Page 88 of Rafi

RAFI

It’s not every day you’re met at the door by a Pakhan, but these men aren’t like anyone else. Anton and Igor Aslanov don’t cling to tradition, nor do they cater to modernity. They’ve carved out a world that bends to their will, following rules they’ve written for themselves. And right now, I’m standing in the center of it.

A heavy side door groans open, the creak slicing through the suffocating silence. Footsteps echo in the hallway, hurried and uneven, before Tayana stumbles into view. She halts as if struck, her wide, panicked eyes bouncing from me to Kanyan, then locking onto the imposing figures of her father and uncle standing opposite us.

Her breath catches, sharp and audible, a sound that carves through the tension like a blade.

“Rafi,” she whispers, the quiver in her voice betraying a storm of emotions beneath the fragile surface. She doesn’t move. Her frame is rigid, almost trembling, as though the weight of the room has anchored her in place.

Her gaze clings to me, raw and searching, but she doesn’t step forward. The towering presence of her father and uncleforms an unyielding barrier, their shadows looming over her like sentinels. I can’t tell what’s holding her back—shock, fear, anger—or if it’s something deeper, something breaking between us I don’t yet understand.

And still, her name sits heavy on my tongue, unsaid, while the space between us feels impossibly vast.

Igor turns, his cold eyes flicking over her. He doesn’t say a word, just studies her for a moment before shifting his gaze back to us. “Inside,” he commands curtly, gesturing toward the living room.

Anton moves ahead, already reaching for a decanter. “I’d take you to the office,” he says, his tone dismissive, “but I think we’re beyond that formality.”

“We are,” Igor agrees, his voice rough. He sits down, the authority in his movements absolute. “Ilya mentioned a sit-down about the Teskin issue,” he adds, his eyes cutting to the doorway.

Tayana hasn’t left. She’s standing there, still watching me. And just like the first time I saw her, she’s stunning—beyond words. She’s the kind of beautiful that lingers in your chest, leaving you winded even when she’s gone. But her expression is unreadable now, and I can feel Igor’s sharp gaze shift back to me, catching me in the act of staring.

“Rafi,” Anton says suddenly, breaking the tension. “That is your name, isn’t it?” His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it, a quiet warning beneath the surface. “Why don’t you and Tayana talk outside? On the balcony.”

“I don’t think—” Igor starts, but Anton cuts him off with a raised hand, leaning in to murmur something in Russian.

Igor’s jaw tightens, but he leans back, his silence reluctantly given. Anton gestures for Tayana to come forward. “Take him outside,” he says smoothly. “Show him the view.”

Tayana hesitates, her gaze darting to me. I can see the conflict in her eyes, but she nods stiffly. She’s wearing a simple white dress that skims past her knees, the delicate flowers on the fabric a stark contrast to the harsh Russian winter outside.

“It’s cold,” she says quietly, almost to herself. “I’ll get a coat.”

She disappears through a side door, leaving me standing there with the Aslanovs’ heavy stares pressing on my back. Moments later, she returns, wrapping a thick chocolate-brown coat around herself. The belt cinches tightly at her waist, and the sight of her, bundled up and cautious, twists something inside me.

Without a word, she leads me to the balcony. The bitter cold bites at my skin, but I don’t feel it—not really. The wind cuts through the air, rattling the glass doors behind us as we step out. She turns, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here, Rafi?” she asks, her voice cool but trembling faintly.

I pause, swallowing hard. The words I practiced on the flight here feel clumsy now, stuck in my throat. “Business,” I manage. Then, quieter, “And I wanted to see you.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “You came all this way to see me?” The disbelief in her voice stings more than I want to admit.

“An opportunity came up, and I took it,” I say, my voice firmer. “Tayana…”

She doesn’t move closer. Her body language screams distance, a fortress built between us. She stands just out of reach, her eyes searching mine, looking for something I can’t name.

“Say something,” I plead, my voice breaking despite myself. “Anything. Tell me you’re glad I came. Otherwise…” My throat tightens, and I force the words out. “Otherwise, I’ll walk out that door and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Her expression flickers, just for a moment, before hardening again. “You should leave,” she says, and she starts to turn away, but my words come out in a rushed tumble, preventing her from leaving. I don’t understand why she’s so stoic all of a sudden, why she’s devolved from the soft, angelic Tayana I knew to the hard, unforgiving version now standing in front of me.

“I came to tell you that I love you,” I admit, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered. “And that I fuckingmiss you. And that I want you to come home with me.”

She stares at me, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words come. The wind whips her hair around her face, and I can see the struggle in her eyes.

Silence.

It stretches out between us, oppressive and suffocating, until I can’t take it anymore. “Tayana…” I step closer, but she takes a step back, her boots crunching against the icy balcony floor.

“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice splintering like fragile glass. Her arms tighten around herself, and she’s shaking, but I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the emotions she’s trying so hard to suppress.

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