Page 41 of Deviant Need

Meeting at Ozero. One hour. I’ll send someone to pick you up.

Fuck.

The elevator ride up to Ozero feels endless. I lean against the cold metal wall and watch the numbers climb, already bracing myself. I know he’s going to rip me a new one. Someone definitely sent him videos of what happened in that fight, and he’s going to lose his shit on me. Exactly what I don’t need right now.

Me and my father’s relationship is complicated. I hate him, we all do. But we’re also loyal to him in our own messed up, damaged way because that’s how this family works.

He and our mother had an arranged marriage planned when they were young.

She was born into a big crime family in Yekaterinburg, and he was from Moscow. When they finally married at eighteen, the families combined. Marrying someone of my father’s status, an Avrorin, meant something big for her family. Security. Power. All the things that matter in this world.

I miss Yekaterinburg so much. I have so many good childhood memories of that place. Our cousins running wild through the streets, the water in the middle of the city reflecting the old buildings, our grandmothers always spoiling us and giving us pancakes with sour cream and jam.

I miss the language. Miss everything about it.

Daniil and I visited once on a road trip. We drove through Russia for weeks and ended up at Lake Baikal, the deepest lake in the world. It was freezing there. The entire lake was just ice stretching out forever, but it was so beautiful it hurt to look at. We stood there for hours just staring at it, breathing clouds into the air.

I wish I could hug him right now. All I remember before he started ignoring me was us in bed together, his warmth against my side, and then falling asleep with him tucked under my arm. I close my eyes and memories of his lips against mine flash through my head. I blink hard, stepping back from the elevator wall in confusion. Wait. What?

The elevator door pings open, and I step out on unsteady legs, immediately leaning against the hallway wall to catch my breath.

That didn’t happen. We didn’t kiss. I would remember something like that. Wouldn’t I?

But the memory feels so real. His lips soft under mine, the way he made this quiet sound when I deepened it, the taste of him. Rolling on top of him and grinding against him.

I probably dreamt it or something. Did I have some fucked up wet dream about Danya? The kiss on the roof is still clear as the day it happened, and that was years ago. No way I’d blank out on something like this… Right?

Making my way through the T-shaped hallway, I reach the meeting room and pause at the door.

Through the glass I can see my father sitting at the head of the table, positioned so he can see everyone who enters. His tinted glasses catch the light, dark hair slicked back perfectly despite the gray that’s taken over more of it lately. His beard is neatly trimmed, every hair in place. He looks up, narrows his eyes at me, then jerks his chin toward one of the seats.

This is going to be bad.

Stepping into the room, I let the door close behind me with a soft click, then sink into one of the chairs across from him, keeping my expression neutral. Don’t show weakness. Don’t give him anything to use.

“The others are coming soon, but I wanted you here first.” His voice is calm, somehow worse than yelling. “I assume you know why?”

“Da, Papa.”

He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, studying me. “We do not make spectacles of ourselves.” His hand slams down on the table. “That is the one rule we do not break in this family. That video has gone viral, Mikhail. It’s in the news. Do you understand that?”

My jaw tightens, but I nod. Of course I understand. I just don’t care.

“What were you thinking?” he asks and doesn’t wait for an answer. “You constantly act reckless and expect the rest of us to clean up after you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste metal. Don’t say anything. It only makes it worse.

“Do you know what happens when our name appears in the news?” He stands and starts pacing, hands clasped behind his back. “It brings scrutiny. Public scrutiny. The kind that dismantles operations we have spent decades building.”

He stops behind my chair, and I force myself not to turn around.

“And speaking of operations, Ozero’s numbers last quarter were pathetic.”

Here we go.

“Two percent below projections, Mikhail. Do you understand what that means? It means you failed.”

It’s nothing. Two percent is barely a blip. The club is doing fine, better than fine, but he doesn’t care about that. He cares about having ammunition.