Page 81 of Rafi

Some would call me lucky. I have two fathers. Or so it seems. The truth? I don’t actually know who my father is. It could be either one of them—Anton or Igor—something only a DNA test can confirm. But the thought of that test feels like an unbearable weight pressing down on my chest. I’m not sure I’m ready for the answer, and apparently, neither are they.

In twenty-two years, neither Anton nor Igor has made a move to resolve the mystery. So, whose daughter am I? Both, apparently. The daughter of two men who’ve spent decades circling each other in silent, seething competition over a woman who no longer exists to love or to choose.

It turns out they are a twisted version of the usual fairy tale princes. They are the bedtime story my mother used totell me. Two brothers, both vying for the heart of a beautiful, tragic woman. My mother, Elana. Except in their story, there are no villains—only victims, clawing at each other and tearing everything apart in the process. Including me.

Igor met her first. He tells me the story, in one of his rare reflective moments of honesty. He’d been out with friends, gambling, drinking, losing track of time, when they stumbled into some underground club where women were being auctioned off like livestock. He saw her standing there under the dim, flickering lights, her shoulders bare, her face defiant, and said he fell in love with her on the spot. So, he bought her. Just like that. He called it love. He thought he was saving her. My mother called it captivity.

For a month, he kept her. Treated her well, he claims. Gave her the best food, the softest clothes, the kind of luxury that should’ve made her fall at his feet. But Elana didn’t love him. She couldn’t bring herself to love the man she considered her monster, her captor.

Then Anton entered the picture. The younger, gentler brother. Igor said he knew the moment Elana looked at Anton that she’d never look at him that way. Her guard came down, her voice softened, and for the first time, she smiled. It was inevitable. Anton and Elana fell in love. And Igor? He let her go. Or so he says.

But letting her go didn’t mean forgiving her—or Anton. The three of them became trapped in a vicious cycle of resentment. Elana couldn’t forgive Igor for buying her in the first place. Anton couldn’t forgive Igor for having her first. And Igor… Igor couldn’t forgive either of them for the way they left him behind.

I grew up in the shadow of that bitterness. It clung to our family like a curse, suffocating and inescapable. My mother’s warnings about Igor and how evil he is—all because she worried that out of spite, he might try to take me from her. Try to claimme as his own. But even she didn’t know. She liked to believe I was Anton’s, her love child, the product of the only true love she’d ever had. Maybe that’s what she needed to believe to survive.

When my mother was killed—shot down by Vasili Teskin the night he attacked me—everything unraveled. Neither Anton nor Igor had the strength or the presence of mind to raise a teenage girl. Worse, the threat of Teskin loomed over us like a dark cloud, and they decided I was safer far away. They changed my surname and sent me away, packed me off like cargo, and I let them because I thought Anton couldn’t bear to look at me on account of how closely I resembled my mother. When all along, they distanced themselves to save my soul from the purgatory they’d found themselves in.

Now, years later, I find out it wasn’t about me at all. It was about survival. The only reason Igor brought me back now is because the threat is greater with me gone. Vasili Teskin, recently allied with Victor Moreno, is out for revenge on the Gattis, my new found family, and apparently, being with my birth family in Russia is the safest place for me to be.

Igor finally comesclean about everything. How he tracked Teskin to the city and kept himself hidden from me so I wouldn’t feel the urge to run. Like I’d been doing my whole life. What he hadn’t anticipated is Rafi seeking me out and telling me about seeing Igor.

Maxine, he tells me, had been with Teskin and he was able to retrieve her from him. The objective? To use her as leverage for the Gatti’s co-operation in putting down Teskin once and for all. The pieces of the puzzle start to slip in place as the suddenrealization hits me. I couldn’t have orchestrated it better myself, even if I’d tried.

“Who shot Sasha at the dock? You said you had eyes on me always. Who was that?”

Igor shrugs. “I’m assuming Teskin’s first attempt on your life – we missed it, so we became more vigilant with security.”

I remind him that Teskin somehow still managed to find me at the shelter.

Igor closes his eyes, as if he can shut out the pain of how close they came to losing me. He was at a meeting with Daniel Russo when the attack happened and caught wind of it only once it was too late and I was already gone. But at least I was safe, he points out.

“Then Rafi Gatti found you. Literally at the same time that Teskin found you. I knew Teskin was the greater threat, so I was happy to keep you in the safety of the Gattis – temporarily. While I regrouped and tried to find another ally in the city.”

“Daniel Russo.”

Igor knew the man couldn’t be trusted, but Russo knew the city better than anyone else, and that’s what Igor needed. Igor reminds me that he didn’t hurt the Gattis, which is for the most part true. He could have just taken the short cut, though, by handing Maxine over at the fight club. Which he didn’t. His main objective had been to keep me safe and get me out of the country; he smiles triumphantly as I inform him with a sour look that his mission was accomplished.

“And now here I am.”

“You’re home,malysh.Where you belong.”

The weightof the conversation with Anton and Igor clings to me like smoke as I climb the stairs to my room, each step heavier than the last. My pulse pounds in my ears, and my chest tightens as their words replay in my mind.

I place my phone on the desk, staring at it as if it holds all the answers I can’t bring myself to ask. The screen stays black, unyielding, its silence echoing the void between Rafi and me. My hand hovers over it, fingers twitching with the temptation to call him. One press, and I could hear his voice, the warmth of it breaking through the cold knot in my chest.

But I can’t. I’m frozen, paralyzed by the weight of everything that’s passed between us—and everything that hasn’t.

The last time we spoke plays in my mind like a jagged film reel: my voice flat, my words measured, as I handed him Maxine’s location and cut the call short. The way his silence stretched after, like he was waiting for me to say something more, something real. And then, nothing. No calls. No texts. Nothing but the growing chasm between us.

I drop my head into my hands, the mask I wear cracking under the pressure. For a fleeting moment, I think about calling him, hearing his voice, letting him be the anchor I’ve refused to admit I need. But I know it’s not fair. Not to him. Not to me.

I press my hands to my temples, trying to shove the memories away. But they claw their way back, relentless. Maybe he’s angry. Maybe he’s done waiting for me to figure myself out. Or maybe—just maybe—I’m not worth waiting for.

46

RAFI

The smell of sweat and metal fills the air as I push through the doors of the training centre. It’s late, and the place is mostly empty except for a few diehards working the heavy bags or shadowboxing in the corner. My boots echo against the concrete floor as I make my way to the cage.

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