Lifting my other hand, I dropped the sai to the ground. I wrapped my fingers around his throat. I squeezed hard and made sure he looked right into my eyes as he struggled for breath.

His arms tried to hit at my back, but I didn’t even feel them. Jakhua’s face reddened as I slowly and painfully stole his life.

Then with the sai still plunged inside his stomach, I twisted and slowly dragged it up. The blade sliced through flesh. It tore through organs and scraped against bone in agonized slowness.

And all the time I stared into his eyes. The last face he would ever see would be that of a Kostava, the only surviving heir of the family he hated most.

Blood tried to surge up his throat. I squeezed my hand tighter, Jakhua choking as my hand tightened. Still my sai continued to cut. Then just as the life left his body, I ripped the sai from his torso, released my hand from around his neck, and watched as his body slumped down the wall, blood pouring from his wounds.

Stepping back, I looked at the guards all holding their rifles in readiness. With Jakhua’s dying eyes looking at me, I ordered, “Fire!”

The Bratva’s guards followed my command, raining bullets straight into Jakhua’s flesh, the force of the bullets at such close proximity ripping his body to shreds.

I watched as his eyes glazed with imminent death. When the firing stopped, a weight fell from my chest. He was dead. Jakhua was dead.

Silence filled the room. Hearing a noise from behind, I whipped around just in time to see the man in the white coat drop to the ground. Luka stepped back from the man, wiping his knuckle-dusters on his pants. He’d slit the white coat’s throat.

My eyes fell on Luka, then on the man in the white coat, then finally back to Jakhua. I glanced down at my hands; they were shaking. I stared at my bloodied hands, and images of my family raced through my mind. My chest grew tight. I felt like all of my blood had drained from my body.

My knees hit the ground. A pressure built in my stomach, traveling up my throat. Shaking with too much emotion, too many memories blocking my mind, I tipped my head back and screamed.

I screamed and screamed until the pressure left me. One single realization took its place as I sat, weakened, on the ground.

I was free.

I was finally free and completely free.

Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I turned. Luka Tolstoi was behind me. He met my eyes and said, “We need to leave.”

“Where do I go?” I asked, my voice rough and raw.

“To Talia,” Luka replied. Any tension, any anger I had remaining, left my body at the simple mention of her name.

I nodded and got to my feet. “Yes,” I said, “take me to Talia.”

*   *   *

“Let’s go,” Luka said as we pulled up to a house.

I stared at the large house and took a deep breath. It was the Tolstoi house. I looked to Luka. “I will not be welcome.”

Luka sighed and opened the van’s door. I followed him onto the dark street. I stood, looked at the house and my heart clenched. Talia was in that house. My Talia was in that house.

And I needed her. I wanted to see her again so much that all my muscles ached at the thought.

Luka laid a hand on my shoulder. I wore a sweatshirt and pants. But my skin was covered in Jakhua’s blood. My hair was not smooth.

Talia liked my hair smooth.

“She’s inside,” Luka said, and walked up some stairs. He glanced back, and taking a deep breath, I walked behind him.

Luka opened the door and walked toward a room. I could hear voices and, with each step, my heart beat faster and faster.

I was a Kostava in a Tolstoi house.

I was hated.

My father had killed Talia’s dedushka.

They had cause to hate me. I should not be here.

Luka walked into the room first. I heard relieved voices rushing to greet him. I remained behind the wall.

I had no family.

I did not know how it was to be in a family. I did not know how to act around people.

The room then went quiet. Luka came back into the hallway. “Come,” he said, and walked back into the room.

Inhaling through my nose, I stepped forward and rounded the corner.

I stopped in the entranceway. Every face looked my way. My gaze fell on two men standing at the back of the room, one who bore a strong resemblance to Luka.

Ivan Tolstoi, I thought.

Luka’s wife was there, wrapped in his arms. An older woman was there staring at me, a curious look on her face.

My pulse thundered as they all watched me in silence.

Then I heard a gasp from behind me. My muscles tensed as light footsteps approached. I briefly closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I exhaled, and turned. I saw the golden hair first, then a set of brown eyes.

Talia.

A cry of relief sounded from her mouth as she entered the room and moved before me. Her trembling hand covered her lips as tears ran down her cheeks.

She looked at me as if I were not real. Then, on a sigh, she ran forward and jumped into my arms. “Zaal,” she cried, and wrapped her arms around my neck.

Holding her in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist, I crushed her to my chest. “Talia,” I whispered back, and tucked my nose into her neck.

I held her tightly.

I never ever wanted to let go.

She was mine.

I was hers.

We were each other’s.

Talia pulled back, and crushed her mouth against mine. As our lips connected, my soul filled with her kiss. Always full for Talia.

Her hands pushed into my hair and she broke away. “Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes dropping to my chest and arms.

“He did not drug me,” I assured. More tears ran down Talia’s cheeks.

“Are you okay?” I asked remembering her chained up and hurt on the wall.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Lifting my hand to her face, I pressed my forehead to hers and whispered, “You are … for me.”

Talia smiled. “I am … for you,” she whispered back, and wrapped me in her arms once again.

I would have held her forever, but someone coughed from behind us. Talia tensed in my arms. Slowly she pulled back and my pulse spiked when I saw the fear in her eyes.

Talia released herself from my arms and slid gently to the floor. Threading her hand through mine, she led me forward, straight to the two men in dark suits. Dark suits like Jakhua used to wear.

“Papa, Pakhan,” Talia said quietly, “this is Zaal.” She swallowed and added, “Zaal Kostava. My love.”

Both men stared at me. The room was silent and thick with tension. Talia reached out her free hand and took the arm of the man with longer hair, the one that looked like Luka. “Papa,” she said confidently, “I love him. I love him with my whole heart. I know you may not approve, and if you don’t it won’t change a thing. I love you, you know this. But I am head over heels in love with this man, and I want you to accept him as my other half.”

Talia’s father watched me as his daughter spoke. I was so proud, so floored at how Talia bravely fought for our love, but could also see the hatred for me in his dark stare. Talia curled herself back into my arms as her father’s cold expression spoke volumes.

“Papa,” Luka said from behind. I turned and met Luka’s eyes. I shook my head, telling him without words not to defend me, and Luka quieted. Talia stepped to the side.