Chapter-2 The Sin

Just because someone gives you life doesn’t mean they ever loved you the right way.

Dead.

My mother was gone. And all I could think was how strange it was that grief felt so much like anger.

I was never her miracle, I was the mistake. The one my mother looked at with disgust as if I carried something rotten in my blood. An abomination, he called me once, our family’s genes ruined in me. Dark hair and dark eyes. Proof that I didn’t belong.

The black sheep she called me many times.

I learned to stay quiet, made myself small, forgot to hope. Love in that house came with so many conditions I could never meet. I tried anyway God, I tried, but affection was rationed and never meant for me. Those cold looks, cruel words, how could I ever forget those.

And now she was dead.

The only person in this world I loved, and loved and loved, yet received only hatred in return.

God said love nourished love, maybe it was the darkness in me that turned that love into something unfathomable.

I wait for the wave of sorrow everyone talked about, the hollow ache of loss but what rose instead was bitterness so sharp it hurts to breathe. Grief tangled with resentment. Pain laced with things I was never allowed to say.

How did you mourn someone who never really saw you? How did you cry for a woman who made you feel like a stranger in your own bloodline?

I should feel empty like I’d been feeling all these years. Yet, I felt more exposed.

A shaky sigh left my lips as I stared out the bus.

Four more hours, and I’d reach the place I tried to escape all my life.

Mother superior’s words still circled my throat in a choking manner. She didn’t even give me another hour. I packed whatever I had in a small bag, prayed and left.

A cruel and jagged shard of reality pierced through the veil of numbness that had become my constant companion. I felt my knees trembling beneath the habit, threatening to buckle at any moment. The pain in my back pulse with a newfound intensity, as if my battered body sought to outshine the anguish ripping through my heart.

How could she be gone? How could the universe be so cruel as to take the last person who had ever shown me any kind of emotion, the last person I wanted to be loved by?

I shut my eyes and Mother Superior's gaze flashed before my lids. It was a rare sight, perhaps she understood, on some level, the depth of my despair I failed to acknowledge. Or maybe, she too remembered the loss of her own.

I sat in the back seat of the bus leading to Moscow, as it snowed outside, watching flakes finding their home.

I had loved her, I had tried to be everything she wanted, everything she needed. I had smothered my own light, my own soul, in a desperate attempt to ear her approval. But it had never been enough.

I remembered the way she would look at me, her eyes hardening as they raked over my face. She saw the darkness in me, the stain our family name. I had been a burden.

I thought of the sister I had never really known, the family I had lost. I thought of the life I could have had, the love I had been denied. And I felt a bitter, twisting anger rise up inside me, a fury that demanded to be heard.

But I couldn't scream. I couldn't rage. I was a soldier of God, a servant of the convent. And soldiers did not scream. They did not rage. They endured.

So I sat in silence, as the bus carried me back to the place I had once called home. I sat in silence, as the tears slipped noiselessly down my face.

******

Moscow greeted me with mourning.

Morning broke under a bruised sky, the weather as unforgiving as the ache lodged deep in my chest. Snow fell lightly, almost gently, mingling with a thin, cold rain that soaked through my coat and clung to my skin. The city felt distant and blurred like I was watching it through a fog of exhaustion and grief.

I took a taxi straight to the family church.

When I reached, it was silent. My back throbbed and my eyes flickered but no tears came. Maybe I’d lost them. It took everything in me just to walk forward ad not to turn around and disappear.

A small crowd gathered near the churchyard.

I stopped beneath an ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches stretched toward the sky. I knew better than to go closer. My mother would not have wanted me there. Not near her casket or her peace.

So I watched from afar.

Sorrow settled into my chest yet beneath it was a numbness I couldn’t explain. I prayed without realizing it, my finger moving over the rosary out of habit. My bag rested near my feet, yet I couldn’t care about anything in particular.

Faces blurred together. Some familiar. Some unfamialr. People who had known her better than I ever did.

A large portrait of her loomed over her casket. She was smiling it in, wearing the pale pink dress, her light hair flowing with wind, frozen in time, eyes bright and smile brighter.

An ache intensified in my chest. I wished for her to look at me like that. To smile at me like that. To see the brightness in her eyes when she looked at me. yet all I received was her coldness.

Natayala Romanova.

People wept. People mourned.

I stood there for over an hour, my body screaming in quiet protest. Every inch of me ached. My legs trembled. My shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. I leaned against the tree for support, the bark biting into my palms, grounding me.

And I was sure I’d reopened my wounds.

Eventually, the crowd thinned.

Cars pulled away one by one, engines humming softly as life moved on. My sister remained, her husband at her side. I’d only seen him at their wedding, five years ago. Now they looked mature. From afar, my sister looked exact replica of our mother.

People hugged them, consoled them, whispered sympathy into their ears. I swallowed hard, my throat burning, and finally forced my feet to move.

Take a deep breath. In. And out.

My heart pounded violently as I approached. I lowered my head, unable to meet their eyes. I wanted, desperately, to touch the casket just once. To place my hand there and feel… something. Closure. Forgiveness. Anything.

But my hands betrayed me.

They twitched. Fisted. Opened. Closed again.

A choked sob escaped my lips as I whispered barely audible. “Lord, grant her eternal peace. Grant her a life in your divine kingdom, a life where she may find the love and acceptance that eluded her in this world. A life where I may be the daughter she always wanted and has a husband who cherishes her as she deserves. Amen.”

I felt a flicker of warmth spread through my chest as a bittersweet comfort brought fresh waves of tears. I blinked them away not wanting to make the scene.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to leave.

My veil caught on a jagged edge of the casket, I stumbled forward. My heart leapt into my throat as I found myself face to face with burning amber.

I gasped, a strangled sound that caught in my throat like a bird’s cry. My hands flew up to steady myself, and I found myself braced against the hard planed of his chest. The heat of his skin, through the fabric of his coat.

Feeling embarrassed, I tried to pull away, to put some distance between us, but his hand shot out, gripping my upper arm with a strength that made my heart race. The whips over the back of my arm burned, fingers dug into my skin.

I could feel the calluses on his fingers, the rough pads scarping against my skin.

“Careful,” he murmured, husky rumble sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed. Mouth dry, pinned in place by the sheer intensity of his gaze. Overwhelming force of his presence.

I stiffened instantly, every vow I had taken ever flaring to life. Sister Agnes’s words, Father Mathias’s punishments and Father Christian’s warnings.

This was wrong. The warmth and closeness.

“I… I’m sorry,” I stammered, trying to tug my arms from his grip, but he held more tightly, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly.

I hated myself for feeling it, for the way my breath faltered, for the way my pulse leapt as though I were something other than what I had chosen to be.

Lower your eyes. And step back.

With strength I barely had, I pried myself away from him, tearing the caught veil in process.

This man, whoever, he was, he reeked of sin and danger.

“Ana?” I glanced up and froze. Her face streaked with tears, shoulder shaking with the force of grief.

Five years, and she still looked as phenomenal as ever. A bit older, but as beautiful.

“Catharine,” I muttered as she threw her arms around me, pulling me into a tight me brace. I stiffened, feeling the wounds reopening on my back as she rubbed my shoulder as in to comfort me.

Catharine was only person in our home who truly saw me as a human.

I stood rigid in her arms, torn between the desire to collapse against her and the instinctive need to flee. I had never been a demonstrative person, had never sought out physical affection. And now, with the stranger watching, I felt more exposed.

“I’m sorry…” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to… to intrude on your grief. I only wanted to pay my respects.”

Catharine pulled back, her hands gripping my shoulders as she looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. She was a striking woman, with the same light hair and eyes that she had inherited from our mother. But where our mother’s gaze had always been hard and judgmental for me, Catharine’s was warm and filled with a sorrow that I could not bring to comprehend.

“You’re here,” she said softly, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad. I missed you.”

I couldn’t help but look at him again, this time, he tilted his head, and I frowned.

Catherine glanced over my shoulder at the stranger and her face paled. I looked between them, his gaze fixed intently on us. She turned back to me, her smile growing.

"Ana, I want you to meet someone," she said, her voice still slightly husky from crying. But this time, there was something feared in it. Maybe I was over analyzing but it was something. "This is my brother-in-law, Kayne. He's... he's Mark's brother."

I felt my eyes widen slightly as I glanced up at the man, taking in his rugged features and the way his suit hugged his muscular frame. So this was my sister’s brother in law. It made sense now, the reason for his intense gaze.

I lowered my eyes quickly, feeling fresh surge of unease, I knew all too well the dangers that lurked in the world outside the walls of the convent. And this man, with his sinful good looks and air of raw masculinity, was a walking, talking embodiment of those dangers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice a low, velvety rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. There was a note of mockery in his tone, as if he found the very concept of meeting a nun amusing.

I didn't respond, couldn't find the words. I could feel the heat of his gaze on me, the weight of his curiosity. It made me feel exposed, vulnerable. Like a lamb before a wolf.

Catherine, oblivious to my discomfort, turned her attention back to me. Her eyes shone with a sudden, fierce light as she gripped my hands in hers.

I couldn't help but glance back at the stranger, this Kayne, as Catherine introduced us. As our eyes met, he tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. It was a smirk that held a hint of something darker, something that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Catherine noticed my glance and followed my gaze. When her eyes landed on her brother-in-law, her face paled visibly, a flicker of fear crossing her features. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but I had seen it. I knew that look well - it was the same one that I had seen on the faces of the women in the convent when Father Mathias had entered a room. The same one that I had felt on my own face when faced with Father Christian's disapproval.

I looked between them, my brow furrowing in confusion and a growing sense of unease. There was something passing between them, a silent communication that I couldn't quite decipher. But I could feel the weight of it, the tension that crackled in the air like static before a storm.

I hesitated, glancing again at Kayne. He seemed utterly unconcerned by the somber atmosphere of the funeral, the mourners milling about in their black attire. With a casual, almost dismissive air, he reached into his suit jacket and withdrew a sleek silver cigarette case. He flipped it open with a flick of his wrist, plucking a cigarette from the neat row of white tubes.

My eyes widened as he placed the cigarette between his lips, his fingers poised to light it and that’s when I noticed some kind of ink on his knuckles along with rings.

Catharine shot him a sharp, warning glance, her cheeks flushing.

"You can't smoke here. This is a place of mourning, not... not a place to indulge your disgusting vices."

Kayne merely smirked, his eyes glinting with a cold, mocking light as he met his sister-in-law's glare. He seemed utterly unmoved by her disapproval, his posture relaxed and at ease in a way that made my skin prickle with unease.

And it took me by surprise.

"Relax, Cat," he mockingly rumbled. "I hardly think your mother would mind if I had a little smoke. I'm sure she'd understand the need to take the edge off after... well, all of this."

He gestured vaguely at the casket, the portrait of my mother, the mourners. His words were callous, almost cruel in their indifference to the solemnity of the occasion.

I felt a flicker of outrage on behalf of my mother's memory, but I knew better than to voice it aloud.

Catherine's face paled further at his words, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. I could see the fear in her eyes, the way they darted nervously to her husband Mark, who stood a few paces away, deep in conversation with an older man in a black suit.

"Please," Catherine begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "I'm asking you, as a favor to me. Don't do this. Not here, at least."

But Kayne was already striking a match, the sulfuric scent of it filling the air between us. He took a long, slow drag, the tip of the cigarette flaring to life as he inhaled.

He exhaled a plume of smoke, the pungent scent of it curling in the chill air between us. Catherine recoiled slightly, waving a hand in front of her face as if to dissipate the offensive fumes.

"Kayne, please," she pleaded, her voice thin and desperate now. "I need you to be reasonable for once. I can't handle any more chaos or upheaval right now. I'm... I'm pregnant. I'm going to have Mark's child."

My eyes widened slightly at this revelation, as I looked at Catherine, then at the gentle swell of her belly.

"Well, congratulations," he said flatly. "I suppose that means you'll be needing a place to stay. Can't have you and the little bastard underfoot all the time."

I stiffened at his crude words, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

How dare he speak that way? How dare he refer to my unborn nephew or niece in such a vile manner? I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him exactly what I thought of his disgusting language.

He took another long drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving my face. “And as for your sister, make sure she doesn’t overstay her vacation. I don’t like when people meddle with my business.”

That’s all he said before he turned. I watched as he walked away, the flaps of his long coat fluttering, and the snow falling over his broad shoulders. Four men flanked him, walking beside him, dressed in all black and black shades, but the man walking in middle held all the power.

He took one last, long drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing brightly in the grey afternoon light. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he cast it aside, the cigarette tumbling to the snowy ground. He ground it out beneath the heel of his expensive leather shoe.

As Kayne turned to enter his car, his hand suddenly shot out towards me. I blinked, my eyes widening in shock as I saw the glint of something red and wet on his palm. Blood. My heart leapt into my throat as I realized that when he had grabbed my arm earlier, his fingers had dug in hard enough to break the skin. A thin, crimson line had blossomed on my flesh, and now the proof of his brutal grip was smeared across his own hand.

I flinched instinctively, my own hands flying up to grab my arm, to assess the damage. A sharp, stinging pain radiated from the wound. I looked down at the red line etched into my skin.

Kayne's smirk widened, his teeth flashing white against the dark lenses of his shades.

In that moment, a shiver ran down my spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid winter air. There was something in his gaze, a dark, threatening promise that made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.

And then, as if he sensed my gaze upon him, he turned his head. His eyes never leaving mine. A smirk, wide and wicked, spread across his handsome face.

It was a smirk that promised retribution, that warned of the consequences of defying him. A smirk that told me, without words, that he would be watching me. That he would be waiting. And that if I stepped out of line, if I dared to defy him... well. There would be hell to pay.