Page 93 of One of Them

Alisa’s voice was soft when she answered, “Gone.”

“No.”

The rage hit her in waves. She was heading toward another crash, and I felt for her. But most of all, I felt for my sister. A man she thought would be her forever had just disappeared.

Taya rubbed her temples, eyes squeezed shut as she muttered, “Can we catch a break?”

Alisa moved over to comfort her. “We can, and we will.” Her confidence was admirable, but the realists in the group remained skeptical.

“Fuck, I left my bow there,” Taya exhaled, and we all chuckled at the trail of her thoughts.

When we all retreated into our thoughts, it was Alisa who broke the silence.

“I suggest we clean up,” she said, referring to the dirt mixed with blood on our clothes. “Get you checked, then we’ll celebrate. It’s Christmas, after all.” She smiled.

“Tomorrow, we deal with the rest.”

The live-in staff set the table for the family, not expecting any guests, so we added a few more chairs.

Nine of us. Five family members. Two unexpected strangers. One Italian. And her. The one who belonged. In this world. In my world.

The food smelled incredible, and even though I wasn’t one for formal gatherings, this felt anything but. Soups, potato salad, meat, and fish, but I had my eye on the best part of the evening: the cakes. The sugary goodness.

I vividly remembered our mother baking whenever Christmas came around. Even though our father employed a cook, she insisted on making them herself. Little did she know, I always stole a piece of the raw cookie dough while she took her smoke break. Over time, I learned where she hid the baked goods, tucked behind the potatoes in a metal box. I snuck so many that my tiny mouth couldn’t quite chew them all. The crumblydough dissolved in your mouth, the jam in the middle adding a fruity sweetness. It was the essence of Christmas.

When we all approached the table, I ignored the usual family seating plan and reserved the spots nearest the goods. I saved her a seat, quietly hoping she’d gravitate toward me, though I’d noticed in the past that it was always Lorenzo she gravitated toward first.

In a beautiful black dress, Taya entered the room as a different woman. Her hair was once again the familiar blond shade. Gone were the reminders of Malek for good. The dress must have belonged to my sister because it was short and tight on Taya.

Her gaze flickered to the food before finding me. Ever so slowly, she walked across the room, silently eyeing the seat next to me.

“Reserved just for you,” my smile replied.

Taya sat down, her muscles stiff. The distance between us still felt too far, and sitting her in my lap seemed out of place at the Christmas table, even if my mind argued otherwise. I grabbed the legs of her chair and slid it closer. She laughed at the action, but her eyes told a different story.

When I snaked my arm alongside the top of the chair, Taya finally relaxed, her shoulders lowering. She leaned in close, whispering a secret. “This is my first Russian Christmas.”

It hit me then. She hadn’t eaten in hours.

I rushed to load her plate, slapping my sibling’s hands away. I ignored tradition, which dictated that the Pakhan be served first.

She’d sacrificed enough for one day. The least we could do was serve her.

Food first, I smirked internally.

Lev sat next to Alisa, glancing around the table. He briefly eyed the choices before reaching for the lamb. I observed the man, the boy, who didn’t bother swallowing. He inhaled each bite like his next meal wasn’t guaranteed.

Despite Mila clearing him of any serious diagnosis, his condition remained critical. My sister-in-law appeared shortly after our living roomencounters to check in on everybody before she returned to her shift. It took her a while to clear the deep wound rooted in his chest. While she worked, Taya stayed close, reassuring him that he was safe here.

Because of his actions, Lev was now on the wanted list. In a situation so far beyond our reach, even with Andrei as the Pakhan, the fact couldn’t be solved. He was a traitor, no matter his good intentions.

Taya refused the label, the mark imprinted on his body that sealed his fate in the organization. We hadn’t addressed what it meant, or how we would deal with the mess, but as I watched the two talk, I knew she wasn’t letting him go.

Either she had seen a part of herself, the fighter, the loner in him, or couldn’t stand the unfairness he was dealt with. Experience told me to investigate further, and I planned on doing just that, as soon as everything was said and done.

The same applied to the other man the night had brought to us.

I thought I knew everything there was to him, having served with him in the trenches, risking our lives for each other. Back then, though, I knew him as someone else entirely.

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