Page 30 of Baby for the Bratva King

He was nine years old. We never should have left him here alone.

“Stop that,” says my father, pulling me away. “He’s dead, can’t you see?”

A shiver runs down my spine.

Tears follow, spilling uncontrollably down my face. I stare hopelessly at Yusen’s corpse, wondering who could have done this.

I look at my father, and the answer is right there on his face. His eyes are wide, staring into space, almost like he’s looking at a ghost.

“Tell me,” I grit, tears streaming down my face.

My vision is distorted, but I have no energy to wipe the tears away. My body feels like it weighs a thousand tons, grief washing over me in impossible waves.

I lie beside my brother, taking his pain like it is my own. The wound in his chest is still gushing fresh blood. I cover the wound, closing my eyes.

“Get yourself off the floor.”

“Did you kill Yusen?”

“I was with you the whole time. What do you think?”

“You upset someone,” I state, the wind blowing in through the front door, washing over my skin.

Yusen’s hair blows in the wind, the only thing left moving on his body.

He will never move again. And he’s never coming back.

Grief lodges itself into the very pit of my heart, the pain unbearable.

When I run out of tears, I pick myself up from the floor and let the pain in my heart speak for me.

“What did you do?” I shout, clawing at my father.

My father brings me into the next room.

I catch my breath, stumbling into our tiny living area. The room smells like herbs and old clothes that have been left to dry in an unventilated room for days. We keep everything closed, the windows, the shutters. The winter is too cold.

“I stole some money. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”

“Theft is against the law.”

“And sometimes the law has to be broken,” says my father, sitting on the torn couch.

The ceiling is in bad condition too, more green than white. Mold is becoming a serious problem in this house, but suddenly I’m not concerned about inhaling bacteria into my lungs. At least I’m still alive.

Who pays for my father’s mistakes next? Me? The entire fucking village?

“Yusen has paid the price of your actions,” I tell him.

“Yusen was never going to become much as the younger brother.”

“You knew he was going to be killed?”

“Of course not,” says my father, dust particles flying through the air as my father leans back into the couch. “But these things happen. Sacrifices have to be made. Look around, son.” My father gestures out into the room, pointing at the ceiling, the decaying brick walls. “We have nothing.”

I glance around the dark room, noting the shutters, the windows. “Yusen and I would have been able to stomach the cold for a few minutes to air this place out. You know that.” I cross my arms over my chest, leveling my father a look. “You knew something would happen.”

“We live in dangerous, unprecedented times.”