Serge dropped me off outside our Russian Orthodox Church. I stepped out into the stuffy night, black headdress and long-sleeved, calf-length skirted dress firmly in place as orthodox tradition demands. I quickly ran up the steps and went through the large doors, entering to the sound of the choir singing hymns from their rehearsal room upstairs. The large church was dark, a dark challenged only by the soft glow of candlelight. As always, when I entered this place, I glanced up to the paintings on the ceiling, images of the saints, of Mary holding Jesus.
A hand pressed gently on my shoulder. Looking to my left, Father Kruschev’s kind smile greeted me.
“Father,” I greeted and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.
“Are you joining us on the food trucks tonight, child? We are a volunteer down and I could use your service,” he asked hopefully.
My heart began pounding at the thought of my defender sitting on the street, holding that jar. Before I had time to consider the consequences of my actions, my head nodded in agreement.
“Excellent,” Father Kruschev said, gesturing for me to light a candle. I walked past and he added, “It pleases me to see you so dedicated to helping the needy, Kisa. It will purify your soul.”
I offered a tight smile but scurried away as fast as I could. I wasn’t trying to save my soul tonight or trying to help the needy. I was serving my own selfish desire, a desire—no, a pressing need to see that man again, to see his face, to ask who he was … why he was on the street.
Taking a long candle, I lit the wick with that of another and offered a silent prayer to my Luka. May he forever rest in peace.
Moving to the end of the pew, I crossed my chest to the crucifix hanging somberly on the wall. Clasping my hands, I closed my eyes.
Feeling as though my chest would crack, I was transported to the past …
* * *
Twelve years ago …
The New York summer was stifling, the humidity too much to bear. I lay on a towel as the sun blazed down on Brighton Beach. We always came here for the summer. The Bratva kings descended on this little slice of Russian heaven from our houses in downtown Brooklyn. Papa and his “associates” would spend the summer months “discussing and taking care of business” while the kids and mothers would spend it lazing on the sand and eating ice cream.
I liked summer. It was a time I could get away from our rigid life in Brooklyn, a time that “the heirs” wouldn’t be called away to learn their craft, a time when Rodion, Luka, and Alik could relax … a time when I could hang out with Luka all day long.
Closing my eyes, I smiled at that thought as I soaked up the rays in my secluded spot. Suddenly, a dark shadow fell over me, bringing a brief moment of coolness to my scalding skin.
Cracking my eyes open, hand shielding the sun, my stomach sank when I saw Alik smiling down at me, his board shorts hanging low on his hips.
I didn’t say anything, just balanced on my elbows as he slumped down beside me on the towel, his thigh rubbing against mine.
Alik’s always harsh narrow eyes surveyed my body, and I no longer felt the warmth of the sun. Shivers ran down my spine as Alik’s finger gently trailed down my arm. His nostrils flared, and I froze in fear. Alik always made me feel this uneasy. His eyes tracked me wherever I walked. He would beat up any boy who so much as looked my way. He threatened them and told them I was his girl … Well, all except one. The one who truly was mine, the one whose eyes showed a piece of my soul.
“What’re you doing, Myshka?” Alik asked. I swallowed at his pet name for me—his little mouse. He’d called me that for years, for as long as I could remember anyway.
I glanced around to see who was nearby, but no one was in sight. Alik’s hand suddenly wrapped around the back of my neck, and I gasped in shock.
“I said,” Alik pronounced in an angry voice through gritted teeth, “what’re you doing? Don’t ignore me. I don’t like to be ignored.”
I caught sight of Alik cracking the fingers on his right hand. I also glimpsed a large black-and-blue bruise on his thigh, hidden under his shorts. My gaze snapped to him in surprise. What had happened to him? It looked terrible.
Alik noticed what I was looking at. He quickly covered his bruise, jaw clenching in anger. Alik turned away his head momentarily, and I internally cursed. It must have been his papa. I knew he hurt Alik. I heard his screams coming from his room as we visited his house growing up, then witnessed Alik’s bruises, limps, and occasional broken bones after “meeting” with his papa when he’d done something wrong.
Alik was never anything but angry, never anything but hateful … except toward me. Something changed in him when I was around. He was never calm, but a softness crossed his eyes when he looked at me.
“I … I was laying out in the sun,” I said softly, and the iron grip he had on my neck loosened, but he didn’t let go. Alik was fourteen, but his incredible strength was more like that of a full-grown man.
Alik dropped his hand. “I’m going to lay with you.” I didn’t dare question him, so I offered him a timid smile and rested down on the towel.
I lay motionless, then jumped when I felt Alik begin tracing the edges of my bikini top. “Alik, what are you doing?” I asked, trying to bat away his hand.
Alik’s hand caught my hand in a grip. “Get off, Myshka. I’m touching you.”
“But—”
“Shut up! You’ll do as I say,” Alik snarled. I did as told, too terrified to fight him off when he commenced tracing the triangle edges of my bra. “So pretty,” Alik murmured as tears built in my eyes.
My hands began to shake, yet I just closed my eyes and let Alik touch me, feeling his lips press onto my stomach. I wanted to cry for help, but I couldn’t. As stupid as it sounded, I often felt sorry for Alik. I didn’t want him to be beaten any more by his father. My complaining would do just that. Physically, I couldn’t fight off Alik and I certainly didn’t want to anger him further, so I let it happen. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.
“Mmm…” Alik moaned as he lapped at my skin, his finger trailing down to the edge of my bikini bottoms. Alik’s finger ran along the edge of the material, stealing all my breath from my lungs.
“Alik, don’t, please—” I managed to say, but I was interrupted when a voice hissed, “What the hell are you doing, Alik!”
In sheer relief, I looked up and found Luka Tolstoi towering above us, a furious expression on his handsome face.
“Fuck off, Tolstoi!” Alik hissed as he gripped my wrists tighter. Luka’s eyes bulged at the action. When I whimpered out loud, Luka gripped Alik by the hair, dragging him to his feet. Luka hit Alik square on the face. Alik stumbled back, bringing up his fingers to his burst lip. He smiled coldly at Luka—a disturbing bloodied smile.
Luka leaned down and pulled me up beside him, protecting me from Alik’s view.
“Go,” he ordered. I turned to run away, casting a backward glance to see Alik watch me flee. He had an angry expression on his face.
I didn’t stick around to see them fight. This happened a lot. Alik would try to take advantage of me, and Luka would be my champion. They would fight, Alik would take a beating off his father, or worse, my father, then life would continue as normal for a few days—until Alik did it again.
I ran until I reached my favorite cove. No one ever came down here. I slumped down against the rock where I always sat, always sat with Luka.
Entranced by the waves crashing on the shore, I didn’t hear Luka approach. I jumped as I looked up to see him watching me as he leaned against a rock.
“Luka!” I said breathlessly. “You scared me!”
Luka sighed and ran his hand down his face, moving around the rock to sit beside me on the sand. We said nothing at first, Luka also too focused on the crashing of waves on the sand.
His fingers brushed against my fingers. Then they wrapped around my hand, which he lifted to his lips. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings.
Turning to me, Luka pushed a loose strand of my brown hair behind my ear, then pulled me in close to wrap his free arm around my neck. I relaxed against his warm body and wrapped my arm round his toned waist. He had grown so much lately. He was getting so big and so handsome that my heart could barely take it.
Luka sighed loudly, his warm breath blowing in my hair. “You have to keep away from Alik, Kisa. He’s obsessed with you and he’s dangerous.” I tensed in Luka’s arms and felt him pull me closer still. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Alik’s papa is training him to be a fighter, an enforcer. He’s hard on him, and I can see Alik becoming addicted to the violence. He loves it, Kisa. Stay away from him.”
Squeezing Luka tighter, I replied, “I was laying out in the sun. Talia went shopping with your mama. You and Rodion went for lunch with Papa. I didn’t think I was in any danger. Alik just has a crush on me. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
Sighing, Luka pressed a kiss to my head, and I slumped farther against his warm body.
“I don’t like him. I can’t stand the way he looks at you,” Luka said coldly.
Slowly leaning back, I looked into Luka’s brown eyes, the left with a smudge of blue in the iris, making them so beautifully unique.
“How does he look at me?” I asked tentatively.
“Like he owns you. Like you belong to him. When you’re around, he doesn’t focus on anyone else but you.”
“And why does that bother you?” I asked shyly, trying hard to swallow the nervous lump in my throat.
Luka’s beautiful gaze met mine and his lips parted with a brief exhale. “Because you belong to me, Kisa. You always have.” Luka’s face thawed and he pointed at my eye, then his left. “You’re a part of me, remember? God put a piece of you within me so when we were born, everyone would know we matched.”
My skin felt on fire, but I knew it had nothing to do with the burning temperature of the afternoon sun. It had to do with Luka. Luka and that tale his mama and my mama would always tell us.
I loved him. I’d always loved him. I would always love him. Luka, my Luka. I was only thirteen, he was only fourteen, but he was so much more than my best friend … He was my whole world.
“Luka…” I whispered, my soul melting at his words. And his lip hooked into a smirk.
“Kisa…” he imitated. Then his gaze fell to my lips and my heart raced to an almost impossible speed. “I want to kiss you now,” Luka said, all humor dropping from his beautiful face.
“But I’ve … I’ve never been kissed before…” I said, a blush forming on my sun-kissed cheeks.
Luka tilted his head and gave me a crooked smile. “Me neither.”
My eyes widened and relief melted in my chest. “You haven’t?” I asked in shock.
“Who else would I have kissed?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know? You have a lot of girls at church following you around.”
Luka laughed and shook his head. Squeezing my shoulders, he leaned down and rasped, “But none of them are you.” Luka pointed to his eye again. “We match. Why would I want anyone else? Nobody else is you. Long brown hair, blue eyes and tanned skinned beautiful you.”
Dipping my eyes, I pushed my toes into the sand, loving the soft feel of the hot grains beneath my feet. When I lifted my long lashes, I met Luka’s eyes and whispered, “Okay…”
Luka tensed and regarded me so seriously that my stomach began doing flips. His hand released mine and he gently cupped my cheek, hand slightly trembling. “You ready?” he said, licking his lips.
Swallowing my nerves as he moved to only an inch from my mouth, I confessed, “I hope I don’t mess this up.”
“Not possible,” Luka said as he leaned all the way forward and pressed his lips against mine. Everything seemed to go quiet around us and my eyes closed of their own accord. Luka’s lips were so soft and, like the pieces of a puzzle, fit perfectly against mine. There was no movement of tongues, no frantic caressing of lips, just two innocent young mouths feeling one another’s intimate touch for the first time.
Finally pulling away, Luka wore an expression of shock, making my heart thump too slow. But when his swollen mouth pulled into a happy, besotted grin, I knew mine reflected his own.
Luka’s heavy arm pulled me down to curl into his chest, and I stared out at the glistening water in perfect contentment.
“Like I said … we match,” Luka confirmed—I think to himself. I knew right then and there that I’d given my soul to this boy … I knew there’d never be anyone else that ever came close.
* * *
“Kisa?” a heavily accented female voice called out from my right. Sitting back in the wooden pew, wiping away the tears from my sacred childhood memory, Mama Tolstoi came into view. She too had dressed in all black—the traditional color of mourning. Not a day had gone by in twelve years that Luka’s mama hadn’t worn black.
Rising to my feet, I smiled at Mama Tolstoi and embraced her. “How are you, Mama?”
Her brown eyes—the same eyes as Luka’s—stared off to look upon Christ on the cross, and she shrugged. “Today is a very hard day, my girl.”
My stomach fell and I nodded my head, unable to speak through the threat of tears. Talia joined us at the pew, and I saw her eyes rimmed with red. She could barely meet my gaze. Today was our mutual nightmare.
“He would have been twenty-six today,” Mama Tolstoi added. The tears that had been a threat to me finally trickled slowly down my face.
Mama Tolstoi reached out and grabbed my hand. “You two would have been married and perhaps I would have been a grandmama by now.” Her eyes gazed over and she added, “He would have loved you your whole life. You would have looked so beautiful on your wedding day and my Luka would have looked so handsome in a tux. Your mama would have smiled down from heaven on that day, Kisa. Her heart would have been so full at the two of you committing to one another under God’s eyes.”
The picture Mama Tolstoi conjured up might as well have been a dagger to my heart. She squeezed my hands to gain my attention after I had to look away, too upset by what she’d said.
I stared into her tense brown eyes when she gripped my hands tightly and said, “He wouldn’t do it, Kisa. He wouldn’t have killed your Rodion. My boy, your fated love, would not have taken his best friend’s life. He was wronged. Deep down you know this.”
Bowing my head, the tears came thick and fast. I believed her words, but I still remembered Rodion’s eyes glazed with the new presence of death, Alik stabbed and in hospital.
“Mama, come,” Talia said, interrupting her mama’s plea for her lost son. Talia moved around her to press a kiss to my cheek. Wrapping her arm around her mama’s shoulders, Talia led her out of the church, leaving me alone in the expansively ornate room, all the eyes of the saints staring down at me, balefully watching my despair.
“Kisa?” Father Kruschev said, and I cast my gaze to the back of the room. “Are you still good to join us on the truck?”
Breathing a sigh of relief that Father Kruschev had found something for me to do, I made my way to the back of the church. I turned one more time to look to the altar and whispered, “May God bless your soul, Luka … I love you, lyubov moya, my love … I know I was made for you too … We matched … you were part of my heart…”