I nod quickly. I have absolutely no intentions of sharing this experience with anyone else for the rest of my life. I am taking the events of today to my grave.
“I could never tell anyone without incriminating myself. I mean, I was there. I had a hand in it. I am guilty,” I say slowly, as though trying to convince myself of the reality. It’s strange, I don’t feel like I expected to. I had anticipated overwhelming guilt, hysterics, maybe denial. But instead I feel strangely relieved. My father’s killer is dead.
“No, Katy,” Ivan replies solemnly, looking over at me with a very emphatic gaze. “You are guilty of nothing. As far as the mafia is concerned, you weren’t even there. And we will defend that statement with our lives. Even if we were to be discovered somehow — which will not happen — you will never be mentioned. You are entirely innocent of this, moy sladkiy.”
“But I was there. I helped you… kill a man.” I breathe the words softly. There is an audible sense of wonder in my voice. Part of me wants to address this now, go ahead and scream my feelings out, go ahead and enroll myself in the many years of therapy I should probably get. But an even bigger part of my consciousness is just glad it’s over. I feel like a massive burden has been lifted from my shoulders, like I’ve finally completed a task I’ve been putting off for far too long.
“You did well.”
“You think the mafia will hire me, too?” I joke weakly.
Ivan chuckles. “No, mishka. I don’t think you’re quite cut out for a life in the shadows. But it is true that I could never have done this without your help. We cannot have a renegade ubiytsa acting outside of ordered hits. It’s unprofessional. For your assistance in taking Konrad down, the mafia will grant you unconditional protection beyond what even I can offer you alone. Katy, you will never have to fear anything or anyone ever again.”
“I just thought I would feel worse about this,” I admit.
“I know what you mean,” he replies. “When I killed the men who murdered my mother and sister I feared that I would feel guilty. I feared that I would never wash the blood from my hands, that they’d be stained red for the rest of my life. I was afraid that their faces would haunt my dreams. But in the end, I was relieved. It felt like justice had finally been restored. I balanced the scales and set the world straight again. Perhaps it is a bizarre version of justice, but it is mine, and it is the code by which I live my life. I do not regret my choices, and neither should you.”
“I don’t regret it yet, but I feel like maybe it’ll be a delayed reaction,” I tell him honestly.
“Well, if it does hit you later and you start to feel bad, come to me. I will make you feel right again, I promise. I will always make things better, however I can.” He pauses to look at me as we stop at a red light. “Katy, our year together may have started under strange circumstances. I know that if things were different, we probably would never have met. But I want you to know that I have never done this before — any of this. And that it means something to me. You mean something to me.”
His words send a happy shiver down my spine. Ivan is kind, he is devoted, but rarely is he so expressive with his emotions. I lift his hand and kiss each of his knuckles fondly. He gazes at me with his mouth parted slightly, his eyes roving over my face, focusing on my lips. Just that look is enough to make me wish we were already at the apartment. I want to crawl across the console and straddle him in the damn driver’s seat.
The light turns green and we speed off immediately, breaking at least a few traffic laws to make the rest of the trip as brief as possible. Finally we screech to a stop outside the big marble building and before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt, Ivan has bounded out and around the car to open my door and pull me out. There, in the busy noonday streets of New York City, with the ever-present car horns and sirens in the distance, he sweeps me up into a deep, encompassing kiss. His hands reach around to wrap themselves in my hair, pulling me close. I know he is probably getting a little blood on my cheek from the slash down his face, but I don’t care.
In fact, I don’t care what else happens. All that matters right now is the handsome, impossibly strong man holding me in his arms. I want him to crush me into him, I want him to take me and make me forever his. Ivan is all that I need.
“This year has meant something to me, too,” I tell him breathlessly between kisses. “Ivan, you mean everything to me.”
He cups my face in both hands, staring into my eyes with that smoldering blue gaze. I want to kiss him endlessly, fall into his arms, into his warmth forever. I want him, all of him — the dark and the light.