Tolstoi Country Estate
West Hampton, New York
Sitting at the window of the living room, I stared out at a dark overcast sky. The light from the lighthouse circled lazily in the near distance, beckoning sailors home. Round, round, round, its hypnotic rhythm relaxed me as I sipped my coffee.
Ilya and Savin, my personal byki, walked in the grounds, my gaze catching the flicker of their movement in the moonlight. Both were dressed in black and as quiet as the night.
I felt safe.
I’d only been here a couple of days, and already I felt at peace. The beach, the salty sea air, this colonial-style house and most important, away from my Bratva cage in Brooklyn.
Taking another sip of my coffee, my free hand subconsciously lifted to run over the necklace I always wore around my neck. My babushka’s—my grandmother’s—necklace, the necklace she’d given me just before she died a few years ago. This delicate chain of gold had been my dedushka’s—my grandfather’s. It was the Tolstoi crest given to him as a boy. All Vor V Zakone received them from their fathers, all Thieves in Law, she had told me. It was a statement of honor. One he passed to her to keep close to her heart when he was gone on business.
I ran the pad of my thumb over the pendent and remembered the woman I’d regarded as my best friend, who just “got me.” Babushka was the world’s biggest romantic. And she’d loved my dedushka with all her heart, only to lose him at a young age. She never got over him and lit a candle every day at church in his honor.
All she had left of him was this necklace. A necklace she’d given to me as a symbol that one day I would find my true love, too.
She had wanted that for me so badly—to love another as fully as she had loved him.
I desperately wanted that, too.
I heard the back door open, and Ilya and Savin entered the room, each standing at opposite windows.
I rolled my eyes. “Surely no one threatening is going to be here in the Hamptons … in winter. It’s the reason we came out here. Practically no one else around.” My father hadn’t been happy about my wanting to leave Brooklyn for a while. With the new Georgian threat, he wanted me close for protection. But with my mother’s help, eventually he caved. Our compromise for my vacation—our summer home in the Hamptons. I was good with the deal. It was far enough away from home, and quiet enough for me to finally relax.
Neither of my byki listened to my complaint about their patrol. My father had made sure I had my guards with me. I didn’t ever know much about Bratva business, but I knew Savin and Ilya were checking we hadn’t been followed. I got that we were on high alert. I got that I was a huge target for the Georgians. From what I could surmise from Savin and Ilya’s quiet whispers was that the boss of the Jakhua clan was insane. And he was to be feared. He was a genuine threat to our position in Brooklyn. That meant I had to endure their constant surveillance.
Leaving the guys to their searching of the house, I looked out onto the rough sea crashing against our private beach, at the tide always chasing the shore, unable to stay away too long.
It made me feel poetic. What was it about the sound of waves rolling and the sea foam kissing the sleeping sand that was so soothing?
Noticing headlights traveling up our private country road, I frowned. “Ilya, Savin, someone’s coming,” I called out.
My heart beat a little faster, nerves swelling in my veins a little more than usual. I placed my coffee on the table beside me. No one knew we were here. Papa hadn’t told anyone for the sake of my safety.
Unless …
“Who could it be?” I asked Ilya, and moved to the center of the room.
Ilya waved me over to stand by him and pushed me behind his back. He looked to Savin. “Did you get a phone call from Mikhail or the knayz? Are we expecting anyone?”
Savin shook his head, watching the TV monitor as the car came to a slow stop at the security gate. The buzzer pressed and Savin answered the call.
“Yes?” he said curtly.
“Savin, or is that Ilya? It’s Kisa, can you let me in?”
I frowned as I saw Kisa lean to the camera, her face coming into view. I nodded my head to Savin, and he opened the electric gate.
Why was Kisa driving herself? And more than that, why had she left Luka in Brooklyn?
I made my way to the front door. Wrapping my long gray cardigan around my pink tank and black leggings, I opened the door just as Kisa stepped onto the porch.
She looked pale and worried, so I stepped back from the door. “Come in, sweetie.”
Kisa entered the hallway and I quickly hugged her in greeting. Ilya and Savin placed themselves in sight. Moving away from me, Kisa slipped off her jacket and I watched her curiously. “Kisa? Are you okay?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She looked bad then, but she looked worse now.
She turned to me but her eyes were vacant.
“Kisa?” I prompted, and reached out to touch her arm. She was wearing a creased thin white sweater, a skintight pair of jeans, and Chucks. Kisa never ever looked anything less than perfect and polished. She was dressed too casual, looked too rumpled and tired. Something was seriously wrong.
“I—” Kisa had barely opened her mouth to answer me, when another set of lights flared at the gate of the private road. Savin immediately sprang into action and moved to the surveillance camera.
“It’s a van,” he reported to Ilya. “One of ours.”
I turned to question what was happening, then Kisa sighed, seemingly in relief. She pressed her hand to her forehead, breathing out through her mouth.
“Kisa? What’s happening? Who else is coming? Why are you here?” I rapidly asked in an increasingly shorter tone.
Her blue eyes snapped to mine. “It’s Luka,” she said, just as I heard Savin utter a “Yes, sir!” The electronic gates opened once again.
“Luka? Why?” I had to know, but Savin and Ilya were already opening the front door and rushing to the graveled driveway.
Kisa headed toward me and, taking my hand, pulled me away from the door. I let her lead me to one side. I could see by Kisa’s expression that she was preoccupied; no, worried. My stomach sank. Something bad had happened tonight. Something big.
Savin came running through the door. His eyes quickly sought mine. “Ms. Tolstaia, where’s the basement key?”
“Why?” I asked, but Savin’s cold, piercing expression told me there was no time for explanation.
My eyes narrowed at everyone’s lack of explanation. Quickly, Kisa moved into the kitchen. “In here,” she said, urgently summoning Savin.
The sound of vehicle doors opening outside drifted to the hallway. Voices were raised and orders were quickly issued. Savin came rushing back through to the hallway, unlocking the always-locked door that led to the basement.
I’d never been down there; in all these years coming here in summer I’d never even opened the door. It was Papa’s private place and so it was forbidden. I had never thought to question him.
As the sound of people approaching came through the doorway, I moved beside an anxious-looking Kisa. Placing my hand on her back, I asked, “Why’s Luka here? Please tell me what’s happening. I’m starting to freak the hell out!”
With glistening eyes, she looked to me, whispering, “Luka went into the Jakhua Georgian headquarters tonight. I don’t know how much you know about them being back in Brooklyn, but it’s a delicate situation, and—”
My stomach flipped and my heart pounded in my chest. “What? Why would Luka do something crazy like that?” I interrupted.
“Because of 362.” This was all she said in response, then her eyes misted over.
I shook my head in confusion, holding up my hand. “I don’t understand, I don’t—” My sentence was cut off when several of my father’s byki rushed through the door, dragging an enormous, unconscious naked man in their arms. My eyes widened when I scanned the massive lapse body.
Stepping back from the fray, I held my breath as the byki took the man downstairs. My eyes were glued to the entrance of the basement, my mouth parted in shock.
Above the commotion, I suddenly heard Kisa gasp. I followed her gaze to the doorway. Luka had stepped through. He was shirtless but for a bloodied vest, his dress pants dirtied and torn. His large body was covered in purple and black bruises, his face swollen and bloodied. He looked like hell. He looked the same as he did when he’d killed Alik Durov in the Dungeon’s cage six months ago.
“Luka!” Kisa cried, and rushed forward until she stood before him. She lifted her hands but stopped herself from cupping his face. “What have you done? You weren’t meant to fight! You’re hurt,” she whispered, and his gaze softened as it fell on her.
“Solnyshko,” he said, and wrapped her in his arms.
“You got him,” Kisa said, quickly forgetting her frustration at Luka being hurt. Her light voice was laced with relief.
“Yes,” Luka replied, and his arms tightened around her waist.
Kisa gripped his arms. “I was so worried. I thought … I was terrified you’d be hurt. That you wouldn’t come back to me.” She stepped back, allowing her gaze to slowly drink in his body. “Luka, what happened? You know the knayz doesn’t fight shoulder to shoulder with his men. He commands. He stays back. He needs to be protected.”
I frowned as Luka’s jaw clenched at Kisa’s words. He ran a nervous hand through his messy fair hair. “No one could subdue him. He came at us like a rabid dog. I knew…” Luka’s fists clenched then unclenched. “I knew I was the only person who could stop him, without having to shoot him.” His face dropped as if lost in his thoughts. “I … I know how he feels. Only I know how to fight his level of strength and skill.” He fixed his gaze on his wife. “Something inside of me instinctively reacted to his rage. Whatever demon is within him, lives in me, too.”
Devastation swept through me. Luka was struggling more than I had realized.
“It’ll be better now, lyubov moya,” Kisa soothed. “You got him. You got Anri’s brother back from Jakhua.”
The sad expression on Luka’s weary face cut me to the quick. His hold on Kisa further stabbed at my heart. She was his gravity, the one thing that kept him grounded, sane. “He … he…” Luka rasped through a tight throat. “He looks just like him. It was like seeing a ghost when he ran out onto the docks.” Luka’s eyes lost focus. “His size, his hair, the weapons he fought with, his features, are all identical, except…”
“Except what?” Kisa asked as she pulled back to search her husband’s wrought face.
Luka lifted his fingers to his eye. “He has green eyes. 362, Anri, had brown eyes.”
Luka’s face seemed to contort at something, a memory perhaps? “I’ve … I’ve never seen a man so gone. He was filled with more rage than any fighter I’ve faced. He never stopped coming at us, killing anyone in his path.” My brother’s eyes filled with tears. Luka swallowed and pressed his forehead to Kisa’s. “I don’t know if he can be saved. I don’t know how to save him. The drug he’s on…”
Kisa wrapped her arms around Luka again, but my attention drifted back to the basement.
I don’t know if he can be saved.…
Luka’s words ran through my mind. He knew this man’s brother? I wanted to ask one of the many questions that were popping in my brain, but now was not the time. Luka looked destroyed.
Noises, sounding like heavy chains rattling, drifted upstairs. Silently moving closer to the open basement door, my curiosity won out and I found myself at the top of the steep unfamiliar wooden staircase leading down.
I quietly tiptoed down the stairs, my heart racing at what I might see. As the wall gave way to a view of the open basement, I stilled, drinking in my father’s idea of a basement, a “private space”—rubber flooring covered every inch of the space, the walls, the floor, everywhere. And chain links were bolted to the walls, a single plastic chair the central feature of the sterile room. And the stench of bleach was so overwhelming I flinched as I inhaled each breath of stagnant air. There were no windows, so no natural light, just a solitary lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The room was a black box.
Nausea built in my stomach when I realized what the room was used for—the Bratva’s enemies. For interrogation, torture. It made sense. No one lived close. Screams could go unheard. Cell service was nonexistent, the grounds completely secure. No one would ever suspect that in this perfect white wooden colonial mansion was a hidden torture room.
My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight. Then the byki stepped away from whatever they were doing by the far wall. They were all covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. They looked as though they’d taken one hell of a beating.
As they cleared away from the object of their attention, my eyes fixed onto the huge dark man they’d just dragged in. That they’d carried unconscious through the front door. My heart raced as I stared at his naked body. He was one of the tallest and bulkiest men I’d ever seen. His muscles were many, ripped and taut. And a large chest tattoo stood out through the heavy coating of blood. I scrunched my eyes to see what it said. My eyes widened as I read the numbers “221” in bold black ink. The numbers took up all of his chest. It was an identity tattoo, exactly like the one Luka had … just different numbers.
God! I thought as I continued to stare at the man’s battered and bruised sleeping form. Even out cold he radiated power … danger. I’d never seen anyone like him. It both scared and intrigued me.
Who are you? Why are you beaten? I asked in my mind as my eyes traveled farther down his body. He was naked, scars littering every inch of his skin. Burn marks, and other strange markings covered his torso and chest. Then my eyes drifted lower. His long flaccid cock was bared and hanging low on his thigh. I swallowed at the sight and I could feel my face flush as I struggled to turn my gaze away.
He looked like a scarred blood-covered slave of some kind. Like something you’d see in a fucked-up Roman-era movie.
My thighs clenched together and I felt heat spread throughout my body and down between my legs. The reaction I was having was new and terrifying but I couldn’t look away. I was transfixed, my mind racing with thoughts of why he was so important that he was brought here to be interrogated.
Then I frowned as my gaze focused on something else. He was caged and chained to the wall. His wrists and ankles were in short chains, ensuring he couldn’t escape. Even though he looked to be the most dangerous man I’d ever laid my eyes on, my heart cracked at the realization that he wouldn’t be able to move, that he would be in pain.
Noticing the byki beginning to move back toward the stairs, I crept back to the hallway, following the sound of Kisa and Luka talking in the kitchen.
Pulling myself together, I tried to shake the image of the man slumped brokenly on the floor, and joined the others.
Kisa saw me enter as she cleaned Luka’s wounds, his hands gripping tightly to his waist. As I saw them in the kitchen, and heard the byki moving to clear the van from the driveway, anger bubbled up threatening to erupt.
“Why did you bring that man here?” I blurted, my voice betraying every emotion I was feeling.
Kisa’s blue gaze found mine and I saw sympathy flood her expression.
“We needed to get him out of Brooklyn. This was the only place I knew where we could bring him to be safe,” Luka replied. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“And who is he, Luka? Who is this man you brought to our family’s house, disturbing what was meant to be my one real chance to get away from it all?”
“All of what?” Luka asked, his face marring with confusion.
“This!” I bit back, louder than I meant, and gestured to the basement. “A man you seem to have stolen from our enemy. All the Bratva shit I wanted to escape from for a couple of months. The violence, the fighting, everything! I’ve only been here a few days and you bring this to my door!”
Silence reigned after my outburst. Kisa dropped the rubbing alcohol she was holding. “Luka had to do it, Tal. He had to. He needed to honor his friend that died in the Dungeon’s cage.”
My eyes widened.
362 … 362 was the friend Luka had to kill in the cage?
I could see Kisa had realized that I’d made the connection. I briefly closed my eyes. That man chained in the basement was … “He’s 362’s brother?”
Luka’s sad eyes looked to me. “He had a twin. An identical twin.”
Luka looked down at the floor as though he could see through the partition to the man chained up in the basement.
“What?” I whispered, in shock.
Kisa, seeing Luka’s head hanging low as if in exhaustion, said, “He and his brother were taken as children, their family massacred and they were. They were…” Kisa pressed her hand to her stomach and took a deep breath. “They were experimented on for many years. Used as subjects for developing drugs. Anri, 362, was not completely susceptible, but Zaal was.”
Zaal, I thought, sounding the name in my head of the newly incarcerated man. His name is Zaal.
“He’s under the influence of some new drug, Tal. We’re not sure what it is or what it does, but Levan Jakhua has used him as his pet killer we believe since he was eight.”
This time bile rose to my throat as I imagined Zaal going through all that hell. “Bozhe moy,” I whispered. Kisa nodded her head. “Does our father know?” I asked. Luka’s head snapped up.
“Yes,” he replied with a curl of his upper lip. “He’s been no help.” I stepped back, instinctively moving away from my brother. Darkness filled his expression.
Kisa pressed her hands on either side of Luka’s face. “It’s okay. You got him out.”
“Why hasn’t our father been any help?” I asked. I watched Kisa’s face pale. I stilled, suspicion on my mind. “What?”
Luka looked my way and declared, “He’s a Kostava.”
It took me a moment to digest what he’d said. My heart started to race. A Kostava, I must have misheard.… “What did you say?” I asked again, my voice barely audible. My hand instinctively lifted to hold my necklace in my hands.
Luka wore a stormy expression, looking every inch the Bratva knayz, and repeated, “He’s a Kostava. He and Anri were the Kostava heirs.”
I stepped back, my eyebrows dragging down, as I absorbed my brother’s words. “What have you done?” I whispered in shock. I gazed upon my brother, who’d now risen to his feet. He looked like a stranger to me at this moment in time.
“I can’t believe you would do this!”
I watched as Luka seemed to radiate rage and I squared my shoulders. Stepping forward, feeling my hands shake with the depth of my anger, I said, “You’re shaming this family saving a Kostava and bringing him here, to our home!”
Luka’s fisted hand slammed down on the granite countertop and he roared, “I am honoring Anri’s death! I’m seeking the revenge he didn’t get the chance to fulfill!”
Luka marched round the counter to meet me toe to toe, and snarled, “Anri was my best friend. He taught me to survive.” His chest rose and fell from his panting, and he said, “He may not have been my blood, but he was still my brother!”
Feeling like I’d been stabbed in my heart, I fought back a sob. Luka’s dilated brown eyes never moved from mine. I nodded. “I get that I don’t understand, cannot understand, what you went through. I never will. I get that the animal in the basement’s brother saved you and helped you survive, but he isn’t your blood. You do all of this, even defy our father for him, the brother, the sibling, you never had. But he isn’t your sibling.” Luka’s expression remained unchanged until I whispered, “But I am. I’m your blood. I’m your sister. And when you were taken, it was me who cried for you, prayed for your lost soul. It was this sister who mourned my big brother, the boy who would always protect me and read to me as a kid, and tell me that family was the most important thing in our world.”
Luka’s head tilted to the side and he blinked furiously, but no words came from his mouth.
I shook my head and began to walk away. “I get that you feel you need to do this for your dead friend, but I’ll never support you bringing that monster here. For the first time, you have disappointed me.”
“Talia!” Kisa called loudly as I walked to the staircase.
Stopping, I turned back and asked, “How long is that man to stay chained up in the basement?”
Luka was still standing in the same spot. He coldly replied, “As long as it takes.”
I laughed without humor at his evasive answer, then said, “Careful, Luka. You worry you can’t be in this life, that you’re not fit to be a Bratva boss. But you’re sounding more like a Russian knayz than you’re giving yourself credit for.”
Marching up the stairs, I beelined to my bedroom. Passing Luka’s patrolling personal byki, I slammed my door shut and pressed my back against the hardwood. My eyes stung as I pictured Luka’s furious face.
He was, is, my brother.…
Feeling drained by the twists and turns of the day, I took a quick, hot shower, dried my hair, and lay down on my bed. I stared at the ceiling waiting for sleep that never came.
But as hours passed, my anger gave way to calm, and I found myself torn.
Luka had survived. He’d returned when all hope was gone and a fucking Kostava had been his salvation in that gulag hell.
Running my hands down my face, the memory of the Kostava monster downstairs filled my mind. My heart actually hurt when I pictured him tied up in chains, his large body bloodied, limp, riddled with scars and incision marks. How unkempt and unclean he looked, like he hadn’t taken a shower in months. Like he’d known nothing but abuse and cruelty.
And the tattoo across his chest, the slave identity number that signified he’d been taken as a child, taken and made to endure unspeakably evil things at the hands of the Jakhua Georgians.
Derr ‘mo!
No matter how hard I tried to hang on to the hatred drilled into me against the Kostavas since birth, I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t unfeeling. And that man, that dark, huge animal of a man had clearly been through hell.
B‘lyad! I screamed internally.
I counted the cracks in the ceiling tiles and tried to think of something other than the naked Kostava but nothing worked. What the hell was wrong with me?
Sitting up in bed, I spotted my laptop lying on the desk. Walking to the desk I brought it back to my bed, deciding to check my e-mails, to press on with contacting fighter providers for the Dungeon’s cage. Anything to distract my busy mind.
After my laptop powered on, I was just about to hit the e-mail icon, when my eyes fell on the surveillance program for the house. The entire house was wired with links on all of our devices, just in case.
I knew Ilya and Savin would have switched on the surveillance cameras as soon as we arrived at the house; I was sure the basement camera would have been turned on as well. After all dangerous enemy number one was now kept there.
I couldn’t stop myself, one light tap on an icon and my screen was filled with 250 pounds of ripped and brutal Georgian.
My heart raced as I watched him, my eyes were glued to his unconscious body, his position unchanged from hours before.
I struggled to catch my breath as I watched his wide chest rise and fall. From the camera’s perspective, the features of his face were perfectly showcased. And under all the blood and dirt he looked sort of … beautiful.
Swallowing, I really studied him. His black hair fell below his shoulders, a gentle wave to the thick, matted strands. Black eyebrows framed his eastern European face. His nose, at this moment, was swollen and bloodied, as were his lips. But I could see defined high cheekbones and dark stubble covering his face. Even under the swelling and blood I could see that his lips were full. His skin was a dark olive, the evidence of his Georgian heritage, and he was nothing but hard muscle. Every inch of his tall frame, perhaps six foot six, corded with protruding veins and roping brawn.
Moving back to lie against the pillows, I brought my laptop to my lap, not able to draw away my eyes. Kisa’s words from earlier filled my mind.
They were twins … children … family massacred … experimented on … subjects for developing drugs … under the influence … new drug … Jakhua … his pet killer for … since he was eight …
Remembering his name, I whispered, “Zaal” to the empty room, wrapping my tongue around the pronunciation and running my finger down the picture of his unconscious form, splayed out on the black rubber floor.
Then his cheek twitched. The first bit of movement I’d seen from him since the byki dragged him in the house.
Pulling back my hand, I watched in fascination as his finger started to move, his legs began to stretch, and a low moan slipped from his bruised lips.
I gripped my laptop tighter and tighter the more Zaal moved.
Then suddenly, in the perfect view of the camera, his eyes shot open. Bright green eyes, captivating and beautiful green eyes. I gasped as those eyes searched the dark basement, the solitary lightbulb casting a dim glow over his body. His eyes flickered around the space, and for one spilt second, he looked lost. He almost looked … afraid.
My chest constricted as Zaal’s gaze seemed to look directly into the camera, his captivating jade green eyes colliding with mine.
Feeling like he could see me, I lost control of my breath. My heart beat so loud, I could hear its pounding bass rhythm in my ears.
Zaal suddenly broke connection, his face contorting into a feral expression as a loud roar bellowed from his mouth. His large body quickly moved, lurching forward, only for his arms and legs to be wrenched backward as the tight chains restrained his movement.
Zaal lowered his head only to find the shackles fastened around his wrists and arms. Turning his attention behind him, he began pulling on the chains, testing the strength of the links.
With every heave, his strong muscles cording with strain, he would scream a deafening roar. When he couldn’t get free, he began to pace. His expression was bone-chillingly severe and he watched the wall before him, as though waiting for someone to enter.
His head ticked, his fists clenched, he wrenched at the chains. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t watch him fall apart. As another frustrated bellow thundered out of his throat, I slammed my laptop shut. I had enough.
I tried to calm my breathing, but I was convinced my lungs had a mind of their own. I tried to calm my heart but it was racing too fast. And I tried to cool down, but my body burned with sympathetic pain. Pain of what demons must possess Zaal Kostava.
I suddenly remembered Luka, specifically, the night of the Dungeon’s finals, now many months ago. He was raw and rough, but there was still something in his eyes. A flicker of humanity trying its best to push through. And he had Kisa. He had our parents, Viktor, and Kirill. He had me.
But Zaal. Zaal was nothing but unleashed aggression. His wrists were sliced and bleeding raw as he’d wrenched on the chains, and he never stopped trying to break free. It was like something tortured him, driving him to never stop.
Placing the laptop at my side, I ran to the bathroom. With trembling hands, I turned on the cold faucet and splashed the icy water on my face.
Who could do that to another person? I thought in sadness. Who could morally condition someone to be that brutal, that wild? That pained and insane?
But as I lifted my head and my brown eyes stared back at me in the vanity’s mirror, I remembered the broken and scared look in Zaal’s jade green eyes as his gaze lasered straight down the lens of the camera.
Yes, he was vicious. Yes, he was wild, but in that split second there was something more. Something of the real Zaal Kostava still lived inside him. I was sure.
Walking back to my bed, exhausted and wrought, I slipped under the covers. I closed my eyes, but my mind still wouldn’t switch off.
Before I knew it, I’d reached for my laptop, and with a deep breath, I opened the surveillance icon. Zaal’s frantic pacing immediately filled the screen.
Placing the laptop on my side dresser, I lay back on the pillow watching Zaal, the only living heir of the Kostavas, gradually lose his mind in my papa’s basement.
As the next two weeks passed, I became completely obsessed.
My days centered around Zaal, watching him slowly breakdown. Watching him shake, sweat, and strike out at anyone who went near. I watched Luka try to talk to him, to calm him down. But Zaal would only snarl and lash out. I watched as he endlessly vomited, like he was going cold turkey off heroin. And I watched nightly as the byki subdued him with Tasers, in order to drug him to sleep, just to attach IV packs of food and fluids to keep him alive.
And I watched as Luka gradually lost hope that Zaal could be saved, until my father and the Pakhan called him back to help in the igniting war with the Georgians only a couple of days after he and Kisa arrived.
Fourteen days had passed and Zaal had made no progress whatsoever.
Racking pain filled my chest when his strength waned, when he couldn’t move off the floor. He would sleep for hours, lying prone on the cold ground.
I lost all hope, my obsession with this man dominating my entire life. Then one day Zaal had stopped moving altogether. His lifeless body, one day, had chosen not to wake up.
And that was the day everything changed.