Chapter 60
1373words
'Here we are," Yannick says as we approach a solid white door at the bottom of a set of stairs. The house has two levels visible on the outside; you'd never know there was a basement at a glance. Yannick stares over our heads at Osip and Fyodor. 'Fyodor, you stay here. Osip, go check on how the clean-up is going."
'Ah, pakhan, I don't want to go back there," Osip grumbles. 'It's disgusting. All that blood."
'What blood? What clean-up?" I ask anxiously.
Yannick flicks his eyes at me, then back to the men. 'Don't make me repeat myself."
Osip scuffles out of view, leaving Fyodor looking flustered. He takes a stance against the wall, checking his gun with intense interest.
What is Yannick cleaning up? Nothing involving enough blood to upset a man like Osip can be good.
Gripping the curved handle on the door, Yannick twists it downward. The hinges squeak when he opens the door. 'Go inside," he tells us.
I'm barely through when a new voice—high-pitched and young—hits my ears.
'Oh! Visitors!" Inside the large, fully finished basement, is a little boy. He has a mop of thick, dark brown hair. Blue eyes, brighter than my own, watch me with alert interest. He's slim, his jeans loose at his waist, the neck hole of his red sweater stretched lower on one side so I can see a single collarbone. The dimples in his cheeks are deeper than a thumbprint.
'Roman," Yannick says, 'meet Camila and Katinka."
The boy, who I think can't be older than ten, lights up. 'Are you serious?"
'Very," Yannick chuckles.
Unsure what's going on, I look from Roman to Yannick. Mila's words echo in my ear from another life: Yannick saw the kids born from those women as assets. The boys would go on to become his boeviki, and the girls …
Is Roman one of those boys?
But the boy doesn't seem scared or hurt. And the more I look around, the more obvious it is that the basement has been decked out with an assortment of games and electronics. If he's a boevik in training, he's certainly not treated like one.
My mother releases my arm. She's watching the child with uncertainty, like he's a bomb ready to go off. He stares at her too, unable to look away. All at once he sprints forward and throws himself against her, hugging her middle tight.
'Mom! You're really here!"
The way my heart thumps makes me afraid it's about to pop.
'Mom?" I whisper.
Roman looks up at me without releasing her. 'You must be my big sister!"
Struck silent by this news, I search my mother's face for answers. She's pale, her arms in the air, afraid to hug Roman.
Yannick strolls closer to our group, his smile sickeningly happy. 'You must be feeling many emotions, Katinka. Shock … but of course, delight as well." He ruffles the boy's hair. 'Our son has grown to resemble both of us."
My mouth has gone dry. Mom has another kid? She's no longer gawking. Her face is a ripple of sheepish shame. With immense lag, she finally embraces Roman. He's oblivious to the gamut of emotions she and I are experiencing. How could he understand? He's just a child!
'Roman," Yannick says, 'why don't you go up and have a snack? I want to talk to your mother and sister alone."
'Aw, but I want to spend more time with them, Papa!"
'You'll have plenty, trust me."
With a cheerful laugh, Roman releases my mom. 'Okay!" Taking the steps two at a time, he vanishes through the door above.
Yannick whirls on us with his arms folded behind his back. 'Do you need me to explain?"
'He's really my brother?" I ask softly.
'Yes." It's my mother who responds. Her voice is barely a whisper. 'Yannick stole Roman away when he was just a baby. I never even got to hold him." Her lips spread tight in a pained frown. 'I thought he was dead."
'Far from it," Yannick chuckles. 'The boy is thriving. What else can be expected from the heir to the Grachev Bratva?"
'What are you talking about?" I ask. 'Asher is the one leading the Grachev Bratva, not you. Not anymore."
His face darkens—this is the first thing I've said that's cracked his smug mask. In a patient but acidic voice, he says, 'For now. Once I kill Asher, I'll end him and his line for good. He'll have no one with a blood claim to fill his shoes."
Roman is a pawn ... the same as me.
My eyes widen as this information sinks in. I'd convinced myself that Yannick wanted me and my mother alive as a way to control Asher. As his daughter, I'm useful for blackmail.
Asher tried that, in fact.
But Yannick wants to eradicate every threat Asher brings to his control of the Bratva. He thinks Asher has no heir. On impulse, I stroke my hand over my belly. Yannick can never know I'm pregnant.
He's killed unborn babies without hesitation in the past.
I know he can do it again.
There's a buzzing sound. Yannick digs out a phone, glancing at it before tucking it away. 'If you need anything, simply let me or my men know. I have important business to return to." He heads for the door, but before he leaves, he turns back toward us. 'I'm really glad to have my family made whole again."
With a saccharine smile, he shuts us inside.
The emotional turmoil of the morning crushes onto my shoulders. Slumping onto the nearby L-shaped sofa in front of a huge TV, I cradle my head in my hands. Shit. What do we do? What can we do?
'Malyshka," my mother whispers in a fractured voice. 'Look at me."
I can't. Not yet. 'Why didn't you tell me about Roman?"
'I'm sorry," she groans. Her shadow moves on the floor in front of me as she comes closer. 'I'm so sorry."
My eyebrows scrunch over my frown. 'Are you?" It's impossible to hide the venom in my voice.
'I am." She chokes on her words. 'Please, believe me, malyshka. Please."
Her voice has gone tender. I think she's starting to cry, but I'm still not ready to look at her face. 'You should have told me."
'I didn't want you to think worse of me," she stammers. 'I didn't want you to hate me more than you already did. Please, malyshka. I was a coward. I lied to myself that my baby boy was dead when that monster took him away from me. I've been a terrible mother to you both."
Suddenly, I remember that time ten years ago. Mom and Dad arguing … my mother being miserable, quick to snap. Was she battling the agony of losing the son she'd just birthed?
I thought it was all about unpaid bills.
What hurts me most of all is wondering how she hid it. But then, I was a teenager. The perfect age to be distracted by boys and adult things, to never look closely at my mother swaddling herself in layers of clothes to hide a round belly.
'Camila, please … look at me," she begs.
I lift my chin, expecting her to continue apologizing for her past returning to curse us both. The rose brooch on her palm draws a gasp from me.
'You brought this?" I ask, taking my father's funeral rose with reverence.
'I wasn't brave enough to grab anything useful when I was packing," she says sadly. 'But I thought you'd want it."
'I do." Pressing it to my cheek, I feel my tears pour over it, wetting the glass. 'Thank you, mamochka."
Her eyebrows crinkle curiously. I don't explain myself; I simply wrap my arm around her shoulders, drawing her onto the couch for a hug. My father's rose isn't a gun … It's not a knife or even a phone. But it's capable of shielding my heart from a cruel man who seeks to ruin me from the inside out.
Yannick is not a part of my family.
He never will be.
