped.
“He is doing what, sorry?”
I could almost hear the shrug of the shoulders, the raising of the hands. “He said he wanted to help. I gave him a knife and a reasonable task.”
“A knife?”
“A potato knife. Sal. Not a machete.”
I rubbed my face.
“I’ll call when Yelena wakes. She’ll want to see him. Make sure he isn’t doing anything dangerous.”
“You talking about the potatoes?”
“No, of course not. It’s a ranch, don’t have him . . . I don’t know, shoeing horses or whatever.”
“Got it, got it. You want a television call?”
“Yes.”
Tonio laughed. “This family has become a nightmare.”
“It was always a nightmare. Just now we’re documenting it on video.”
When I returned, Yelena had rolled onto her back. Her eyes opened slowly.
“Daddy?”
“Good morning, little one.”
She looked at the notebook, then at me. “Did I fall asleep writing?”
“Yes.”
“Did I write anything embarrassing?”
“I did not read it. But it’s possible, I suppose.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re lying.”
“I am not. Scout’s honor.”
She studied me another second, then softened. “Good. I didn’t have you down as a scout.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed hair from her face.
“I suppose you still have a lot to learn about me.”
“Wait, are you actually a scout?”
I chuckled. “No, honey, not really. Hey, Tonio called. Let me know they made it to the ranch. Kiryl is fine.”
Her body tightened before I finished.
“He’s fine?”
“Yes. But I think you should see for yourself.”
I carried the screen from the sitting room into the bedroom. Yelena pulled the sheet to her chest while I connected the call.
Tonio appeared first.
He stood in a bright ranch kitchen wearing a black T-shirt with flour across the front. His hair was a disaster. Behind him, a line of guards moved through the room with plates and coffee.
“Ah,” he said. “The island prisoners have risen.”
“Show me Kiryl,” Yelena said.
“No hello? No thank you for babysitting your brother?”
“Tonio.”
“Such hostility before breakfast. It’s really not the done thing.”
Kiryl stepped into view.
He wore a faded shirt, shorts, and an expression of pure irritation. His pale face was pink across the nose and cheeks. A peeler hung from one hand.
Yelena’s entire body changed.
“Kirya.”
“Hi, Lena.”
“Show me your hands.”
He sighed. “Seriously?”
“Hands.”
He held them up. A small nick marked one thumb.
Yelena’s eyes sharpened.
“What happened?”
“A potato fought back.”
Tonio leaned into frame. “He lost. To be fair, it was one of the more deadly potatoes I’ve seen. Real knobbly.”
Kiryl made a rude gesture at him with his uninjured hand.
Yelena blinked. Then she laughed. Not carefully. Not as a defense. The sound escaped her and stayed.
“Your face,” she said. “You’re burned.”
“Sunburned. Because your friend made me walk the property.”
“My friend?”
“He made me walk the property,” Kiryl repeated.
“Security assessment,” Tonio said. “Very important work. Plus, Kirya is a little pale. Needs some Vitamin D, in my professional medical opinion.”
“Bullshit,” Kirly said. “You just wanted me to carry fence posts around. My wellbeing was far from your mind.”
“You made him carry fence posts?” I snorted. I couldn’t help myself.
“They were small fence posts,” Tonio said with a grin. “Insignifcant.”
Pietro joined the call from Chicago. He sat in the carriage house kitchen with a coffee in one hand and Angela beside him, still wrapped in a cardigan.
“I saw the photos,” Pietro said. “The fence posts were not small.”
Tonio pointed at the screen. “Traitor.”
Angela leaned into view. “Kiryl, did you get breakfast before forced labor?”
“Yes. Eggs. Sausage. Toast. Some slop they call cowboy beans. Tonio keeps trying to feed me every forty minutes.”
“You are thin and you are pale and I’m going to make you healthy,” Tonio said.
“I am not too thin.”
“You are a human pencil.”
Kiryl looked offended. Yelena laughed again.
I watched her. The way she looked at her brother. The way worry still lived in her face, but no longer owned every inch of it.
“Are you happy there?” she asked him.
The kitchen quieted. Kiryl looked at her.
Not are you safe.
Not are the guards armed.
Not did anyone touch you.
He glanced over his shoulder. One of the guards was trying to flip an egg and failing. Tonio swore at him. Angela smiled into her coffee.
“Define happy,” he said. Then, with a smile, “You know, I think I am. It’s strange. But good strange.”
Yelena’s mouth trembled.
“I’m glad.”
“And Lena?”
“Yes?”
“Stop checking on me! It’s like every hour.”
Her brows rose.
“I do not check every hour.”
“You checked four times yesterday.”
“Yes and how many hours are in a day? Remind me.”
“Four times before lunch.”
Tonio made a sound that might have been a laugh. Kiryl looked at me then.
I kept my voice even.
“I’m just going to ask you some questions that might seem stupid. I’m trying to make sure that you truly are safe there. So. Are you comfortable with the arrangements?”
He frowned slightly. “Yes.”
“Does anyone stop you from going where you want on the property?”
“No.”
“Does anyone read your phone, limit your calls, or make decisions for you that are not necessary for security?”
“No.”
“Do you understand why guards accompany you outside the gate?”
“Yes.”
“And if you decide something feels unreasonable?”
“I tell you. Or Tonio. Or Pietro.”
“Correct.”
Kiryl held my gaze through the screen. He was young, but he was not a child. I wanted him to know I understood that.
“You are not a hostage under our protection,” I said. “You are a guest and Yelena’s brother. Those are different things.”
His expression shifted.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Yelena looked down at the sheet gathered in her hands. I reached for her fingers.
Kiryl cleared his throat. “You should enjoy the island.”
“I am enjoying it.”
“You sound like Father when he insists he’s having fun. Like you’re hiding something.”
Tonio choked on his coffee.
Yelena’s eyes widened. “You little shit.”
“There she is,” Kiryl said, smiling. “That’s my sister.”
After the call ended, Yelena sat quietly for a while. Then she looked at me.
“You think I’m too protective of him.”
“Not exactly. But I think he’s older than you realize, and a lot more sensible. Resilient, too.”
“I still see him as small. My father was always so mean to him. His least favorite child.”
“I understand. You feel protective.”
“I don’t like it about myself. So anxious.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself. It comes from love. And when you two have been safe for a while, it will be easier.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Her eyes went bright. She looked away toward the water.
I gave her a minute.
Then I stood.
“Get dressed.”
She looked suspicious. “Why?”
“Second date. It’s happening. The time has come.”
“Sound ominous.”
I laughed. “Hopefully not! But I suppose we’ll see.”
She smiled despite herself. “Where are we going? How should I dress?”
“A neighboring island. Weather much the same. Dress to make yourself feel happy.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Refuse? The date that you practically begged me for?”
“That’s right, Daddy. Consent can be rescinded at any moment.”
“If you refuse . . . I will take you anyway.”
“Daddy!”
“I am joking.”
“You are only partly joking.”
“I suppose we’ll never know.”
She chose her clothes without asking my opinion.
The dress was bright yellow, with thin straps and a skirt that moved around her knees in the wind. She wore a wide straw hat and flat sandals. Nothing expensive. Nothing armored. She looked like sunshine had learned how to sharpen its teeth.
When she came downstairs, I forgot the sentence I had prepared.
Yelena noticed.
“Oh,” she said. “That good?”
“Dangerously good.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
The sailboat waited at the private dock. Security followed in another vessel, far enough back that Yelena did not have to look at them unless she chose to.
Before we left, I held up sunscreen.
She stared at it.
“No chance.”
“You will burn. Remember Kiryl?”
“I will become golden, bronze, beautiful.”
“You will become painful.”
She sighed and held out her arms.
I rubbed sunscreen over her shoulders, her collarbones, her back. My hands moved slowly. Not because I wanted to turn it into anything. Because touch had become a language between us, and I wanted every word to mean care.
When I reached her thighs, she caught my wrist.
“That’s enough, Daddy. I don’t know if I could stop myself from . . . you know. And we have this date!”
“Of course.”
She took the bottle and did the rest herself.
The neighboring harbor was louder than our island. Boats crowded the water. White buildings climbed the hill above the docks. Music carried from somewhere inland. The market spread along the waterfront beneath striped awnings.