10. Natalia

10

NATALIA

If hiring a new housekeeper-slash-chef was meant to make us all forget Yelena, Andrey should try again.

Pilav is the exact antithesis of Yelena—young, efficient, and professional to a fault. Still, it's impossible not to see Yelena between the cracks.

Sure, his cooking is a heck of a lot better, but somehow, mouth-watering pierogies don't quite make up for his sour face every time Misha or I walk into the kitchen to sneak something from the fridge.

In my defense, I'm pregnant. In Misha's defense, he's a growing boy with nothing to do all day.

At least Remi seems not to mind him. And for the moment, that's good enough for me.

Misha and I are sitting in the garden with a fully-laden tray between us. It's sunny and the glare off the water is particularly brutal, but it beats the heat we have to endure in the kitchen under Pilav's sullen gaze.

"I can't wait to start training," Misha sighs, squinting towards the pool. "I'm so sick of lying in bed all the time."

"You just got over a concussion," I remind him. "Take it easy."

"Andrey says I'm as good as in the Bratva. I want to earn my mark for real, though."

I can tell he's been wanting to share this with me for a while. His chest puffs out proudly as he turns to me, waiting for some form of congratulations.

But my tongue feels like it's turned to sand. "Don't you think you should wait a little longer?"

"No, I'm ready."

"Misha—"

"Don't even start." Indignation flashes across his face. "You think I'm just this stupid little kid who can't take care of himself."

"That's not what I'm saying?—"

"I've been through a lot that you don't know about," he huffs over my protests. "I'm the one who protected my mother against men five times my size. I'm the one who cleaned the girls' wounds when a client beat them stupid. I'm the one that looked after the kids when they came to the compound, terrified and panicking."

The moment he finishes speaking, his complexion pales. As though he's just realized that he said too much.

Or maybe it has more to do with the open-mouthed, dumbfounded look on my face. This is the first time he's really talked about his life in Nikolai's clutches.

"It sounds terrible," I acknowledge softly.

He shrugs and looks out into the distance, where Remi is busy tunneling his way through the bushes.

"There were moments when it was quiet," he admits. "But when things happened, they really happened ."

I have no idea what that means. I'm not sure I want to. But as horrible as this might be for me to hear, he actually went through it. The least I can do is listen.

Provided he's willing to open up to me, that is.

I decide to go with the least incriminating question. "What was your mother like?"

He swallows. "We weren't very close. She was around, but… not really. She was very beautiful, though. The men used to say she was ‘popular.'" He flinches as the full meaning of that word hits him, maybe for the first time. "She looked like me. Or maybe I look like her, I guess. But she used to tell me that I had my daddy's nose and a birthmark on my shoulder in the same shape and position that he had."

He pushes down the neckline of his t-shirt and displays a sickle-shaped birthmark right under his collarbone.

"You never met your father?"

"No. But… I don't know." Misha shrugs awkwardly. "I don't think he was all that bad. She said he would bring her sweets. Reese's Cups, because they were her favorite."

Whoever Misha's father was, he might not have been all bad, but he can't have been all that good, either. At the best, he paid to have sex with Misha's mother. At worst, he was responsible for owning and selling her.

"And this compound you lived in… Was it nice?"

He wrings his hands together. "It was just this long stretch of houses that looked like barnyard sheds. But instead of grass, we had sand. And there was a well where we collected our drinking and bathing water. We had to be careful because each shed was only allowed one bucket a day. We were allowed two because Mom was a mare."

I almost choke on a bite. "A what ?"

He cringes with embarrassment. "It's just how they differentiated between us. The stallions were the men over eighteen. The mares were the women over eighteen. The fillies were the girls. And me… I was a colt."

I put down the sandwich I'm holding. I've suddenly lost my appetite.

He squirms in place. "I was the oldest kid, so I guess I was put in charge of the others."

"Do you know where they came from? The others, I mean?"

"Most of their mothers were mares. I would look after them while the women went to work at night."

"Were there a lot of kids?"

His eyes grow distant. "Usually, only three to four at the most. But for a while, Olivia helped me with the smaller kids."

"Olivia?"

His knuckles are white. He bites his lip as though he's regretting mentioning the name. "She was my… my friend," he admits at last. "She was a year younger. Her mother was a mare, too. She also had a sister who had just become a filly…"

He trails off and I don't have to ask to know what became of Olivia. If her mother and sister were already conscripted into Nikolai's reprehensible skin trade, then she didn't stand a chance.

"We used to talk about running away sometimes," Misha confesses in a hushed voice. "Olivia used to come up with plans to escape."

"Did you ever try?"

Misha shakes his head. "We were too scared. We'd seen too many fillies try to escape. They were always caught and punished. Our escape plans were just dreams."

At a loss for words, I reach out and take his hand. He winces, but I just grip his hand a little tighter. "I'm glad you had someone."

He shrugs, shaking me off as though physical touch is more than he can deal with right now. "For a little while. Then Olivia disappeared, too."

Even though I'm expecting it, my heart sinks like a stone.

"It happens." There's a bitterness in his voice I wish I could override. Years of pain and heartbreak I wish I could take away. "Everyone comes and goes. Even the children. Olivia and I were the only kids who'd been around for over a year. Maybe that's why I didn't expect it to happen. But… you just have to move on."

"But you didn't, did you?"

I know the answer already. It's laughable that anyone thought Misha could be a spy. He's loyal through and through. Of course he looked for Olivia.

His chin sags down to his chest. "I asked her mom and sister, but neither one knew what happened to her. They said she was probably bought."

"I'm so sorry, Misha."

"I'm used to it. People always disappear." His eyes snap to mine when he says it and guilt scourges through me.

I told him he was as good as my kid.

And then I tried to leave.

"I'm sorry, Misha. I'm so damn sorry."

He doesn't say anything and I don't explain myself. I don't really need to.

We both know what I'm apologizing for.