“I don’t… I don’t remember, solnyshko!” I shouted out, when the gray man stepped forward, the blond woman openly sobbing.

“Do you… do you remember me, son?”

I looked to Kisa whose grip had tightened on my hand and she nodded at me in encouragement. I held onto Kisa like a lifeline and my pulse began to race.

The gray man never took his eyes from mine. And images danced in front of my eyes. My eyes widened and I searched the man’s face more. It was him… it was him.

I was older, a teen, and I was in a car with a man. We were driving to a meeting. It was my first meeting with the Bratva—

“I was a part of the Bratva,” I whispered and looked to Kisa. She nodded and pressed her broken lips to my cut up hand. Her touch calmed me down.

“Keep going, Luka. Keep going.” I nodded and squeezed my eyes back shut.

I was a child. It was Christmas. There was a tree, presents. I was sitting on a couch, and a man gave me a gift. A man with brown eyes and light hair… a man with the gray man’s face…

“Merry Christmas, son,” the man had said.

“Thank you, papa,” I had replied.

I gasped for breath and stumbled back, my back hitting the side of the cage. I stared at the gray haired man and couldn’t seem to breathe.

The man stepped forward again. “Luka? Do you… Do you remem—”

“You’re… my papa?” I questioned and relief spread on the man’s face. He nodded his head unable to speak. “You’re my papa. Ivan Tolstoi,” I said again and tensed as he lifted a hand and put it on my shoulder.

“My son,” he rasped out and tears fell down his face. “My Luka… you have returned to us.”

My heart was beating erratically, and I found myself stepping forward as my papa took me into his arms. I froze at first, refusing to let go of Kisa, but then as more and more memories returned to me, I found myself sagging in his arms.

I was huge compared to him, but I felt like a child again, in his arms.

A sobbing over his shoulder made me look up and the blond woman was watching me and my father, an expression of happiness on her face. A picture of a young girl sat beside me at a dinner table annoyingly stabbing me with her fork in my leg played in my head. Then that Christmas scene from before deepened and I saw her sitting next to me at the tree, her arm around my waist.

My papa must have felt me freeze, for he moved back and saw me staring at the woman. Kisa’s hand slipped from mine. And I walked forward and saw the woman was shivering.

“You’re my sister,” I stated and the woman tentatively nodded her head. “Tal… Tal…” I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to remember her name. A hand wrapped around mine and the woman said, “Talia. I’m your sister Talia.”

“Talia,” I said, the name sounding familiar, right, “My… sister.”

Talia cried and threw her arms around my waist. I tensed at the contact, fighting the urge to throw her off and attack. I didn’t know what to do. “You’re alive,” she sobbed. “I have you back. I have my brother back.”

Glancing at Kisa, I could see her hugging her father. She was happy for me, her blue eyes bright.

Talia pulled back and I stumbled back toward Kisa and held out my hand. “Kisa,” I said, desperately needing her close. It was all too much. My mind and body were exhausted and she was all I really knew. But as I held out my hand, the Pakhan—Kirill… his name was Kirill—took it and pulled me forward.

I braced my body again, but he said, “I never knew, Luka. I never knew… I believed you had killed my son and that is my sin to bear. I was so saddened that I didn’t suspect Abram or Alik. Abram was my brother in this life, I would never suspect he’d do such a thing. You were innocent and paid for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Kirill looked at Kisa. “And my action took you from her. My wife would be spinning in her grave if she knew that I had separated the two of you unnecessarily,” he dropped his head, “and gave her over to a lesser man… a sick man… a murderer.”

I stared at the pakhan and could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Papa!” Kisa cried, but Kirill held up his hand.

“It’s the truth.” Kirill looked over my head and in the direction of Abram and pulled out his gun. He walked to my father and handed the gun to him.

“It’s your vengeance to kill him, Ivan.”

My father straightened his shoulders and a cold look spread on his face. “He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun, handing it to Kirill. “It’s both our kill. He ordered for Alik to kill Rodion.”