“Zoya,” Zaal said carefully, “I was rescued early this year by Luka.” Zaal’s hand pointed to the blond man. I flicked my eyes to look at him, and when I did he nodded his head. I nodded back and then looked at the woman beside him. She was beautiful, all long brown hair and bright blue eyes. She too nodded her head and smiled.

Zaal took a deep breath and next turned to the blond woman on the couch. Zaal held out his hand and the blond woman threaded her fingers in his. She got to her feet and smiled at me. She held out her hand, but something made me stop.

Zaal stiffened at my hesitation, and a pain sliced through my head. I shifted from under his arm. Suddenly he stood before me, holding me up. “Zoya?” he pushed. “Do you still feel sick?”

I looked up in confusion. “Sick? I’m sick?”

“You have been sick for the last few days. We have cared for you, brought you through the worst of it.”

I tried to remember something from the last few days, but there was nothing. My mind was empty. As I smelled the coconut scent on my hair, it suddenly made sense—someone had cleaned me.

Zaal was patiently waiting for me as I racked my brain. I worked on gaining composure, trying not to panic at the fact that I couldn’t remember anything, I replayed Zaal telling me I had been sick. Then I frowned. It occurred to me that Zaal was speaking to me in Georgian again. When he had introduced me to these people he had spoken in Russian. Another flash of pain cut through me. I staggered back to the fireplace, the warmth of the flames helping me refocus. They helped clear the fog.

Blinking fast, I looked to Zaal and the others. I spoke in our native tongue, “You introduced them to me in Russian.” I knew why, but I needed to make sure I was correct, that the information Avto had told me a while ago was correct.

“Zoya,” Zaal said calmly. I could tell by the tone of his voice and the apprehension on his face that he was nervous.

Pressing my hands to my throbbing temples, I shook my head. Zaal pulled the blonde closer to his side, and an image of a photograph came to mind. Zaal with this woman, laughing and happy.

“Zoya, you need to understand that Luka rescued me. He too was taken captive a child, like Anri and me. He, he knew Anri, he was his best friend. They were made to fight for their lives in the death-match clubs. From teens.”

I stared at the blond man who nodded his head. “You speak Georgian?” I asked him in my native tongue.

“Yes,” he replied. “My gulag’s owners were Georgian; most of the fighters were Georgian. I learned to speak it by listening to them.” He swallowed. “And through Anri; he taught me how to survive.”

I looked to my brother again, and he was twitching on his feet; the blond woman soothingly rubbed his chest. She loved him. I could see it in her eyes. And Zaal’s. I could see the fierceness of his love for her in his eyes, too.

“Tell me from your lips,” I said, injecting a little more power into my voice. “I need to hear it from you. Just to be sure I have all the facts.”

Zaal lifted his chin and said, “Her name is Talia Tolstaia, Zoya.”

My eyes closed as I heard this, the instant feel of betrayal hitting me deeply. I remembered that I’d known this.

I remembered not knowing what to think of this news then, too.

Zaal stepped forward, but I held out my hand for him to halt. “Stop!” I urged, needing some space, some time, to process the information. He did; he stopped dead in his tracks. My hands shook as a flashback of my papa telling us how the Tolstois, Volkovs, and Durovs ruined our lives. How they were our family’s enemies.

And Avto … Avto? Where is Avto? I shook my head, trying to focus, remembering him telling me that the Volkov Bratva were to blame for Jakhua turning against our family.

A sudden mixture of betrayal and hot anger flowed in my veins. I had been taught that my family, my family was massacred because of these people.

“How could you?” I found myself asking Zaal before my eyes eventually found my brother. Pain and shame seemed to flash across his face before his expression changed to one of protectiveness of the Tolstaia.

“Zoya,” he said calmly, “they saved my life. Luka found out I was alive and saved me from Jakhua. He risked his life and those of his men to come and take me from him. He did it out of honor to Anri.” He hugged Talia closer, then continued, “I almost died from the drugs, but Talia cared for me. She cared for me and we eventually fell in love.”

I shook my head. I looked to the blond man and then to the brown-haired woman. “And their surnames?” 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!”