Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
We talk for five minutes, and then Drake says Dad wants to speak to me. I do my best not to let the fear touch my features. I’ve spent the last two days not doing much. I work on my computer, eat the food Yuri brings me, and then do more work.
I’ve barely left my room. Dimitri’s been out a lot, and it seems like Mikhail is avoiding me. Once, I walked into the kitchen when he was there. He turned, his lips doing a strange, tight dance. Then he frowned like he wanted nothing more than for me to disappear until he disappeared, quickly leaving the room instead.
Dad has a fake smile when he says hello, eyes gleaming. He lowers his voice, “So?”
That’s all he has to say, and I know what he’s asking. How did it go with Dimitri? I make myself lie to Dad, even if it floods me with more terror. Lying to him has always felt dangerous. “It went well,” I say.
“He was satisfied?”
I feel so gross. “Yeah, he was.”
“And since then …”
“We’ve spent every night together.”
“Good.” He raises his voice. “Drake, I’ve changed my mind. You can buy that game!”
“Yay!”
Dad stares at the camera, a wet, insinuating smile spreading across his lips. The message couldn’t be more unmistakable. Drake stays happy as long as I keep Dimitri pleased in the run-up to the wedding.
Once Dad hangs up, I go back to getting ready. It’s Konstantin Sokolov’s funeral this morning. I guess I’m expected to be there so that I can be seen with the Sokolovs.
I wear black clothes, then apply my makeup. I never wear much, but I like the shielded feeling it gives me. I’m halfway through when there’s a knock at my door. It’s Ania. We’ve spoken a few times since I’ve been here. As usual, she’s fidgety, her hands constantly busy, her feet shifting.
“We’re leaving in twenty,” she says.
“Okay,” I reply.
Ania turns, pauses, and then turns back. “Can I sit with you while you get ready? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Sure,” I say, smiling, finding her honesty refreshing. Then I realize what I’m doing and quickly wipe the smile away.
She sits on one of the chairs, looking over at me. “Don’t worry about smiling, Mila. It’s not like he was popular.”
“It’s not that,” I tell her quickly. I know nothing about what Konstantin was like except that nobody seems torn up that he’s no longer here. “It was you just now. How straightforward you asked to hang with me.”
“Yeah, being straightforward is the best,” she murmurs. “Way, way better than trying to figure out these complicated things called human beings.”
I laugh and reflect that this is probably my second time since being here. The first was with Mikhail that night when he walked me back to my room. As he stood inches from me, it was like I could feel the heat coming from his half-naked, muscled body. I thought I could feel him wanting me, but then he got distant. He looked sick when I asked if I could help with his work.
“Tell me about it,” I say, dabbing on more makeup. “How are you feeling, Ania?”
“It’s sort of weird,” she replies. “I cried when I heard the news, and this morning, I had a little cry, too. It’s not like I had an amazing bond with my dad. Sometimes, I wondered if he even liked me. Sometimes, I didn’t have to wonder.”
“It’s easy to fixate on the good times, right?” I say. “You can think of the one time you both stayed up late watching movies and eating ice cream. Maybe you can forget what happened after or before for a little while.”
“Yeah,” Ania murmurs, looking at me closely. “I don’t want to be rude, but it sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“That’s because I am,” I tell her. “My dad … He’s not a good man. He knows how to mess with your head—my head. He knows how to make me wonder if he could be good.”
Ania nods. “Yeah, it’s like they’re giving you a small preview of the sort of person they might become someday if we just put up with their crap one more day.”
“Exactly,” I say. “That’s it, Ania. I’ve never heard somebody describe it so well before.”
She gives me a sad look, not needing to say anything else. The only reason she’s able to describe this so well is because she’s lived through it too many times, just like me. Soon, it’s time to leave. We head down to the car together. Five vehicles with tinted windows are waiting to leave the property, with various Bratva men inside.
My breath catches when I see Mikhail walking across the lawn toward the cars. He looks stylish in his dark suit. His floppy hair is styled back with some product to have an old-fashioned look, like an actor from the fifties. He doesn’t look at me; he keeps walking and climbs into the car.