The fire in her eyes and the defiance in her voice told me she didn't get it. She would never get it.
She didn’t understand that dying was not the worst thing that could happen to you. Dying could be the only thing you wished for when dealing with my father.
She needed to understand and steel herself… and there was only one way I knew how to do that. The only way I'd been taught. Fear.
Turning around inch by inch, slipping on my Azadian heir mask, and letting the ruthless frost fill my veins, then I told her the disgusting truth. “My father is very calculative about what he wants and how he gets it.” Walking towards her with slow, deliberate steps, I brushed my fingers along the edge of the bed but kept my eyes on hers. “He wanted an eldest son with aristocratic blood, so he found a family with good stock and picked a daughter. He threatened the family and their business until she agreed to marry him and give birth to one child for him. A son only.” My teeth hurt from how hard I clenched. “All my older sisters were killed as soon as they knew.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, horror laced in understanding, and I almost chuckled because it got worse. So much worse.
“Then he wanted a son that could work in the shadows, making people at ease with his looks before the gavel fell. So he found the most beautiful woman in Armenia, a singer, and took her home. Raped her over and over again until she was pregnant, and Ion was born.”
Her hands clenched the sheets, her features contorting into a level of sadness that was unmatched, but I couldn't stop myself. The ocean of hidden pain and suffering crashed out of me like a violent, unstoppable tsunami. “After researching your mother, I know why he went after Cezar’s mom. She was a third cousin to your mother and recently married to another tribe. He killed her husband and claimed her as his property. Telling the tribe that if they tried to come for her, he would kill them all. Then, a year later, Cezar was born.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, telling me she didn't want to hear anymore but needed to understand. My chest heaved as I sat down next to her, lifting her face to mine before I put a nail in the coffin. “Open your eyes, Kazia. You need to know what you’re walking into. Who you’re dealing with.” Not just my father, but also myself and my brothers. She needed to know.
“Each of us had a role to play in his empire. The heir with royal blood, the son so beautiful he was deadly… and the son that was meant to do all the dirty work. The other two, you can control and manipulate in several different ways, and there are natural rewards for those jobs if done well, but as an executioner, they need to be honed differently. They needed to be hollow.”
Her eyes opened, tears rolling down, and I wiped one away with my thumb, wondering who those tears were for. “My father is the type to take a seven-year-old boy to an old shipping yard, go into one of the containers, and ask him if he wanted to make his father proud, wanted to solidify his spot in this family.”
I saw the scene before me like I did back then, through the slit of the door. “He was the youngest. Always told he was expendable and desperate to belong, to be apart, and my father knew that.”
My gut clenched. I could taste a trace of the bile from that night, and I almost gagged. The ghosts of my past came forward, but I had to finish. I couldn't keep it locked up in my soul anymore.
“Then he brought in three people with sheets over their whole bodies, no way to tell who they were, and had them kneel in front of them. He took out a golden gun, one that Cezar had always admired. I told him that only the son with the most loyalty to our family could have. He gave the gun to Cezar, telling him how he trusted him, how he was going to be the strongest of us all and keep our family safe. Then he said that the people under the hoods were a threat to us all, to our family. He wanted to allow Cezar to prove his loyalty and earn his forever place at our side.”
Remembering that look on Cezar’s young, innocent face haunted me. The one where he tried to abolish his fear and be a man like his father wanted. His small hands took the gun with both hands, barely able to hold it upright. My father moved behind him, holding him up and keeping him steady as he whispered in his ears.
“He took the gun and killed the three hooded figures. My father smiled and told him he did a good job right before his men took off the sheets and showed him that he killed his Nan, best friend, and mother.”
Her sob ricocheted in my soul, and I gripped her face harder, needing to get out the last part. “As he broke down crying, holding his mother's bleeding corpse, my father and his men closed the shipping container and locked him in, telling him that this was the only way to make sure he could do his job properly. To make his mind right for thejob.”
And what did I do, his older brother, who should've been looking out for him? I froze up, fear took over my body, and I didn’t move. The first thought was, what would he do to me if I let him out? I didn't get the chance after because one of my father's men found me and took me back to the house.
Before my guilt and misery took over, I focused back on her and brought it all home. “So when I say I don't know what he’s going to do, I don't know. I can make up all types of things he might do, things that make you wish for death.” Letting go of her face, I turned away as her restrained sobs echoed, letting everything I said sink in.
At the soft sound of the sheets moving, I saw her small hand crawling its way over me. Those elegant, soft fingers curled over mine and squeezed.
Focusing on her hand, my chest tightened, and I looked up. Even with tears falling down her cheeks, I saw those amber eyes filled with strength, still fighting, unwilling to give up, wanting to survive. Awe filled my soul as I stared at the woman who had heard the horrors of our life and still had hope she would survive it.
My lips moved, for once saying the words in my heart. “I owe you a life debt. I will do what I can to keep you from harm, but I can’t guarantee you anything.” My shame worked its way to the forefront. “As you just heard, I’m not able to save the people I care about.”
She squeezed my hand again, and her smile wobbled. “Maybe I don't need a savior. Maybe I just need someone to understand the pain.”
This time, it was my turn to stare at her, hardly believing the words that came from her mouth. I expected hatred, disgust, maybe even blame, but this…I didn't know how to handle this, so I handled her.
We sat there staring at each other in a stalemate, but my soul felt lighter and less burdened. Leaning closer toward her like a fish on a hook, the door opened, and I snapped back into place.
“How is she-” Ion spoke first before standing there staring at us with an open mouth. I let go of her hand and stood up, blocking her from his view so she could compose herself.
“Look, Cal, if Ion moved his big fat ass, I would be able to see how my roma is doing.” Cezar shoved at Ion, glaring at him before looking at the bed, and his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Zia!” He ran to her side, and I took the opportunity to move out of the way and give them some space.
“When did you start calling me Zia?” Her tone was light and easy, much better than the somber tones from when we talked.
“Well, when I started to pray to all the gods for you to wake up, Ion said I should say your name so they knew who you were. Since I was praying to them from many different religions, I shortened it to get them done as fast as possible.” He paused, cocking his head before shaking it and growling out, “No, Cal! I'm not going to tell her I also prayed to the devil. That might scare her.”
Her eyes widened as she waited for him to look back at her. His slow turn and wide eyes indicated he didn't mean to say it out loud.
