I directed my question at Zaal.
“I’m Luka Tolstoi, and this is my wife, Kisa Tolstaia.” I felt sick as Luka replied in perfect Georgian again. His wife glanced to him; then facing me, she said, “My maiden name was Kisa Volkova, Zoya. I’m the Kirill Volkov’s, the Bratva Pakhan’s, daughter.”
My hand rose to the side of my head, the dull ache inside growing unbearable. I didn’t know if it was from the sickness I apparently had or the fact that all I had been raised to believe was now standing on its head.
Zaal moved to come to me. But I found myself whispering, “You betrayed your family.” I glared at Talia, standing by his side, a Russian enemy. I added, “Avto, my guardian, told me it was their fault that our family was massacred. They are the reason Jakhua turned his back on us and sought revenge.”
Zaal’s face contorted with anger, and he bit, “That isn’t true. There are things you do not know, Zoya.”
I stared at my brother and shook my head. With a trembling voice, I said, “I feel like a stranger to you right now. I don’t know what to believe. My head is full.… I don’t know what’s correct.”
Zaal’s face blanched. I felt a stab of regret in my stomach at the effect my response had on him. But I was confused. They were the Kostavas’ enemies. I’d been brought up to despise them.
The blond woman by his side stepped forward and said, “Our family histories are bad, the worst. But that is not where we stand now. We have moved past it. We have to, Zoya. We cannot live with pain and hatred anymore.”
My eyes narrowed on this blond woman, and I found myself laughing incredulously. “I was shot and almost died, trapped underneath my dead family, feeling their flesh turn cold as their blood seeped into my skin. My twin brothers were stolen and tested upon like animals. I have just found out my much-loved elder brother Anri died in an underground death match, and I have been in hiding for twenty years to escape our enemies who were still hunting me when my body wasn’t found!”
My anger wrapped around me, and I added in a cold voice, “I was eventually told Zaal had survived after I’d long given up hope that anyone else in my family was alive. For the first time ever, I no longer felt alone in the world, only to seek him out and be kidnapped and tortured for days—”
My words cut off when the last of the heaviness finally cleared and a pair of blue eyes engulfed my mind. Shaved black hair and maps of raised scars on a roughly handsome face. The most prominent scar stretched from his temple to his chest. A face like that nightmare should have brought fear; instead it brought me peace. It brought me warmth.
My heart beat wildly as the events of recent weeks came flooding back with the force of a tidal wave: the Mistress, the collar being reattached to Valentin’s neck, the Mistress ordering him to kill Zaal … then she brought the drugs to me. She’d wanted me to die through the drugs.
I snapped my eyes to my arms; needle marks were still prominent on my skin. “Valentin.” I whispered the scarred man’s name aloud and ice ran down my spine.
I confronted Zaal and demanded, “Where’s Valentin?” My body began to shake at not having him by my side. I fired off questions: “Did he survive? Did she kill him?”
Zaal’s hands fisted at his sides, but he refused to speak.
“He died?” I whispered. A new kind of heartbreak shattered in my chest. The kind that was impossible to endure.
“He’s alive,” Luka Tolstoi informed me, drawing my attention to him.
“Where is he?” I demanded. “I have to see him. Is he okay?”
Luka glanced to Zaal. I followed his lead to stare at my brother. His huge body was radiating red-hot rage. “He tortured you,” Zaal said coldly. “He hurt you.”
“Yes,” I replied, “The woman forced him to wear a collar that made him hurt me. But we fell in love despite our awful situation. We fell in love and he tried to save me.” I narrowed my eyes. “He tried to save you, too. He’s a killer, one that never fails, and he was sent for you. His love for me stopped him from carrying that out the hit on you, didn’t it?” I could feel that was the truth.
“You fell