The answer makes him close his eyes, and I know before he says it.
"Ya ponimayu." I understand. The Russian slips out, raw. "Thank you for being there.Spasibo, Katya."
The call ends. He doesn't move, just stands there staring at the lake with the phone dangling from his hand like he's forgotten how to let go.
"Alexei?"
"She's gone." The words come out hollow. "My mother. Early this morning, Moscow time. Katya's been trying to reach me since dawn."
I rise, move toward him slowly, the way Dante taught me to approach wounded animals. Dangerous ones.
"I'm so sorry."
"She died asking for him." His voice breaks completely. "For Mikhail. Katya said she kept calling his name. 'Gde moy mal'chik? Gde Misha?' Where is my boy?"
The Russian makes it worse somehow. More real. My chest constricts with guilt that feels like drowning.
"I should have been there." He still won't turn around. "She begged for weeks. And I chose to stay with you instead."
The weight of that admission settles between us like a blade. His mother died alone, asking for sons who couldn't come. One I helped kill, one who chose me over her final moments.
I reach out to touch his back, but he flinches away like I've burned him.
"Don't." His voice is dangerous now, that edge that usually makes me wet but now just makes me ache. "Just… don't."
Something builds between us, pressure like the air before violence. His shoulders shake with the effort of holding something back, and when it breaks, it's with the force of years.
"My father." He spits the word like poison. "Viktor."
The name makes him switch fully to Russian, words pouring out fast and raw. I understand every bitter syllable:chudovishche, monster.Sdelal yeye, made her.Koleni, knees.Zastavlyal yest' iz ruk, made her eat from his hands.Nakazal, punished.
"He made her kneel." Back to English now, words pulled from him like bullets from wounds. "My mother. Made her kneel for hours during dinner parties. Made her eat from his hand while everyone watched. Like she was a dog. Less than a dog."
My stomach turns, but I stay silent.
"If she looked at another man, even accidentally, she was locked in their room for days. If she spoke without permission…" He stops, grips the railing harder. "The things he did. And she never fought back. Never left. Loved him until the end, or was too broken to know the difference."
He turns to me then, and his face is destroyed. Tears streaming, something shattered behind his eyes that makes my body respond in all the wrong ways. I want to hold him, kiss him, let him fuck the pain away.
"The shoes." His voice cracks. "Making you walk on bloody feet while I watched. Counting each step."
Oh God. The parallel hits like ice water.
"The feeding." He's sobbing now, ugly and raw. "My fingers in your mouth, making you take what I gave you. Just like him. Exactly like him."
"Alexei…"
"The collar." He can barely get the words out. "At the gala. Displaying you. Showing everyone you belonged to me."
His knees give out. He collapses onto the porch, body shaking with sobs that sound like they're being torn from his chest. The sound is horrible, beautiful, and my pussy clenches even as my heart breaks.
"Ya stal im. Ya stal ottsom." I became him. I became my father.
"I'm sorry." He gasps between sobs. "Sofia, I'm so fucking sorry. The basement, the knife, every time I made you feel small. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
I drop beside him on the rough wood, taking his face in my hands. He tries to pull away but I'm stronger than I look.
"Look at me." My thumbs brush tears from his cheeks. "Alexei, look at me."
