15. Lucia

CHAPTER 15

Lucia

I can't figure him out. People are like puzzles—pieces that fit together once you find the right combination. Usually, I can see through them, understand what drives them, what makes them tick.

But Ivan Volkov? He's the one puzzle I just can't solve.

"What do you like to eat?" Ivan asks.

It's noon and we're seated beside the pool at the back of the villa. The sun is warm on my skin, the clear blue water glistening under the morning light. Ivan is in a reclining lounge chair next to mine. He's relaxed, leaning back in his chair, but there's always this underlying intensity about him that makes me curious about why it's there.

"I noticed you turned down the pancakes the chef offered earlier," he states.

"They were blueberry pancakes. I prefer them plain," I reply easily. "Plus, I'm not a fan of heavy breakfasts."

"You don't seem to be a fan of most foods," he points out.

I shrug. "I'm a picky eater, remember?"

"So what do you like?" he asks, seemingly genuinely curious.

When he said he wanted us to get to know each other, I didn't think he would be so relentless about it. Especially in the face of yesterday's revelations. When I woke up this morning, a part of me was so sure that it was all over and I'd get to go back home. I thought it would be my chance to close the door on this entire situation. But Ivan's more stubborn than I give him credit for.

Maybe his relationship with his brother is strong enough to withstand something like this. Or maybe it isn't. I'm curious, too, which is why I'm trying to figure him out as well.

"I like Mexican food. Tacos, enchiladas. Guacamole and nachos is, like, my favorite food ever. My sister makes the best guacamole; I used to have it almost every day after school when I was younger. Oh, and before you question my Italian heritage, I really like risotto. Tiramisu's my favorite dessert. Despite desserts not really being my thing. And like most normal people, I like ice cream."

"What flavor?" Ivan asks.

I wrinkle my nose, trying to hide my smile. "Please don't be one of those people who judges me just because my favorite kind is mint chocolate chip."

He shakes his head with a small smile of his own. "I would never, milaya . I happen to like it as well. Then again, I like most things. I can't say I'm really partial to any foods."

"But what's your favorite?"

He proceeds to think about that. "Probably Chinese food, which you don't like."

"No, I do not," I say on a laugh. "Our favorite cuisines are complete opposites. We're already doomed."

"Don't worry , I'll eat everything you eat. We'll be alright."

That's oddly sweet. Snap out of it, Lucia. The man's a goddamn sociopath.

"So is that it? You're trying to find things we have in common? Are we playing twenty questions? What's next? Favorite TV shows?"

I say that jokingly, but he likes the suggestion.

"You like Ozark , right? I figured you did after that comment you made the other day. Comparing me to a character called Marty Byrde? It was very amusing. When I got home, I decided to look it up out of curiosity. And then I watched a couple of episodes."

"Of Ozark ?" I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Yeah. I have to say, though, I don't see the similarities between myself and him."

In hindsight, that comment was completely unnecessary. Him watching the show is unexpected, though. I can't believe he did that.

"You're both good-looking middle-aged men, so there's that," I point out with a shrug.

Ivan actually grins. Like a full-on smile with teeth. It's a good look on him. Makes him seem a little less intense.

"So, you think I'm good looking?"

"What are you, twelve? You're objectively good looking, obviously. I wouldn't have slept with you if you weren't," I say confidently because it's true and there's no need to shy away from obvious facts. "Just don't let it go to your head."

"I'll do my best," he says solemnly.

"So you only watched Ozark because I mentioned it?"

"I told you, I was curious. It's a good show from what I can tell. Although I only watched a couple of episodes."

"You have to finish it," I say immediately.

"I will. If you watch it with me," he returns.

"We'll see," is all I say in reply. Really, though, I'm excited to watch it with him. Not because it's him. I like watching shows with anyone that shows interest. "So do you make a habit of watching shows everybody recommends?"

"Only beautiful women I can't get out of my head."

My heart does a little back flip at that. I look to the side, taking in the unruffled expression on his face, even now.

"I can't remember the last time I watched anything," Ivan continues. "Shows, movies, those aren't really my thing."

"Of course not, old man. I'm sure you make more of a habit of murder and torture," I retort.

"Well, I do have other hobbies, krasavitsa . And who are you calling old?"

"You're not even going to deny the murder and torture?" I ask on a laugh.

"You know who I am, Lucia. I've never claimed to be otherwise."

He's right, he hasn't. Honesty is something I've always appreciated. Especially because I will be brutally honest with anybody given the chance. I like it when people are straight with me. It's only a form of cowardice when you hide who you really are.

"True, you haven't," I say. "Just out of curiosity, who was the first person you ever killed?"

He arches an eyebrow. "That's morbid, Lucia. Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He thinks it over for a couple of seconds. I can almost see him weighing his options, deciding if this is really something he wants me to know.

Finally, he answers on a sigh. "The answer's going to open up a pretty long story."

"I have time," I assure him. "You can tell me, Ivan."

He looks into my eyes for a second and I don't know what he sees in there before he's nodding and looking away. He keeps his gaze fixed on the pool in front of us as he starts to speak.

"The first person I ever killed was my father."

I have to fight very hard not to visibly react to that, but my heart clenches at the thought of him murdering his own father. I wait for him to continue, to explain.

"I moved to the U.S. when I was about eighteen years old. Alexei was eight, and before then we'd been living with our father, who was a pretty violent man. He'd get drunk at times, belligerent, hitting me and generally making our lives hell. For the most part, I could take it. I tried my best to take it because I was the only one going through it. He mostly ignored Alexei back then. I was much older than him, so naturally he was my responsibility."

His words remind me of my sister and how fiercely protective she was of me. And still is, in fact. Older siblings and their continuous self-sacrifice.

"He hurt Alexei?" I ask, because usually people in his position will take anything directed at them—but come after the people they care about and all bets are off.

"I got home one day from school and found my little brother cowering in the corner with a gash on his head. He was terrified and my father looked proud of himself. I beat the shit out of him and warned him that if he ever did anything to hurt my brother again, I'd make sure it was the last day of his life. I regret not killing him that day. Because he didn't deserve that mercy. And people like him make a habit on preying on those weaker than them. The next time he hurt Alexei, my brother landed in the hospital. I kept my promise. I made sure that was my father's last day."

The words are delivered coldly, unflinchingly. Sympathy tugs at my chest because no one should ever be put in that position.

"What about your mother?" I ask softly.

His expression tightens. It doesn't escape my notice that talking about murdering his own father seemed to have no effect on him, but one mention of his mother does.

"She abandoned us. Stuck around for the first eleven years of my life, but after she gave birth to Alexei, she just left. She wanted to make a better life for herself, so she left her two sons in the hands of a monster. I hate her even more than I hate our useless excuse of a father."

"Where is she now?"

"It's funny how selfish people can be. She crawled out on her own. I'm not sure how, but she must have heard about me making a name for myself in the Bratva. I've always known where she was, married to another useless piece of shit, I just didn't care about her. In my mind, she doesn't exist. Anyway, she reached out to me, and I ignored it. And then she just appeared in Chicago. She seemed to think she was entitled to some part of my wealth simply because she birthed me. I made it clear that she had no right to even a penny. She chose to leave and I chose to forget her. It's as simple as that."

"She hurt you," I say gently.

His eyes meet mine with a glare. "No, she didn't. I told you, Lucia. I don't give a fuck about her."

"It's fine if you do. I think mothers cause the most damage, especially in their absence. Because of it. I miss my mom every day and most of the time I don't even remember what she looks like."

His eyes soften. "I'm sorry for your loss, milaya ."

"I used to think it was selfish of me to grieve someone I barely even knew. My sadness always seemed inconsequential in the face of my sister's and especially my father's. But Aurora taught me that it's okay to grieve her because she was my mother, too. I could grieve what I could have had, had she lived. It's fine if you want to grieve your mother, too."

He's listening intently, brown eyes fixed on mine.

"I'm not asking you to forgive her; I don't think she deserves forgiveness. You don't ever have to see her again. I'm just telling you it's okay to be hurt. And it's okay to care. If you didn't care at all, I think you would have killed her when she showed up back then."

"What makes you think I didn't?" Ivan questions, a challenge in his gaze.

"You didn't," I say assuredly, reaching for the glass of orange juice on the table beside mine.

He doesn't confirm anything but I can see it in his gaze that I'm right.

"Unfortunately, I don't think you're a monster, Ivan," I find myself saying.

It's a damn shame, really, how human he is. Makes it hard to hate him, although I doubt I ever really did.

"Careful, krasavitsa . I might start to think you actually care."

"We definitely can't have that," I state. "While we're on the topic of getting to know each other, we need to talk about your brother."

His eyes become clouded. "Why?"

"I know you're not one of those people who ignore their problems and leave them to fester."

"Alexei isn't a problem."

"Isn't he?" I question. "Because I refuse to be a woman that's caught between two brothers. It's tacky and a little cruel. I'm not going to be the reason you two have a strained relationship."

He considers that for a moment. "My brother and I have always had a strained relationship. And I'm not using that as an excuse to justify this. Frankly, I don't think we need any justification for what we're trying to pursue. Your relationship with Alexei has ended."

"But I'm not sure he really knows that," I murmur.

"You're right, he doesn't. He still wants you," Ivan says bluntly. "But that doesn't mean he can have you."

"That's solid advice. For both of you," I drawl.

"I'm firmly aware of what I can and can't have, milaya ," he says. "But when it comes to Alexei… His life growing up was hard. He's always struggled to find his own path because I've always created a path for both of us. I raised him and I made mistakes along the way. Instead of letting him become his own man, I decided to do it for him."

"Basically, you spoiled him. Yeah, that makes sense, actually. When we first met, I thought he was a lazy trust fund kid with daddy's money to fall back on."

"And yet you still dated him," Ivan says with a smirk.

"He was charming. And despite how he acted like a douchebag most of the time, once in a while, his sincerity would peek through. When I was younger, I had this stupid, ‘I can fix him' mentality. But I don't think that anymore. I shouldn't have to fix or take care of any man."

"No, you shouldn't, krasavitsa . What you need is a man to take care of you, even if you don't need him to," he tells me with a warm smile. "I'm not trying to talk bad about my brother. He has his faults and I think he genuinely wants to be better. But change is tough. Especially considering that he has a lot of vices. And like you said, I spoiled him. I made him who he is today."

"He's still your brother, though."

"Yes, Alexei is family. And one thing I learned from my mother's sudden reappearance in our life is that family has a way of always coming back. Alexei has every right to be angry right now. But I also firmly believe that he'll always come back."

"Because he's dependent on you. Because you made him dependent on you," I state.

He's basically saying he's going to go ahead with hurting Alexei because he knows he'll come back eventually.

"Does that make me a terrible brother?" he asks.

I shake my head after thinking about it for a moment.

"No, I think it makes you human."