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These dinners are always the worst. Alek picking a fight with Dad is inevitable.
I know my place in this family, but sometimes I can’t help but want to stand up for my dad.
But then I remember Dad handles Alek just fine on his own. I’ve come to the conclusion he only lets Alek talk to him like that to prepare him.
“You okay?” Ruslan nudges me.
“I—yes, why?”
“You just look worried.” His brow furrows as he looks at me strangely. His blond hair is messy, but it suits him.
I shake my head quickly, not breaking eye contact. I’ve just been playing the waiting game for years, and I’m ready.
Ingret sits down next to my father and nods for us to begin our dinner. The food she cooks is the kind I’ll never tire of. She uses seasoning in a way I’ll never understand.
I cut into the steak and taste each flavor on every part of my tongue.
“Allow me to skip past the bullshit,” one of the strangers says to my family.
I drop my fork loudly. Dad looks in my direction, curiosity written all over his face. He’s probably wondering what sort of scene I’ll cause today.
“They’re coming, and you know that. You need to kill him if you want full control,” the strange man continues, his eyes stern.
“He said not to,” Dad says.
“Who’s coming?” I manage to get out, eager to grab onto everything I can.
“Oh, Sloane, allow me to introduce myself and my men.”
Four men stand up out of their seats.
“My name is Vladimir. This is Stepan, Ilya, and Volo.”
“This was a mistake,” Dad says to the men.
Confusion and worry only heighten my anxiety as I try to concentrate. They start to argue in Russian, their voices flooding my ears.
“Sloane, come with me,” Ruslan says from across the table.
As soon as the men sit back down, I notice they all have guns placed in the waistbands of their pants.
I get out of my seat and follow Ruslan out of the room. He stops at the stairs and pulls me toward him.
“I don’t want you to worry.”
“What’s happened?”
“I don’t know why he brought them here. Listen, go upstairs and get your insulin pen just in case. I’m about to head out.”
I search his eyes for the answer his words won’t tell me, but it’s useless. I think he’s just as clueless as I am. “Okay,” I tell him and rush upstairs.
What was the point of the dinner if he and I are leaving?
I tuck the insulin pen inside my bra. Before rushing downstairs, I arrange my pillows to make it look as if I’m in bed.
When I meet Ruslan downstairs, we make our way out to the car in silence. He drives us down the long, narrow driveway. The window rolls down, and he scans his card so the gates will open.
“Thank you for bringing me with you,” I tell him.
