17. Katya

I woke up slowly, vague awareness creeping in until a warm breath tickled my ear, then spoke softly, “You’re safe. Rest against me.”

My eyes flew open. “What… where…?”

I found myself staring up into a pair of cold gray eyes, like dirty ice chips. But there was something tender behind them. I felt a pang in my chest at the realization that Yuri was holding me in his arms, like a newborn, and had all night. I had cried in his arms, tired myself out, and he held me while I slept.

Yuri’s hand slid into my tumbled hair, his fingertips finding my scalp and stroking gently as if I was a cat.

“Tell me what happened,” he said softly.

I couldn’t. Not even close. The effort to say ‘No,’ or to shake my head was beyond me. There was no way I could tell him the overwhelming emotions I was feeling. It was one big emotion, not separated into discreet feelings I could define.

But his hand kept circling my head and playing with my hair, “Tell me,”he repeated, insistent.

I was too exhausted to argue, to refuse him. “It was my fault,” I said. A hot tear leaked from the corner of my eye. “I am the reason Tasha is dead. Just like Dmitry.”

Yuri was silent, waiting patiently for me to continue.

The words came out in a rush, the dam bursting. “I drove Dmitry to it, we had fought but if I’d been kind instead of bitchy, Dmitry would still be alive.” I broke off with a wretched sob, “I said he wouldn’t be able to drive. He had been drinking the night before, and he still wasn’t sobered up.”

Yuri’s thumb stroked across my temple, through the trail of salty tears. “So, he decided to prove you wrong,” he said after a moment. “Half drunk and pissed off, he drove,” Yuri continued.

I nodded, my jaw trembling, then a coughing sob escaped me.

“No, don’t start that again,” Yuri warned carefully, stroking my head. “Take a deep breath.”

I did as I was told while he wiped the tears from my cheeks like I was a child.

“From a neutral third party pointy of view, Dmitry was a grown ass man. An adult. He chose to take a stupid risk, and he paid for it.”

“Yes, but he’d been drinking —”

“His choice.”

I was struck by his blunt words and matter-of-fact manner. I had expected him to blame me, even more than I blamed myself, if that were possible. No one could deny my guilt, it was obvious. “It was my fault,” I insisted. “I pushed him over the edge.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility to save him from himself. When he decided to act like an idiot no one could have stopped him. Not even me. I fought him a dozen times for his car keys when he was drunk and sometimes, I won, sometimes I lost. Trust me when I say there was nothing to stop him from doing exactly what he wanted in his stupid drunken mind.”

“You didn’t hear the way I spoke to him, very sarcastic, very ...”

“I’m sure you were vicious, but sarcasm doesn’t send a normal person off into a suicidal tantrum. He had plenty of good qualities, so many that I believe the Bratva would be in good shape today if he was in charge. But he had bad qualities as well. The flip side of being groomed to take over, to become the leader is a sense of entitlement, a feeling he was special, and the rules didn’t apply to him. They did. He learned that the hardest way possible.”

I stared at him with wide eyes. Somehow his cool, unsentimental assessment was more comforting than sympathy. As I considered what he said, I realized my fingers had slid into his hair and my arms were around his neck. When did that happen?

“It happened just outside the house, outside the gate. They ran to fetch me, after it happened,” I found myself telling him everything. I could have no secrets with him. “Dmitry was lying on the ground, his neck was broken, the car a crumpled mess. The car that hit him has gone already. I leaned over him and said his name, and when he heard my voice, he opened his eyes. I could see that he was dying. I put my hand on his cheek and told him that I loved him, and Dmitry said, ‘You aren’t made for this ... you’re not like me and dad … do something else.’ Those were the last words he ever spoke. He was unconscious by the time the ambulance arrived…” More tears sprang from my eyes.

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in those last words,” Yuri said. “His neck was broken; he was in shock. Whatever he said it didn’t have a lot of thought behind it.” His hand held mine tightly, “Listen, it was very Dmitry to overreact and do something stupid in anger. He was a slave to his feelings, not in control of them. No one could blame you for what happened.”

“I blame myself. Tasha, too. I was nearly killed today. I was chased across campus and shot at. Tasha had her head blown off!”

“Yes, you did but you’re safe now. The is the part you should be happy about.”

“Happy? Tasha is dead, Yuri. No more. Ever.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t you feel… anything? Don’t you feel even the slightest bit guilty?”

“About what?”

“The fact that someone who worked for you is dead. That she died carrying out your orders? That she died protecting me?”

“Everyone who dies in the line of duty feels like a piece of my soul that gets carved away. I feel each one of them. But Tasha knew the risks of this job. She’d been excited about it. I regret I can’t give her a proper burial but that’s the way it is. She’s past caring about it. I only caught a glimpse of her but it was enough to know that there was no hope for survival. My only regret was not getting there in time to save her. Especially since she died saving you.”

"I didn't know what it was. Death. It's all because of me."

"No. Petya tried to make his move but fudged it."

"But Tasha’s dead."

"Yes."

"That's my fault."

He shrugged. "If you want it," he said, "but it’s not really. She knew the risks. You want to go turn yourself in?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't want to go to jail."

“It was my fault,” I insisted.

“It wasn’t your responsibility to save Tasha from herself any more than Dmitry.”

Keeping my head down, I stared at the hand over mine, elegant but brutally strong, with a faint scattering of hair on the back of it.

"You won't be able to go home, ever. Or back to school for a while."

"Oh," I said. "You mean, I can't go back at all."

"That's right," he said.

I thought about it, looking at him, saying, "Will you take me with you?"

"Isn’t that what I did?”

“Yes, but now I’m asking.”

“For how long?"

I managed a wan smile. "Until one of us gets bored, I suppose."

"Will you break down anymore, like you did tonight?"

"No. That was just a surprise, that's all. The same thing won't surprise me twice."

"Maybe something else will surprise you."

"I don't think so."

“I blame myself.”

“I know. You’re suffering for nothing, but you intend to suffer anyways.”

“It’s not even suffering, I feel numb.”

“Maybe I can make you feel something,” he said.