Page 53 of Vasily the Nail

I chuff out a relieved laugh as it hits me that he’s not calling Vasily a brat, he’s calling him hisbrother. “He’s taken good care of me the entire time I’ve stayed with him,” I promise. “Yesterday was just an accident, and I’m fine.”

Artyom nods. “That is good to hear. Anthony has been . . . concerned.”

I straighten at that, at the mention of my own brother. I’m not sure if what he’s done is forgivable. I’m not sure if Artyom’s role in what’s been done to me is forgivable, either. Oddly, the only one I’m ready to forgive — have forgiven or never truly felt wronged by to begin with — is Vasily. “Tony’s never been concerned about me before, so I don’t know why he would be now.”

Artyom nods sympathetically as Vasily takes my hand and squeezes it. “It is hard balancing this,” Artyom says, gesturing to Vasily, “with this.” He shows me the ring he wears on his thumb that is embossed with a ram’s head that matches the brand I’ve noticed on Artyom’s pec. “We don’t always make the best decisions.”

I tighten my lips to hold back any comments, but that’s the understatement of the year. The only thing that’s saved me from being completely traumatized by Tony’sdecisionhas been Vasily.

“Which is why I made sure to come last night to give my confession,” Artyom continues. “And why I had Vasily bring you early. I thought you might want to talk to the priest, and of course take communion after the Liturgy.”

“Oh, I would have had Vasily bring me last night, too, if I had known—”

Artyom waves his hand. “Nyet, you were recovering. The priests are understanding of this and welcome anyone who cannot come in on Saturday night.”

Relieved that I can do what I came here for, I scan the room again, looking for the confessionals, but I still see nothing.

Artyom flags a young priest over and says, “Niko, this is Analiese. She would like to confess, but she’s Catholic, so go gentle on her.” He says it with a wink that makes my stomach cramp as the priest offers his hand to me, but Vasily doesn’t immediately relinquish his hold on me.

“Perhaps I should confess too,” he muses, which is met by an exasperated shake of Artyom’s head.

“We would be stuck here until the Second Coming. Let her heal her soul on her own.”

Vasily

I’m nervous asAna is led away. Not that I don’t trust Niko, of course. He’s Alex’s brother. I used to play video games and ride bikes with him. We went our separate ways in high school, but I was as proud of him taking the cloth as I would have been my own brother. And since he’s one of the younger clergymen, he won’t be so bothered by the fact that she’s not Orthodox. The rules are complicated. She probably shouldn’t be here, at least for confession and communion. But he’ll understand and walk her through it.

He won’t judge her for being here with me.

She looks uncomfortable at first with being taken down to a quiet, deserted end of a pew instead of one of the boxes the Catholics like so much. She looks around nervously. Sweat beads at her brow. She leans in, same as the other parishioners giving confessions do, but I think it’s more to muffle her voice than for any sort of support.

“She’ll be fine,” Artyom says, switching to Russian now that it’s just us.

“I should have taken her to a Catholic church.”

“It’s better if she gets used to this.”

“Why would she need that? She’ll never be here again. She goes back to Phoenix on Saturday.”

Artyom raises his brow like he’s trying to communicate something meaningful to me.

I’m not here to play dumb. “She is going back there. I’ve never been anything but honest about that. This isn’t some ploy to keep her.”

“Brother. I saw how you were with her yesterday. I see how you look at her now. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

I scowl at him, not wanting to explain myself again but needing to. “If you don’t believe me that I don’t understand that she’s not Brooke, believe me that I would not survive Brooke’s death again. Iwilllose Ana on my own terms, no one else’s.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Artyom says apologetically. “She just looks so much like Brooke that I assumed—”

Artyom thinks that he’s handicapped me by demanding I be sober today. It’s mostly made me irritable and needy, ornery about letting other men talk to Ana, let alone take her away from me regardless of how innocent the intentions are. She let me wash every inch of her from her toes all the way up to her mess of wild black curls this morning, and it’s probably the only reason I’ve kept calm today.

Sobriety has also made mefast. The three years’ difference between us means we’ve spent our lives scrapping, and I had to be tougher than I truly was because Artyom’s never pulled his punches. When we go at it, everyone knows better than to break it up, both because they’ll end up getting hurt in the melee and because we hold our own against each other.

But I have the element of surprise this morning, and Artyom’s pinned against an archway before he can stop running his mouth and bites his tongue.

“Was that deliberate?” I growl at him. “Did you think it’d be funny if I raped a girl who looks so much like the love of my life? The woman I was supposed to spend forever with? The woman I would have had a family with despite knowing what I’d be potentially be putting them through? Did you look at my little starlet and decide that I wasn’t fucked enough in the head, so I needed to make sure that not only could I not forget Brooke, I had to also never forgive myself for her death?”

The church has gone silent. I have to hold back the urge to find Ana and make sure I haven’t disturbed this time she needed with Niko. I may have decided when papa and Brooke died that this building was no place for me and I had no interest in appeasing my God anymore, but I want her to have this.

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