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“Yes, Papa.” I cast one more glare at Zarita, who only smiles back, and I hurry away.
“Siena?”
I pause at the door and look back.
Enzo glares at me.
“There are worse places than this,” he says, head tilted to the side. “Obey your father and your don, or you will become acquainted with them.”
I wait two heartbeats before I shove open the door and leave without acknowledging what he said.
Enzo’s an asshole.
He’s got his own problems. His nose is halfway up Papa’s ass at all times and he feels as though being the responsible older brother is his only duty in the world. Without that, he’s just as worthless as me. I know the immense pressure Papa puts him under, and all the terrible things he’s done in the name of this family, and that must stain him in ways I’ll never understand.
But I’m his sister, and his loathing for me is hard to accept. It breaks me every time he acts as though I’m some kind of lesser dog, only good at barking at cars and pissing on the floor.
I return to the hen house. The girls flutter around as Mira barks at them to keep quiet or she’ll ruin dinner. I kiss her cheek and thank her for helping and she only shrugs. “No problem, girly. Camilla’s still crying for you though.”
“Is she hurt that bad?”
“Nah, not really hurt, just freaked out. I think she needs a shoulder to cry on, and that’s you, girl.”
I hug Mira from behind. “Good thing I already got my feet wet, since I’m about to drown in some tears.”
She laughs and shrugs me off. “Go on,” she says, brandishing a wooden spoon. “But don’t leave me here too long or nobody’s eating tonight.”
I smile and hurry off to the bunk room.
Enzo’s right. There are worse places to live. I don’t love being here, and I don’t love scrubbing dirty sheets and toilets and showers and cleaning blood and puke and cum from floors—but I do like helping the girls and being there for them when I can. I have purpose here, and that gives me meaning.
I can hold on to that and forget about stupid fantasies involving big, handsome Russian mobsters.
That’s for little girls, and I’m not a child anymore, all thanks to him.
Chapter5
Maxim
The Kremlin’s always cold. It must be some sick joke. No matter how many times I turn the heat up, it magically lowers again. I know it’s not my father—he always says he left Russia so he didn’t have to freeze his fucking balls off all the time—and I have no clue who else it could be.
I run my hand down the metal railing of the spiral staircase that separates the first floor from the second and third. I could take the elevator, but I prefer the slow, twisting climb. The bottom level of the Kremlin is our communal space: the kitchens, the sitting room, the game room, the living room. Massive windows overlook downtown Dallas and the sprawl of the city spreads out like a green and brown wave. Sometimes I stand down there and watch, thinking about how much of this place we own—and how many pockets we’ve lodged our hands inside of.
Not tonight. I had a long day after leaving Bastone’s place. Business never stops, not for a family like mine. I pass the second floor, which houses my sisters and the live-in staff, and reach the top floor, which contains my rooms, my brothers’ rooms, and my father’s rooms.
The hallways are narrow, with dark hardwood floors that shimmer in the orange overhead glow. Ancient oil paintings of the old world hang on the walls, showing massive snowdrifts, old battles with scarred bodies and musket-bearing infantrymen, cannons and cavalry. My father likes that sort of shit. I hear a creak around the corner and stop as a door at the far end of the hall opens and my brother Feliks steps out, his face buried in his phone.
He’s twenty-two, square jaw, dark hair and dark eyes, the spitting image of our father. His lips are pulled into a deep frown, and whatever he’s reading isn’t sitting right with him. I clear my throat and he looks up, and his frown turns into a more neutral stare—which is pretty much a grin, coming from him.
“When’d you get home?” he asks. “Father’s been waiting.”
“Where is he?”
“The library.” He cocks his head. “Did you visit that whorehouse today? I’ve been thinking about taking a trip out there.”
“Not worth your time,” I say, shaking my head. A spike of jealous adrenaline hits me when I picture Feliks meeting Siena. “Besides, rumor is you get plenty of girls on your own.”
He lets out a breath. “Don’t we all? But it’s never enough. That should be the Novalov family creed. It’s Never Enough.” He shakes his head and stares down at his phone. “Anyway, go see Father before he gets annoyed.”
