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But right now, that wall keeps getting taller, crushing my futile hopes and every rosy thought I ever had.
When we arrive at the office, we find Viktor lowering an unconscious Konstantin onto one of the chairs. Blood trickles down his temple. His usually impeccable dark brown suit is crumpled, and his white shirt is soaked with blood.
His right eye and his lips are swollen, one of his shoes is missing, and his chest is smattered with cigarette burns.
There’s no doubt about it—he was tortured.
Despite his thirst for power and lack of practical decision-making skills, Konstantin isn’t actually a bad person. I think he’s just jealous of Kirill and hates his mind games. He’s also too influenced by Yulia’s hatred to see straight.
Ever since that incident in the Pakhan’s house where he was kicked out and thoroughly humiliated by Kirill, he’s been either avoiding him or glaring at him from afar.
Somewhat like Karina.
Yulia has been taking him to her family’s conventions, probably trying to build his power again. Kirill completely ignored that fact when Viktor brought it to his attention.
“They’re weak and won’t be able to accomplish anything. Let them entertain themselves by trying,” was the reply he gave.
Right now, however, Konstantin looks to be in critical shape.
“Should I call the doctor?” I ask.
“No,” Kirill says. “Wake him up, Viktor.”
“But he could have an infection,” I argue.He’s his brother, after all, no?
“I don’t have all day,” he addresses Viktor, completely ignoring me.
The burly guard nods and pours a bottle of water on Konstantin’s head. He startles awake, inhaling sharply, then breaks out in a fit of coughs.
His good eye widens, but the other remains half shut as he takes in the sight of Kirill standing in front of him.
“Who did this?” Kirill asks. “Who’s trying to send me a message through your useless life?”
Konstantin’s eyes ignite with anger so great, it burns through his whole frame. “Why…would you fucking care?”
“I don’t.” Kirill grabs him by his hair that’s soaked in blood and wrenches his head back. “But you happen to share my last name, and I don’t appreciate people sending me messages through the weak links in my life.”
“Fuckyou.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He slaps him on the cheek twice, then grabs him by the hair. “Focus.”
I don’t know how or why I do it, but I step to his side. “Please stop that. His eyes are unfocused, and he’s probably feverish. He needs medical help.”
“This is none of your business. Back off.” He doesn’t even look at me. “Who was it, Konstantin?”
His brother breathes harshly, but it’s irregular, and his tongue gets stuck on the roof of his mouth. “Fuck you…you fucking bastard.”
Kirill shoves him away, but he raises his fist to punch him.
I stand in front of him, arms on either side of me, and shake my head. “Don’t.”
“Which part of back the fuck off do you not understand, Lipovsky?”
Usually, I would shake like a leaf in front of those intense eyes, but I force myself to stare straight back at them. “Brothers aren’t supposed to hate each other.”
“I’ll let you know when I need your unsolicited advice.”
“Please…” I soften my tone since hardening it had the exact opposite effect I was hoping for. “You want answers, right? I’ll get them for you. If you leave me alone with him…”
