It takes several hours for Meyer’s surgery, and several more for him to wake up afterward. During that time, Boom Boom comes to the hospital as well. He tells me that he got Anastasia home safe after the riot, but one of her brothers was shot in the leg by Krupin’s men. He’s actually at the same hospital right now, on a different floor. Luckily, he survived. Anastasia doesn’t need to lose anyone else.
Boom Boom says the Orthodox boxers are still in a flaming fury at Krupin, though there’s not much they can do about it, especially not now that Krupin’s being backed up by Stepanov. That brawl may be the only justice they get, pithy as it was.
When I tell Boom Boom what Yakov did to Meyer, his good-natured face loses its smile.
“He has to pay for that,” Boom Boom says.
“He will,” I promise him.
I wish Yakov boxed. If I could just get him inside the ring . . .
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:
Final match of the tournament is on for tonight. New location: Krasny Bor. 10:00 pm.
Strange. Yakov usually sends the locations.
I wonder if it’s some kind of trap. Krupin may still be pissed at me for not throwing the fight.
Boom Boom got the same text, though.
“Do me a favor,” I say to him. “Check if that went out to everybody.”
Boom Boom steps out of the room to make a couple of calls. He comes back minutes later, saying, “It went to Orthodox and the Smirnovs as well.”
Alright, then.
Tonight, I meet the Beast in the ring.
In a way, I’m glad. Like so many encounters with the Bratva, what seemed like a golden opportunity has swiftly turned venomous. I want it to be over, one way or another. Before anyone else gets hurt.
Now that I have Boom Boom to help keep an eye on Meyer, I step out of the room myself so I can check in on Sasha. She answers the phone, sounding shaky and exhausted.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“N—nothing,” she says. “I just got home.”
I instantly know something must have gone wrong. It’s past noon—almost ten hours since she went to see her father.
“I’m coming over,” I tell her.
“You can’t,” she says, her voice shaking. “You’ve got to get some sleep. The fight’s on for tonight, did you hear?”
“Yes.”
I can’t stand this, knowing that something else has happened, but not knowing what. I need to see Sasha. I need to hold her in my arms and assure myself that she’s alright.
“I have to see you before the fight,” I tell her.
“Alright,” she agrees. “I’ll meet you on Krasnoborsky Prospekt. An hour before.”
When I hang up, I see that Meyer has come around once more. He’s been in and out of consciousness since the surgery. He hasn’t spoken yet, though.
I head back inside the room to see if he needs water, or anything else.
He looks up at me, still squinting blearily without his glasses.
“Boom Boom says fight’s on for tonight,” he croaks.
I shoot Boom Boom a dirty look. I wasn’t planning to tell Meyer that. I don’t want him to worry, when he’s still in such awful shape.
Boom Boom shrugs guiltily. He can’t help blurting out anything that’s on his mind.
Meyer grips Boom Boom’s forearm and squeezes it tight. “Have his back tonight,” he says.
“I will,” Boom Boom assures him. He looks over at me. “I will,” he says again.
“Good,” Meyer says. “Now go home, boy. Get some sleep.”
I don’t want to leave him. I need to check on Okalina though, let her back inside and feed her. I hope she’s been alright outside.
“Call me if anything changes,” I say to Boom Boom.
“Go on,” Meyer says, waving me away impatiently.
I meet Sasha at the corner of Krasnoborsky Prospekt, as she requested. I arrive almost twenty minutes early, anxious to see her.
She comes at precisely the agreed-upon time, stepping out of a cab with a heavy wool coat buttoned up to her neck, though it’s not a particularly cold night. She looks pale and sick, perhaps from nerves, or from whatever happened after we separated.
I pull her into my arms at once, holding her tightly, as if it’s been months since we last met instead of a matter of hours. I can feel the tension in her body, as if she’s trying desperately to keep something inside of herself.
“What is it?” I ask her, loosening my grip so I can look into her face. “What happened?”
She takes a deep, trembling breath.
“I—I killed Yakov,” she whispers.
Of all the things I expected her to say, I never would have guessed that.
“What?” I hiss, instinctively pulling her closer to the wall of the nearest building, out of sight and earshot of anyone else.
As I pull her along, the collar of her coat shifts, and I see the dark shadow of a bruise on her throat.
“What’s this?” I cry, undoing the top button so I can see the milky-white skin of her neck, marred by several lurid fingerprints.
I’m so incensed that I have to stop myself from tearing open her clothes to see the rest of her body, to see what he’s done to her.
“He came to the restaurant,” Sasha says. “We fought. He tried to—I hit him with a wine bottle. It . . . killed him.”
“Did he hurt you?” I demand. “Did he—“
“No!” Sasha says quickly. “I’m fine, Filip. I promise.”
She’s never called me Filip before. No one’s called me that in years. The way she says it, so tender and sincere, calms my racing heart. It’s the only thing that could have calmed me.
“Are you really alright?” I ask her, smoothing back a lock of her beautiful silvery hair that’s escaped from her braid, tucking it behind her ear.
She takes my hand in hers and presses it against her cheek.
“I am now,” she tells me.
I could look into those blue eyes forever.
But the reality of the situation intrudes.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” I ask her.
“Very sure,” she says.
“Does anyone else know?”
This is the crucial part. If Krupin finds out that she’s murdered his top lieutenant, the punishment will be worse than death, and he’ll go to the ends of the earth to mete it out.
“Only Papa knows,” she tells me. “And our cook, Lyosha. But they won’t tell a soul.”
“What about the body?”
“It’s gone,” she says.
Her voice is so flat and final that it disturbs me. There’s a dark look in her eyes, a look I’ve never seen before.
I pull her close again and kiss her again.
“You’re incredible,” I tell her. “You amaze me.”
I knew she was strong, but I underestimated her still.
She’s been pulled into this world, which shatters even hardened criminals, and yet nothing can break her.
How many men has Yakov killed? Dozens. And this girl put him in the ground.
I only wish I could dig him up so I could kill him again, for daring to put his hands on her. To say nothing of what he did to Meyer.
Sasha’s hands are cold. I hold them between mine, trying to warm them. She still looks troubled.
“There’s something else . . .” she says.
“What is it?”
“Stepanov came to the restaurant.”
My stomach drops. I remember the conversation between him and Krupin, the night we all ate together. I remember what they said, after Sasha left . . .
“I think he’s trying to buy me from Krupin,” Sasha says.
My guilt must show on my face. Sasha takes a step back, her eyes widening.
“You knew that already,” she says.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want to scare you.”
“When did you find out?” she demands.
“I heard them talking, that night at your father’s restaurant. But it doesn’t matter Sasha. I’m not going to let that happen!”
“How can you stop them?” she cries. “How can anyone?”
“Sasha,” I pull her close once more, turning her face up to mine so she has to look at me. “Do you know that I never loved anything before I loved you? I didn’t know I had a heart at all, until you made it beat. Now that heart belongs to you, and you belong to me, me and nobody else. I’ll kill every last one of them before I let them take you.”
She kisses me again, much longer this time. Her lips are finally beginning to warm up against mine.
“I love you too, Filip. Even if I could have my old life back, I wouldn’t take it. All this was worth it, to meet you.”
I can see in her eyes that she does love me as intensely as I do her. But there’s sadness in her voice. She talks like this is all the time we’re going to have together.
I’ll have to show her otherwise.
I kiss her again and again.
Then I have to hail a cab for her, because we can’t walk into the fight together.
She gives me one last kiss before we part.
“You’re going to win tonight,” she tells me.
“You think so?”
“I know it,” she says. She smiles sadly. “And you can believe me. Because I’m not nice, but I am honest.”
I smile back at her, not wanting to let go of her hand.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say.
