Page 113 of Nemesis

“I’m sure as shit not going to go through that bastard Siderov again,” he continues. “Honestly, Vasiliy. I wasn’t sure you were capable of dishonoring this family even more than you already have, but here you are, playing house with our enemies.”

“I’m not here of my own volition,” I lie. Hopefully, Sasha was able to convince him of his overlying power on that call.

“Please,” he laughs, and I try not to flinch at the sound. “You forget that it was I who raised you, not that whore sleeping her way through Moscow or the rotting mass of bones sitting in our family’s cemetery. I molded you into a force to be reckoned with. We both know you could’ve gutted that Siderov Pakhan on your first day, injured or not.”

How does it feel?

Octavia’s words from that day in training find me through his tirade. How does it feel to have control, she meant. My chest ached at the simple question that I could not accurately answer.

Uncle is right. He created me. Molded me. And in making something so deadly, he also gave me the semblance of that control. If only it meant a thing in the face of true torment.

“The nanny fought admirably to keep me from the cell phone. Tell me, Vasiliy, does she remind you of someone? Perhaps that explains your affection for the old bat.”

The man has always woven words into bullets with ease. You’d think I’d have developed a thicker defense against them by now.

For the first time in years, I allow a specific woman’s face to form in my mind. Soft, grey hair that fell down her back like a waterfall, and wrinkles that deepened with every smile. I haven’t thought about Marta in a long time. It’s still too painful. Too difficult to remember the good without recalling the end.

Images flicker in, one after another. Balancing on a wooden stepstool, helping to peel potatoes for dinner. Her deft hands patching up my injuries after my uncle’s lessons and tucking me into bed with riveting fairy tales. Naturally, he hated my bond with our housekeeper from the start. I should’ve known he was biding his time to turn the affection into a lesson.

That lesson came when I was fourteen and thoughtless, and earned a particularly brutal beating from mouthing off to Uncle in front of his allies. Marta had been horrified when she found me collapsed at the bottom of the staircase. I tried to stop her from confronting him, but I couldn’t climb to my feet fast enough. By the time I stumbled into his office, he’d already pulled a gun and shot her in the face.

He said I could either bury her myself before morning, or he’d toss her body onto the road for the scavengers. That was the first grave I ever dug with my own two hands.

“I’ve let this go on for far too long. Either you come back to Moscow, or I’ll find a way to make you comply. I think we both remember how good I am at such things.”

“Stay the fuck away from my sister,” I roar into the speaker, lost to the flood of emotions he’s managed to wrangle free.

“What kind of man would leverage his own niece?”

I nearly snort. As if he hasn’t leveraged her before.

“No, I’m sure I’ll come up with far more delightful ways to get you home, son.”

My eyes scrunch closed. I blow out a breath, biting my tongue before I say something that will only escalate his attack. Useless. I’m so fucking useless.

“All right, I suppose I’ll put Marta…I mean, Lena back on the phone. I’m sure you’ll have an impending reunion to discuss.”

I stay silent, listening to the static of motion on the other side of the call. My heart thumps so hard in my chest, I’m sure a heart attack is on the way.

“Vasiliy,” Lena, Anya’s nanny, gasps.

“Are you safe?” I ask.

“Yes. Both of us.”

I nod to myself. “Change the locks when he leaves the house, and fire the entire security team. There are names for replacements in the binder I left behind. And destroy this phone.”

She hangs up before saying another word.

Fuck.

I should tell Siderov about the threat. He may kick me out, but he has every right to prepare for the hellfire this could bring. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I pop back up in Moscow, Mikhail Solokov would be well within his rights to send his hitmen after my sister and me. I only executed one interrogation with his syndicate, but that’s more than enough to warrant the resources needed to kill me.

All of this, after the best morning of my entire life. I sigh, turning back toward the door where my own personal angel waits on the other side. Maybe I can spend just a few more minutes lost in paradise before the other shoe drops. I’d do anything to stay buried in her for the rest of my life. I turn the door handle…

But the bed is empty, and a small form is curled up on the floor

“Octavia?” I step closer. She doesn’t respond, and my stomach tightens. “What’s wrong?”