“Four years,” is all I say back.
He nods. “That’s more than a respectable amount of time to move on with someone new, don’t you think?”
This is an odd conversation. I don’t think my father has ever asked me about my dating life in any form, let alone like this. We haven’t really even discussed Kira’s death since it happened. And since my father isn’t the kind of man who does small talk, I know this has to be leading somewhere.
I’m the last person to question his motives, however. I clear my throat and respond with, “To some, I’m sure.”
“And for yourself?”
I shift around in my seat as his polar ice blue eyes bear down on me. I feel like I’m under a spotlight. “My life is dedicated to the brotherhood. To you. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to search for a wife.”
“Hmm,” he said in response. “Well, perhaps very soon, fate will decide for you.”
An odd thing to say, but I don’t respond. What he says sounds a little like a Russian proverb or some such thing that my grandfather might’ve said when he lived in Russia when it was the Soviet Union.
He drops me off at my penthouse, and once I’m on the other side of my own door, I can let go of everything that this outing had in store for me.
I could spend the afternoon at one of Father’s clubs. He likes it when I’m a presence at any one of them. I think it’s his idea of having extra security. Everyone knows who I am and who my father and brothers in arms are. No one would dare cause problems if I’m in attendance.
At least that’s the thought process. If it always worked out that way, I wouldn’t bear half the scars I do on my body.
I go into the kitchen and get an icepack from the freezer, putting it over my wounded knuckles. That asshole had a hard head. Those first punches were like hitting concrete.
I wish you wouldn’t fight,Lyubimiy.Your hands are my favorite parts of you.
The sound of Kira’s voice is just as loud in my mind as if she were standing right behind me. Whenever she’d say something like that, she’d take my hands and kiss them. Her cool lips always felt like a salve for my wounds.
I flex my sore hand under the icepack as I stand by my sink. This place is too fucking quiet. I thought that I would eventually get used to it after she passed away. I thought that I would start to hear the sounds of the city below or the soft mechanical noise of my fridge or even the ticking of the clock and that would take away the unbearable silence.
It’s still here, though. It’s always here. Always underneath it all. I don’t think I ever noticed how I would always know she was here even before I saw her.
I turn on the television as I walk into the living room, just for the noise, and walk down the hall and into my bedroom.
I kneel on the floor next to my bed and look underneath for my lockbox. It’s my most valuable possession. Everything in my penthouse could burn to cinders as long as this box survived. It’s tucked under the bed, right next to my nightstand. It’s a little hard to get to. I have to kneel all the way down on both knees to reach it. But I get it and once it’s in my hands, I sit down with my back against the bed and open it.
Inside are photos and letters, mostly. The first photo on top is of Kira and me when we were teenagers. We’re walking down the lane of a carnival and she’s holding an oversized teddy bear that I’d just won for her. I don’t know what ever happened to that thing. I know she kept it in her bedroom for years afterward.
The photos are like these little happy snapshots taken between the life we had together and the promise of more to come.Honestly, I should have known better. I come from a long line of tragedy. There are stories of loss throughout my family line that could fill a library, all of which were just told to me by one elder or another throughout my life. Grooms murdered at their weddings, wives thrown from balconies with their babies in their arms. The history of my family should have been a lesson to me that I can never, ever trust in something like love. How could I ever have believed that my life would be any different from any of my ancestors’?
I don’t even fully know what happened to my mother. I have vague memories of her waking us up in the middle of the night and trying to run off with us. Memories of her smile changing whenever my father entered the room. Tense nights when we could hear her screaming for our father to stop…
And then one day, she was gone. No one ever told me where she went. No one explained. She was just gone. But then, the story of my mother’s disappearance isn’t exactly an isolated one. Parents who leave in the night and never come back are probably the most common thing that ever happens in my family.
I knew all this when I met Kira and it didn’t stop me from pursuing her, loving her, asking for her hand in marriage. It didn’t stop me from believing that one day, we’d have children and live happily ever after in spite of it all.
I look through the photos for a little while and something settles within me. Maybe her spirit is here, kissing my sore knuckles, helping to ease the damned quiet of this place. I don’t know. I’m tired, though. I know that much. It’s the middle of the day by now. I should probably be out doing something for my father.
I’m not, and thankfully, he isn’t calling me. Right now, all I want is to close my eyes for just a little while. The madness of my life and this world can wait until I wake up.
3
ISABELLA
The moment I walk in the door of my father’s house, I start looking for Analisa. The living room, dining room, parlor… she’s nowhere. I ask one of my cousins if they’ve seen her and they direct me upstairs. Apparently, they saw her running up there a little while ago, so I go up as well.
The upstairs hallway is quiet in comparison to the rest of the house. Old smells seep up to me from the floorboards. My mother’s perfume, the plate of cannoli that I dropped right at the door of my old room. I pause by the door and take a brief look in. My old furniture is still in there, but the mattress is bare and there are white blankets over my old chairs and dresser. It kind of looks like I’m away on vacation.
I hear a sob and a whimper in the room across from mine. I turn to see the door is closed, but there’s a light shining from under the door.
