Page 63 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
He looks so pained, so very angry with himself, and just his simple acknowledgment of the truth is enough for me. I lean over and gently caress his cheek, careful not to linger on any bruises. “I know. I’m sorry too. We should have talked about it earlier.”
“I said horrible, vile things.” He closes his eyes from the guilt.
“We all do sometimes,” I whisper and get back to treating the wounds he didn’t let the doctor touch.
I swallow hard at the sight of his bruised and battered face, the ugly marks across his chest, trying to hold back thetears that threaten to fall. I hate whoever did this to him. Hate that he hurts.
***
After I’m done tending to him, I lead him to his bed and bring him some water and the pain medication the doctor prescribed. I make sure he’s settled in and comfortable before perching on the edge of the mattress beside him.
“You should rest,” I tell him, but he shakes his head.
“Stay,” he says, patting the space next to him. “Please. Just for a little while.”
I hesitate, then slip off my shoes and lie down beside him, keeping space between us. We lie there in silence for a while.
“Do you think they’ll try again?” I finally ask. “The people who attacked tonight?”
“No. Not right away.” He turns his head to look at me. “They lost men, too. They’ll regroup, lick their wounds. We have time.”
The thought doesn’t comfort me. “This will never end, will it? This violence in your world?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I know I don’t want us caught in the middle of it anymore.”
I don’t miss that word he uses.Us.
I nestle into the bed and turn to my side to face him, tolookat this man who has come to mean so much. I haven’t forgotten all he did for me after I found out the truth about my brothers. He never forced his presence, but he was always worried, always checking in.
He put himself and his wants and needs aside and gave me what I needed. I could have lost him tonight.
There’s no doubt in my mind now that Ilariy has come to mean a lot to me. For some reason, I can no longer imagine a life without him. But to imagine a life with him, I need to know more abouthislife.
“What was it like?” I whisper. “Growing up?”
He furrows his brows and loses himself to memories. “When our parents passed, Agafon had to bear too much responsibility. We tried to help him, but we were a large family, and no one could help ease his worries. He did everything to keep us safe.”
“Was there always…so much violence?” I feel my throat tighten at the thought of what Agafon must have sheltered them all from.
“Initially, yes,” Ilariy nods. “When our father passed, people considered us weak. Agafon worked tirelessly, day and night. He never let us know what troubles lay at bay. He was our rock.”
“He must be quite strong, as a person,” I sigh in admiration.
Here, Ilariy frowns. “He always has been. But there was a point when he nearly broke.”
I suddenly feel tense. “Why? What happened?” my voice comes out in a whisper.
Ilariy’s expression softens. “What happened with Nikandr broke him. Nikandr was always the gentlest of us. Our father called him weak, but Agafon and I knew better. He just felt things more deeply than the rest of us.” He shifts, wincing slightly. “When your brothers introduced him to drugs, it waslike watching a light go out. He became someone else—paranoid, angry, desperate. He stole from us, lied to us. He disappeared for days at a time.”
I think of Nikandr as I know him now—quiet, kind, with a wry sense of humor that catches you by surprise. “How did you get him back?”
“It wasn’t easy. We tried everything—rehab centers, interventions, threats, bribes. Nothing worked until Agafon tried something different.”
Ilariy’s voice grows soft with memory. “Agafon let Nikandr off the hook, and it broke him.
“What do you mean?”
“He realized Nikandr had to hit rock bottom,” Ilariy says simply. “As long as we remained, he’d always have options. So, when in a fit of rage, Nikandr decided to walk out of our house and said he never wanted to see us again, Agafon let him. It killed him. He worried every night. We heard rumors about things Agafon had been up to. He’d been stabbed in Berlin during a bar fight. He relapsed. He stole for drug money. But Agafon stayed away.”
