“You did?” I whispered in awe.
Babushka smiled. “I did. It was his eyes. He had the kindest of brown eyes.” Babushka huffed a laugh. “Of course, I knew who he was. He was a Tolstoi, every Russian knew the Volkov Bratva, but I remember seeing those eyes and knowing that as violent as his life was, he was not.” I watched as Babushka’s eyes filled with water and my stomach sank. She missed my grandfather so much. I could see the racking pain in her eyes.
“Babushka?” I whispered and she pulled me closer into her side.
“Your dedushka was my life, Talia,” she said in a sad voice, “And one day, a man will enter your life and you will know, without a doubt, that he is yours. I can’t explain it, but something will snap within you and from that day forth, you’ll be his and he’ll be yours.”
I smiled against my babushka’s chest, and echoed, “I’ll be his and he’ll be mine.”
“A good Russian boy. A man from our way of life. A man your papa will approve of, will welcome into the Bratva to stand but his side. A man your family will be proud to have as their son.”
“I can’t wait,” I said excitedly, and closed my eyes, trying to imagine what my true love would be like. I smiled further just picturing my father shaking my love’s hand, with a proud and happy smile on his face, my heart full with the knowledge that I’d chosen my true love well …
I blinked fast, trying to chase the tears from my eyes. Trying to swallow back the nausea creeping up my throat. But Babushka’s words stabbed at my brain. I can’t explain it, but something will snap within you and you’ll be his and he’ll be yours. My heart beat at a furious rate as Zaal’s face flashed in my mind and, at that one simple thought, my heart swelled and filled with warmth.
Something within me had snapped.
The minute my hand had touched Zaal’s skin, and those jade eyes had seared mine, I knew something within me had fundamentally changed.
Sighing in shame, I gripped the comforter in my hands and fought back my tears.
Why him? Anybody but fucking him!
You can’t do this, Talia. You can’t have him. You can’t want him like this! I scolded myself as I jumped from my bed, unable to sit in this goddamn room any longer, hiding, shying away from the overwhelming pull to the man in the basement. I showered and dressed, all the time replaying last night’s dream in my head. I thought of Babushka and guilt took its firm hold. She would be so ashamed of me. Me! Her favorite. I knew I was letting her down. And I couldn’t fucking bear letting her down.
Running down the stairs, I reached the kitchen, brushing my hair back from my face in nervous frustration. My hands were trembling and my legs had the consistency of Jell-O as I drank in the darkening sky outside the large-framed windows.
Just breathe, I told myself. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and breathe.
I sucked in a breath. I closed my eyes. But all I saw when my eyelids drifted shut was him. His large olive-skinned body, his long black hair, and those green eyes. Those soulful green eyes that would fix on me as though he could read my mind, speak directly to my soul.
Shivers broke out along my skin at the mere memory of his taut body, at the sight of those three beauty spots beside his left eye that had me transfixed.
Snapping my eyes back open, my hand drifted to my precious, treasured necklace and I felt my eyes sting with betrayal once more.
I had to forget about him.
He wasn’t mine to have. He couldn’t be.
It was a stupid naive obsession.