Reap (Scarred Souls 2)

Leaning forward, I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Kisa didn’t move for a few seconds, but then looked to me again. “Luka’s been having nightmares again. He’s not in a good place lately, Tal. I don’t know what to do.”

My stomach tensed. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

Kisa got to her feet and stood before me, throwing me a dismissive smile. “Nothing for you to worry about.” I went to argue that fact, but Kisa pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in her arms. “Go on your break, Tal, relax, find your happiness again, and come back refreshed. You never know, by the time you return everything might be back to normal—the Jakhua’s may be dead and buried, Luka may have made a full recovery, everything swimming along nicely.”

I hugged Kisa back and, after a few seconds, she pulled away. Her lips pulled into a wry smile. “One can dream, hey? One thing’s for sure, there’s never a dull moment in the wonderful world of Volkov!”

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a laugh. Then I hesitated knowing there was something more she wasn’t telling me. She was acting weird.

Kisa rolled her eyes at me as I stared. “Tal, go. I’ve got everything covered here.”

I headed to the door, but stopped to say, “Do you think Luka will be okay?”

Kisa wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m sure he will. I’ve left him in bed today. He had a rough night. I’m going to meet with our fathers this afternoon to see if they can help him.”

I frowned. “What needs to be done? You’re being very vague, Kisa.”

Kisa gave me a tired smirk. “Just something from his gulag days, a piece of information that’s been playing on Luka’s mind. I’m hoping our fathers can shed some light on it. It’s what Luka needs to finally embrace his training as the future pakhan. I think my father’s getting antsy about how distracted Luka is. I think he’s doubting whether he has what it takes to lead the brotherhood one day.”

Walking back to Kisa one last time, my stomach rolling at yet another arising issue my brother now had to overcome, I gave her a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “Anytime you need me, you call. And if you need a break yourself come to see me. You shouldn’t have to take all of this on either. It’s starting to make you ill.” Kisa tensed in my arms. “Promise me, Kisa,” I pushed.

She nodded against my shoulder. “I promise, Tal. And … thank you,” she whispered.

With both hands on her shoulders, I pushed her back to stare her straight in the eyes. “You’re my sister, Kisa. That was true even before you married my brother. It’s been me and you, always. Sisters ‘til the end.”

Kisa wiped a stray tear that had fallen and she waved her hands at me in a shooing motion. “Go. Get on the road to avoid traffic. Rest. Eat lots of chocolate and, most importantly, have some fun. We don’t have enough fun round these parts.”

I let out a single laugh. “I’ve got to tell my father I’m off first. My mama knows the score, we’ve planned it together, but we figured suddenly surprising my father that I’m taking a break would go over better than giving him time to talk me out of it. You know he’ll try and guilt me into staying.”

Kisa chuckled and said, “I’ve always envied you, Tal. You do what you want, when you want. I could never do that. I was too busy trying to be the perfect Russian daughter.” She huffed to herself. “For all the damn good it did me.”

I sobered at Kisa’s compliment, and something down deep caused me to confess, “I wouldn’t envy me too much, Kisa. I may live on my own terms more than most in this life, but you’ve got the one thing I’d give anything to have. Sacrifice anything to have.”

“What’s that?” Kisa asked, her face now confused.

I fought a lump in my throat. “Love. You’ve got someone who adores you probably more than you do him. I’m on my own, have always been on my own. I’d give anything to have that soul-shattering type of love. But how that’ll happen in this life is beyond me. Who the hell’s going to date the daughter of a Bratva boss?”

Kisa’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Tal—”

I held up my hand. “Shit. I’m talking nonsense.” I paused, then forced a smile. “I’d better go, Kisa. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I left the office before Kisa could say anything more, all the time rubbing the dull ache of loneliness in my chest that my little confession had brought on.

I needed this break.

I’d earned this break.

I wanted to be normal.

I wanted to be plain old normal Talia from Brooklyn, if only for a little while.

Chapter Three

Luka

My body ached from lack of sleep, but I forced myself out of bed. Kirill, the Pakhan, had told me I had to be in his office this afternoon. He was meeting with the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra, the Italian Mafia here in New York. Kirill wanted me to meet all the bosses at a neutral location; he wanted to introduce me as the Bratva’s future leader. He said he wanted them to see me in person. He’d smiled when he’d informed me of that. Said he couldn’t wait to see the fear on their faces when they saw the future of the Volkovs enter the room.

Walking to my side of the closet in the bedroom I shared with Kisa, I pulled out one of the damn designer suits I had to wear whenever I was on Bratva business. Minutes later, I looked in the bathroom mirror as I straightened my tie and my hands dropped to my sides. I felt like I was going fucking crazy. Every nightmare was of me killing 362, of his brown eyes glazing over with death. Most of my days were spent trying to find out who he was, where he’d come from, and so far I’d come up with nothing.

Turning from the mirror, I made my way downstairs to find Mikhail, my personal guard, and head of the byki, waiting in my town car.

Without speaking, he drove me straight to Kirill Volkov’s house. I stepped out and strode into the huge hallway, heading toward his office. When I was just outside the door, I heard my father and Kisa’s voices coming from inside. But just as I was about to enter, their hushed conversation brought me to an abrupt halt.

“Have you discovered something about 362? Have your leads brought in new information?” Kisa asked.

There was silence in response, and my heart began to pound. My hand tightened on the doorknob when my father cleared his throat.

“We’ve known for several months about 362’s identity, Kisa.”

“What?” Kisa whispered in shock. “Months? Yet you haven’t told Luka?”

“It’s a delicate situation, Kisa,” my father spoke, “one that’s recently arrived at our door. And we can’t make an already bad situation worse”—I heard a chair creak—“especially not for him. Not for 362.” My father spoke “him” and “362” like they were poison in his mouth.

“I don’t understand. I don’t … what?” Kisa mumbled. “Who is 362?”

My father then replied coldly, “He was a Kostava.”

Kisa must have reacted to that name, as my father then added, “It’s true, Kisa. Of all the people, of all the families in the world, the one man who finds my son in hell and befriends him, is a fucking Kostava.”