Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Twenty minutes later, my cell rings. It’s an unknown number. I answer since our men often call from burners or payphones when they can find one.
“Hello?”
“Dimitri,” Nikolai Petrov says, father to my new bride. I recognize his voice from its gravelly edge and the Russian accent. “My condolences.”
“Nikolai,” I reply since we’ve always been on friendly terms when the families meet for parties or functions, basically peacekeeping events. That’s because I hide my real feelings about the drug-pushing bastard. “Thank you.”
“I wanted to call you personally,” he continues, “and express my sincerest wishes to continue with the business your father started.”
Translation means marrying his daughter, or he will move into the city and flood it with his filth.
“I’m assuming Mila is still good to arrive tomorrow?” He asks it like it really is a question when we both know it’s not.
I stare at the road, the emptiness of it, part of me thinking about just continuing to drive. I could continue until I never had to think about the business, my family, or my responsibility again. Yet I couldn’t do that to Mikhail or the countless people who rely on Sokolov Securities to pay their mortgages and feed their families.
Wildly, I think of Lia, not Mila, but Lia. It’s like fate is playing some fucked-up games with me, making their names somewhat similar.
“Dimitri?” he goes on. “I know this is a very, very difficult time for you, but your father informed me that everything was sorted just in case his illness worsened.”
Typical of my father, telling business associates before his own children.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” I tell him to buy myself some time.
However, that’s a load of crap. After saying our goodbyes, Lia watches me from my mind, that spark in her eyes, the pencil in her messy bun. I can’t let myself care about the fact her life is miserable. She’s forced to hide her paintings in her workplace. She doesn’t deserve that, but she’s not my problem. So why does she keep popping up in my thoughts?
I finally reach the compound, two houses inside a property surrounded by tall concrete walls. Between the two houses are long, well-tended lawns, a tennis court, and a small, concreted basketball area. Each home also has its own pool.
The metal doors open as I press my thumb against the thumb pad. As I pass, every guard holds their fist to their chest, a sign of support, condolences, and respect for their new leader. It could all be for show. Who could I trust to protect our city if I didn’t marry Mila? Who would stab me in the back if I didn’t follow my father’s wishes?
Before I can reach the front door of the main house—my childhood home—my little half-sister, Ania, throws it open and runs down the steps. Ania is a very slight eighteen-year-old. She wants to be a ballerina one day, which is probably why she stays here. It has a dance studio in the basement and anything else a young girl could need. She’s got straight black hair, wide, sometimes unnerving blue-green eyes, and a skittish way of moving from foot to foot, her hands constantly fidgeting.
She throws her arms around me, letting out a shuddering noise. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
I hold my sister, squeezing her shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. Ania’s mother was a prostitute whom she had never met. Our father, the cold bastard that he was, never showed her any love, but even she can find it in herself to mourn him. Ania has always been quiet and introverted. She’s only eighteen.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Is it true you’re getting married?” she asks a moment later, looking up at me with shock.
I laugh gruffly. “News travels fast. Is Mikhail here?”
She steps back, fiddling with her dark hair. “Yeah, he’s in the study. We talked a bit.”
I repress a sigh. Mikhail finds it challenging to interact with Ania, though I know he always tries. “Whenever I look at her, I think of him with another woman…”
When Mikhail first said that to me, I told him our father had been with countless other women apart from our mother, and we might even have more brothers and sisters we don’t know about. Supposedly, Ania’s mother wanted nothing to do with her, but I’m not sure that’s true. If it came from our father’s lips, that was reason enough to doubt it.
“How’s the practice going?” I ask.
Despite the dark circumstances, a glint of light enters my sister’s eyes. “It’s going well… I think. I’m better than I was, anyway. Do you think with Dad… Do you think I could maybe perform?”
Our father never wanted Ania to perform. I never understood why, but it was probably just another way for him to exert control. “I don’t see why not.”