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The laughter in the living room coming from my father and Selena, his new wife—who used to be our maid—is one big seriously fucked-up reason for that.
The other is simply this house.
This place I used to call home is where my mother died—where I found her dead, floating in the pool.
She looked like a poetic macabre combination of a ghost and a porcelain doll—ethereal yet beautiful even in death.
She killed herself.
Contrary to what everyone else knows, that’s what happened. Her inoperable tumor didn’t take her final breath like Dad announced. At least he honored my mother’s final wish to keep her cause of death private.
I figured it wasn’t that hard for him to honor because it took the heat off him and the new situation with Selena.
If he told the world the truth, people would have thought Mom killed herself because of him.
I can just imagine the headlines:
Vladimir Volchkov, top New York accountant, marries his maid two weeks after his wife’s suicide.
Or it could be this:
Husband of Luna Volchkov remarries two weeks after her suicide. What would New York’s beloved angel think of that? She dedicated her life to saving others, but her husband did not seem to value hers.
If they knew Dad wasn’t just remarrying, I’m sure it would destroy his business because everyone loved my mother.
He had his part in her death too, because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. That’s why I hate him so fucking much.
However, the straw that broke her back was having her life’s work terminated when Richard Fairchild, Billie’s bastard father, stole her money. Because of that, her research foundation went bust overnight and all her investors pulled out.
All the businesses that worked with Richard were affected by his dirty deeds, but when it came to my mother and her work, he affected people’s lives.
If Richard weren’t as important as he is to various people in the government and the world’s elite, he’d be dead.
If my father loved my mother the way he should have, the motherfucker would be dead, notsimplyin prison.
Richard Fairchild would be six feet under. And if we thought to spare his wife and daughter, the two of them would have been sold off to sex slavers.
That is how ruthless we can be in the Bratva.
Since my father didn’t love my mother, and they didn’t have the kind of marriage where a man would protect and defend his wife, nothing was done.
That bastard is only in prison to tick a box because the public would have gone mad otherwise.
His sentence is the only form of justice I have. When he was exposed, there was nothing anyone could do to save him because his wife turned in hard evidence against him.
My mother’s dealings with Richard were actually legit, and that’s why she was the only person to get hit the hardest when the skeletons fell out of the closet.
I look into the living room, and disgust settles in the pit of my stomach when my gaze lands on my father resting his hand on Selena’s pregnant belly.
She’s nearly eight months pregnant withhischild, so it looks like she’ll be giving birth any day.
He moved her into his bed the same week as Mom’s funeral, adding more salt to wounds already deep and wide open.
I guess, though, she was already sleeping in his bed. That was just the day it became official.
God, I hate living here.
I’m about to keep walking because I don’t want to speak to either of them, but Selena notices me, and that look of embarrassment she always gets when I’m around washes over her face.
