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…”

Chapter Seven

Kisa

“Kisa, you stay in the truck. You were out on the streets last night. Stay in the safety of the truck tonight,” Father Kruschev said as I unbuckled my belt and panic flowed through me.

“If it’s okay, Father, I prefer to be outside. I need fresh air.”

Father Kruschev gave me a sympathetic smile. He believed it was because of Luka’s birthday. I confess in part it was, but I couldn’t lie to myself. I had to admit that I wanted to see that man again—my defender.

Who was homeless…

I closed my eyes and shook myself. I was losing my damn mind!

Zipping up the leather jacket I had brought over my black dress, I stepped out onto the street. It was hot¸ but without the jacket, Alik would think I was showing too much skin.

Pavel cast me a weary smile. “Back with us tonight, Kisa?”

I shrugged and helped one of the other volunteers load the care packages onto the street. When everyone was set, I scooped up my packages and headed east to where I’d spotted the man sitting on the street.

Passing three homeless people, two men, one woman, I made quick work of dispensing the care packages and turned the corner to the next block, praying I would see the man hunkered down.

Taking a deep breath, I turned onto the street and, in the farthest, darkest corner, saw a large shadow and a jar of glass glinting from the nearby streetlamp.

My heart began to race like I’d run the damn New York Marathon, and checking there was no sign of danger in my vicinity, I moved silently across the street to stand right in front of the man, his dark-gray sweatshirt in place, hood pulled low over his eyes, his body as still as stone. The jar in his hands had coins and random notes in it but it was only filled halfway to the top.

Like last night, I was immediately struck by him. This time his static position allowed me to really assess his frame. He was big. Maybe two hundred and twenty pounds, athletic looking, slightly bulkier than Alik. His black training pants were covered in dirt, and on closer inspection, I noticed his hands were covered in rough, broken skin, dried blood clearly etched into the flesh.