Page 89 of The Killer Card

Setting the picture back down I pause on one of the hidden photographs near the back. That Sonya I recognize a little better. The straight line of her mouth. The rigid set of her shoulders, holding herself up much too straight, as if avoiding the hand at her back. The hand of a man in a tailored Italian suit standing next to her in a lace wedding dress.

“Mierda…”

I reach for the picture just as she comes back into the room. For a moment we both stand there, both frozen as I take in the face of a man I’ve wished unspeakable things would happen to for over twenty years. His hair is the same, slicked back with too much gel. His dark eyes crinkle, his smile is unpleasant at best. Everything inside me goes cold.

“You married him…”

Sonya blinks when I look up at her, surprised by the acid in my tone. “I… Of course, I married him. You met him when we were engaged—”

“Did no one tell you what he did to me?! How he fucking raped me?!”

My sister flinches and I take a deep breath, hating that instinct that’s been driven into her. This bastard would do that to her. He would put bruises in visible places without giving a single fuck who saw.

“Is he here? Is he who you’re waiting on to walk through that door? Is he the one who did that to you?” I use the picture to gesture to her face.

She raises a hand to her cheek but shakes her head slowly. “No… He…” Her brow furrows. “He died nineteen years ago.” Sonya straightens when she says coldly, “Too many enemies.”

Now I blink, still holding the picture of her wedding day in my fist. He died. And not long after Sonya and I became disconnected. Not long after I killed our grandfather and got myself out of that hell. For twenty years I imagined having the chance to do it myself. I imagined wrapping my hands around his throat and choking the life out of him, slowly, painfully, making it hurt as much as what he did to me—

“Grigory…?”

“I go by Graham now,” I tell her quietly, looking back down at the picture. More at her, the woman she used to be, than at him. The dead man who changed my life for the worst in a single night. “Graham Rosales.”

She recognizes the name. I knew she would. It was spoken with venom only a hand full of time, but so villainized it was a hard name to forget. “Your father?”

“I changed it after… You know…” My brow furrows when I look back up at her. “You really didn’t know?”

“I knew about the women,” she tells me softly. “That Grandfather sold you to them….”

My jaw clenches tight enough to pop. I can’t really be angry with her. She was a teenager. There was quite literally nothing she could have done to make it stop. Especially with the amount of money using me brought in.

“Kira never—”

“I didn’t speak to Kira after that night. I heard she went back home- I heard most of the staff returned to their homelands- and that was the last I ever knew of her.”

Right, because Sonya never interacted with the help the way I did. Never saw them as more of her family than the people who were actually her blood.

I carefully set the picture down in the back where it was hidden. “The kids?”

“The first two are his,” she confirms. “But they never really knew him. The picture is in case of questions. It’s the only one. I remarried.” A glance at her hands reveals her twisting the wedding ring on her finger. “He’s—”

“Do not try to tell me he’s kind,” I sneer. “Not if he’s the one who gave you that. Or that,” I point at her wrist. “You went from a rapist to someone who beats you—”

“Presumptuous of you to think Sebastian didn’t beat me too.” Everything, everything, inside me goes completely still. “Presumptuous even,” she goes on, tears filling her eyes. “To assume you were the only one who ever suffered in Grandfather’s house.”

I shake my head. “Tell me they never—”

“No, he never sold me. Not nightly anyway. My virginity was more valuable. But that doesn’t mean you were the only one who suffered. I was hit too, Grigory. Just not anywhere anyone could see. Andrei, he….” Her chin trembles and I swear, my heart actually halts. “My virginity as far as anyone would check was kept pristine.”

That motherfucker. I have never been gladder in my life that I killed that monster. Bashed his face in until he was unrecognizable. I should have done more. I should have put a bullet in his balls, taken his own switchblade to the dick he’d dared to bring anywhere near my sister.

Before I can think better of the gesture I’ve crossed the few feet between us and ripped her into my arms. For the first time probably ever, I just hold my sister. I hold her tight, as if my embrace alone can squeeze all the pain she endured from her bones. The pain I could have prevented sooner. The pain she endured after that I knew nothing about. The pain she endured just yesterday or even today. I never used to think about how strong my sister was to just exist in that house. Now, I know she was never just existing at all. She was more of an expert at masking than I’d ever been.

“I’m so sorry, Sonya,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. If I had—”

“Don’t,” she pulls back, wiping her eyes. My hands squeeze her upper arms gently, never with enough force to cause more harm. “Don’t dwell on the past, please. I have spent so many years trying to forgive, there is no need to do this now. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you too, but there is nothing we can do to fix it now.”

She shakes her head, raising a hand to brush a thumb along my cheek. A soft smile curves her lips despite her tears, and I lean into her touch, the touch of an older sister I never experienced before.