“And did you find her?” I ask.
He nods gravely. “Yes, mishka. It took me nearly a week, because she was in a hospital, under a false name — the Russian version of a Jane Doe. She was unconscious for the first few days after I found her, but I waited. I sat by her bedside for three long days until she finally woke up. I comforted her, told her I was sent by her father, who was very worried. She confessed to me that she had been working as a prostitute to make ends meet, and that her last customer had abused her greatly.”
“Poor thing!” I gasp.
“Yes,” Ivan agrees. “She was in very bad shape, mishka. The man really, ah, what is the phrase? He did quite a number on her.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, at first she did not want to tell me the man’s name. She was very, very afraid, you see. And with good reason. He is an extremely powerful man in Russia, the owner of a large and influential company, and she knew it was dangerous to cross him. But after assuring her that I would keep her safe, she gave me his name. And I found him that very night, while she slept in her hospital bed. I found him, and I hurt him. For every blow he inflicted on Yekaterina, I inflicted ten upon him. I wanted him to suffer as she suffered — only worse. Even the lowest man knows that it is unforgivable to harm a woman or a child, and I had to teach him that lesson myself.”
“How did you get caught?”
“I dared to let him live. I wanted him to walk down the streets covered in bruises and blood and have all of his wealthy, powerful neighbors know exactly what he was being punished for, so that anyone who saw him would also learn his lesson: that to lay a hurtful hand on a woman is the most evil act a man can commit,” Ivan says firmly, determination glowing in his dark blue eyes.
I have never been so enamored of anyone as I am of him in this moment.
After a moment, he continues, “So like a coward, he turned me into the police. Because he has such power, the Russian government gave me a harsh sentence, and so I wasted a long time in prison.”
“And then you came back here?” I ask.
“Da. My associates, they sent me back the very day I was released, angry that once again I had drawn police attention to their business. But upon my return, my boss was very pleased. He promoted me, gave me more freedom than ever before. I had truly proven myself a real asset to the mafia.”
Ivan leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips. “So you see, as long as you are under my protection, no harm will come to you.”
I give him a big smile and I can feel myself blushing despite myself. “Thank you. For everything.”
“And I swear to you, Katy, I will find out who killed your father. I will find the murdering coward and make him pay with his life for what he has done.”
It’s a shocking and — in its own way — sweet proclamation. Still, I tell him softly, “If you find him, please don’t kill him. I don’t want an eye for an eye. Instead, I want him to be held accountable for his actions. I want the world to know what he has done to my family. And besides, I don’t want you to risk your own life trying to do this for me. Promise me that you will simply turn him over to the police, if you find him?”
“When I find him,” Ivan corrects. “And yes. If it is what you desire, then I shall allow the vile slug to live.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and kiss his fingers delicately.
With that, we both rise and get dressed. Night has fallen by now, and it’s time to go home. Ivan hails a car and we ride back to Brighton Beach in the dark, my eyes drooping with exhaustion. As we roll down the neon-lit streets and shadowy back streets of New York City, I feel Ivan reach over and take my hand. I slump against his broad shoulder and drift off to sleep.
When we arrive in front of my apartment building, Ivan tells the driver to wait for him, and he all but carries me upstairs to my home. He lays me in my bed, presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, and the last thing I can remember before I succumb to sleep is his whisper of “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
12
Ivan
I wish I could say there were two me’s. One, the tender man, who looks out for his woman at all costs. Who loves with all his heart and gives with both hands open.
The other, a cold blooded killer.
But that would be a cop out. The kind of flowery garbage some soft-skinned shit behind a desk would say to excuse himself of all the wrong-doing he’s caused. A way to fire thousands of workers just before Christmas, or order the deaths of innocents, then head on home with a clear conscience.
My conscience is never clean.
I’m not two men in one body, I’m just a man. And like the countless men before me who did awful things in the name of a cause, I’ll live with that dirty conscience by pouring my heart into the bosom of some soft woman.