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“No. Notmea culpa. That’s not going to cut it, Kristian. This photo,” he seethes, brandishing his phone at me, “has been shared by every business contact and associate I have in this city and beyond. Everyone in the family has seen it. All our men have seen it. I’ve been made a laughingstock by my own brother. I’m grieving, my children have lost their mother, and you went out and did the most disrespectful thing anyone could fucking think of. Why must you give me yet another massive headache?”
Oh, here we go. We’ve had this conversation many times over the past two decades.
Why did you start that fight, Kristian?
Why must you piss everyone off, Kristian?
Why did you rip that man’s guts out and strew them all over the basement floor, Kristian? I was trying to close a deal with his father, Kristian.
I know I’m just about no one’s favorite flavor in the ice-cream shop, but I don’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion of me except for my niece’s, and she thinks I’m fucking wonderful. Troian’s business contacts don’t care that I’m a cunt. Having a crazy, unpredictable brother probably helps him.
“I fail to see how this matters. It’s just a picture and I already said I’m sorry.”
“It matters because you’ve disrespected my family and my dead fucking wife!” Troian shouts. He grips the arms of his chair, frustrated he can’t get up and swing a punch at me because he’s got a broken leg. He didn’t blame me for crashing the motorcycle at the time, but I can feel all my recent misdeeds stacking up against me. It’s tempting to go all in and tell him what he should really be angry about.
You think that’s bad? Well, listen to this. I want to fuck your daughter. I want to fuck her so bad some days it’s all I can think about. I can’t function without seeing her. I want to fuck my baby into her and make her my wife. I’ve spilled so much cum fantasizing over this girl I could fill three Olympic-sized swimming pools. Waiting for her to turn a reasonable age while I dream about making my move is. Killing. Me. Slowly.
That’s something he could be rightfully angry with me about.
Not this stupid shit with Chessa.
“Chessa got on my last fucking nerve, and yes, I was an asshole last night, but if you also remember, I avenged that ungrateful woman when she was gang—”
“Don’t you dare bring her suffering up now!” Troian roars. “I can’t even look at you, Kristian. I want you out of my sight and away from my children. I want you out of this fucking city.”
This city? His children? He’s going to stop me from seeing Zenya? “What are you saying?”
Troian glares at me, anger and grief stark in his face. My normally easygoing brother can be pushed and pushed, but I should have remembered that when he snaps, he loses all sense of perspective. “I’m disinheriting you.”
“You’re what?” I ask in a cold and deadly voice.
“I could die next year. Next month. Will you piss all over my grave before I’m cold as well? I’m giving everything to Zenya. She’s already been proving herself worthy of taking over from me. She’s smart, and unlike you, she’s responsible. She’ll grow into an extraordinary and powerful woman.”
Of course she will. I’ve been thinking the same thing myself. Relishing the prospect, in fact, but with me to help her. I’ve envisioned leading this family with her at my side. Not for her to lead all by herself. “Zenya will take what you’ve built and make it a thousand times better, but she needs me like you’ve needed me. What this is really about is your pride. Your so-calledlegacy,” I snarl. “You’re facing your mortality and you’re wondering how everyone is going to talk about you once you’re gone.”
I’ve humiliated Troian, and I know I should be going down on one knee before him and promising to do whatever it takes to make this right, but the threat to take Zenya away from me has me seeing red.
“You always did care far too much about what other people think of you,” I rant. “The great and powerfulPakhan. You know who lies awake at night worrying what people think about a picture? Weak people. Stupid fucking people.”
“Get out of my sight,” Troian shouts, gripping the arms of his chair.
“Make me,” I shoot back, glancing meaningfully at his broken leg. He’s recovered from last year’s chemotherapy, more or less, but I know he’s sensitive about appearing less than he was. “Better yet, admit you lost your temper and take back what you just said.”
He can’t throw me out of this family.
These days I am this fucking family.
I’m the one who gets his hands dirty, protects everyone, and metes out justice. Troian might be the figurehead, but I’m the one who gets things done.
“I’ve made my decision. If you don’t leave this city, I’ll put a bounty on your head at midnight tomorrow. You won’t live to see the sunrise.”
A bounty on his own brother? Our parents would be turning in their graves. The Belyaevs have never allowed issues of pride to weaken us as a whole. “Are you fucking insane? You proud asshole. So I’m to be discarded after thirty-four years? The adopted brother. The disposable brother.”
“This has nothing to do with you being adopted. This is all because you’re a piece of shit who doesn’t know when to stop.” Troian reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a gun, placing it on the side table.
Grief and anger are raging in his eyes, and I doubt he’s slept since he found Chessa’s dead body. He’s lost all sense of perspective.
“Now get out before I kill you myself.”
