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He places his silverware against the rim of his plate, waiting for me to reply.
Swallowing, I nod slowly. “Yes. My father was a wonderful man. He didn’t deserve to die so young.”
I have no idea why I’m sharing anything sentimental with this monster. He wouldn’t understand.
“Dying is a part of living,” he says, cementing my thoughts. But what he says next surprises me. “My father also died young.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was genuinely upset over the fact.
“So, you see, I can relate to your loss. My father was a wonderful man too. I was young when he died. Ten.”
We arenothingalike.
I have no idea why he’s sharing this with me, but I can’t help but feel there is a reason.
“My mother was a weakling. A pathetic excuse of a woman,” he spits, not hiding his disgust. “She was too busy spending my father’s money to look after her children.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m utterly fascinated by his story because there is a moral, and I need to find out what that is.
“And when she welcomed every lowlife into our home, hoping to find her Prince Charming, I knew things would change forever. About a year after my father died, she remarried. One year was all she needed to forget about the so-called love of her life.”
There is clearly no love lost between Alek and his mother. I wonder what happened to her.
“What was your stepfather like?” As I delve deeper, I’m hoping to unearth just who Alek is. Because to defeat your enemy, you have to think like them.
Alek pushes his plate away as he seems to have lost his appetite. “Boris Ivanov was a vile man. He would never fill the shoes of my father. And when he tried…I showed him that he never could.”
“Showed him?” I question, gulping.
Alek nods casually.
“How?” I dare ask.
A hint of a smirk plays at his lips. “I killed him.”
I blink once, unsure if he’s joking or not. But someone like Alek doesn’t joke, especially when it comes to taking someone’s life.
“Y-you killed him?” I need clarification in case we’re lost in translation.
We’re not.
“Yes.”
“How old were you?” I can’t keep the horror from my tone.
Alek shrugs, spinning the gold ring on his pinkie absentmindedly. I’ve noticed him doing this before. I suddenly realize there is a reason. “Thirteen.”
This is far more horrible than I ever imagined. I never gave much thought to the adolescent Alek, but it seems this one event in time triggered the psychopath in him. Killing someone at that age changes a person. But maybe in Alek’s case, it only confirmed to him what he always knew to be true.
“I cut this ring from his finger”— he holds up his pinkie so I can see—“as it’s a reminder of who I am, and what I’ve done to get here.” He confesses this so flippantly as though he’s justifying his actions. But nothing can excuse taking another person’s life.
Even with what Kenny did to me, I don’t think I could ever do what Alek did. I guess that’s what distinguishes us from human and monster.
“Anyway”—he claps, breaking the somber mood—“I think it’s time for dessert.”
Eating is the furthest thing from my mind, but the servants come running from every corner of the room to clear the table.
My mind reels from everything Alek has just shared. I doubt he wanted to have a D and M talk, so I wonder why he told me this. A man like him doesn’t do anything without deliberate thought. He chose to tell me that story and had a reason for asking me to dinner…and I find out what that is the moment a woman in a maid’s outfit comes into the room holding a silver platter.
