“Did you truly believe she had written anything other than your name?” he asked. He seemed more critical than curious.
I slid the certificate into my desk. It would be moved to a safer location when I had the chance. “She implied she had left it blank.”
I told her the truth, she had said when I had asked her about it. I assumed the truth had been a blank line; not my name.
“Elena implies many things,” Artyom said. “It’s her way of protecting herself.”
I cut my eyes to him. “Fancying ourselves psychologists now, are we, Artyom?”
His lips almost twitched into a smile, the only sign of his amusement. It surprised me; neither of us were on good enough terms to be teasing each other. “Our family would do better with one, but no.” He gestured to the birth certificate. “I am just saying that I have my way of defending myself, you have your way, and Elena has hers. I would suggest you not be so ready to believe all she is telling you.”
“Is this your way of warning me away from Elena?”
“It would be nothing you haven’t said to me,” he said, reminding me of a conversation I had with him when his love for Roksana threatened his power. “But no. In fact, I think I’m encouraging you to get closer, to bring her back into this family.”
My eyebrows rose. “I’ve never heard you support bringing someone into this family. You were against Tatiana, Danika, Roman and Dmitri.” I didn’t say what I really wanted to say, which was: even if I offered, even if I forgave, I don’t think she would come back to us. Come back to me.
“I didn’t support Babushka, either,” he said. “I thought she would infect the house with fleas.”
“And she did.”
Artyom nodded. “She did. But we were all the better for it. Who else would guard our children so fiercely when we cannot? Who else would’ve guarded Elena?”
“You had the chance to,” I reminded him, tone hardening as I recalled his failure. “You could’ve easily brought her and Nikolai back home.”
“Physically, yes, I could’ve,” Artyom said.
I slid my hands into my pockets, observing him. “What was she like? When you did see her?”
Surprise flickered in eyes his at the question...and the camaraderie to my tone. “No better than you, my friend. Though her madness was less obvious, it was clear she was just as heartbroken as you.”
“I see.”
Artyom looked out the window. I could still hear Elena and Nikolai out there, but I had moved so they were out of my view. His cheeks crinkled when he spotted them. “Elena was in a motel with a newborn, tired and sad. She was also terrified.”
“Terrified of what?”
“What we’re all terrified of.”
I felt my smirk grow. “Coy?”
“You’re one to talk.”
That made me laugh. “Indeed.”
We shared a surprised look of amusement, one between men who considered each other brothers. I still remembered the day we met, two young boys who were suffocating beneath the shadows of their fathers. Artyom had been protective and rational even then, never interested in my elaborate plans or love for art.
It hadn’t been until I killed my father that Artyom began to support my ambitions. As teenagers, outcasts from the Bratva and not yet powerful enough to take our own land, we had spent hours creating our hopes and dreams, feeding into each other’s aspirations.
Our violent natures had always set us apart from others in the schoolyard, and even our families, but we’d had each other. When my brothers and father had hunted me mercilessly, when my mother’s madness had threatened my own sanity, I had always had Artyom.
There had never been a single dream of my empire I had formed where Artyom was not by my side.
Then he had betrayed me.
Some rational part of me understood and knew that Artyom would’ve done whatever it took to protect his family. There were no lengths too great that Artyom wouldn’t go to keep us all safe. We were the center of his world, and Roksana was the axis on which his world spun.
I may have been filled with such violent and burning hatred at the sight of him and the knowledge of his betrayal, but I knew that Artyom believed he had a good reason.
“Tell me more about Elena in that motel,” I said instead of illustrating any of the other thoughts inside my mind.
Artyom’s brow rose but he didn’t comment. “It took Olezka and I a long time to find her,” he said. “She was careful not to leave traces. Even the hospital she gave birth to Nikolai in was stripped bare of her footprints. But we did find her.”
“Olezka was in on it?”
Another man of mine who had to be punished.
“Olezka knows things about this Bratva that you and I couldn’t even fathom. That is his job.”
I nodded, reluctantly agreeing, indicating for him to go on with the story.
“She was skinny, tired. Nikolai was screaming. I thought she might cry when she saw me, but she didn’t.” Artyom looked out the window thoughtfully. “I gave her the emergency phone and some cash. I also changed Nikolai’s diaper. Then I left.”
If Artyom expected me to believe that was the entire truth, he was sorely mistaken. I knew a conversation had happened in that hotel room, whispered beneath the cries of Nikolai.
“Did she say why she left?”
Artyom cut his eyes to me. “You know she did.” He did not expand.
“I never thought you liked Elena,” I remarked. “But then again, you’ve never been one to like someone at first glance.”
“No, I am not, unlike my wife.” His features softened the way they always did when he brought up Roksana. “I didn’t like Elena at first glance. Or even the second. She distracted you, consumed you. She threatened all we had worked for with her unfortunate first marriage.”
“What changed?”
Artyom didn’t reveal anything on his face. “I saw something in her that I recognized. The fervent need to protect the ones you love, even if it means breaking yourself in the process.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He grinned, teeth flashing as the corners of his eyes crinkled. Artyom rarely ever smiled, most of his smiles reserved for Roksana, but he grinned at me now like I had told him something hilarious. Even as a boy, Artyom had never been one to show carefree humor.
“Yes, it does,” he mused. “Think about it, Kostya. I’ve answered your question.” He gestured a hand to the window. “She has answered your question. Stop being so hard on her.”
“I have been nothing but welcoming.”
“You would welcome the Devil, Kostya. Elena is not the Devil; she is the woman you love. Act like it.” Artyom bowed his head like he was trying to rectify all the disrespect he had shown me. “Brother.”
I inclined my head but did not return the affectionate nickname.
12
Elena Falcone
It turned out avoiding everyone was easier than I had hoped.
When everyone was inside, Nikolai and I raced each other in the garden and swung from the highest branches. When everyone was outside, we snuck into the kitchen and feasted on leftovers like hungry raccoons digging through trash. When the inside of the house had begun to populate again, I had taken Nikolai to the one place I knew no would go: the library.