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“No.”
“Mikhail, do you?”
I try to remember the items I own. I don’t have much of anything. I don’t even have a bedroom; I sleep in the hallway in a sleeping bag or in the lobbies of cheap hotels. “Yes,” I tell him when I remember the notebook I want to grab.
“Get it quick and come back.”
I rush past the filth, stepping over things that make me want to hurl. Once in the hallway, I reach under my sleeping bag and grab the notebook.
Scampering back to the main room, I see my father staring at Mr. Gray. It’s strange—I’ve never seen my father show fear, but he is now. He grabs me by the hair and pulls me close.
“Mikhail, remember what I told you?” Mr. Gray asks, pulling me toward him. It’s as if these men are fighting over whose side I’m on.
“Never let a man beat you when you’re already down,” I repeat the words he spoke to me only a moment ago.
“That’s right,” he says, placing a gun in my hand.
I stare down at it and feel its power taking control of my thoughts. The bullet that rests in this chamber could end a life. It could end mine, but I hold its power.
“If you choose to be a part of this, you simply point this at him and press the trigger under your index finger.”
If I choose to be a part of this.
“Mikhail wouldn’t kill his own blood—he knows better than that. You shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you,” my father says.
“Do you?” Mr. Gray argues in Russian. “Do you feed him? The boy is nothing but bone.” He steps behind me and places his hands on my shoulders.
I hold up the gun and watch my father stare into the eye of the pistol.
“Close your eyes if you must.”
No.I want to see the life in his body die. I want to hear the last and final breath he ever takes.I want him gone.
I hold my finger down on the trigger and watch the bullet go into my father’s chest. My body jolts back into Mr. Gray and my ears ring. My father’s hands fly to the wound and he falls back into his chair, choking on his blood. It’s poetic really. He lived his life until his death in that very chair.
“Ya gorzhus, Mikhail.”
He is proud of me.I just killed my father, and I don’t feel anything ... nothing at all. I watched his face turn red and his mouth gape open. I watched him process that his own son just shot him and he couldn’t do anything about it. And I feelnothing.
“Right. You two will come with me now.”
We walk to the car and sit in silence the entire ride. I don’t think Kirill agrees with what I did, but a part of me doesn’t care. I can be the one to stand up for us. He needs me to be.
The driver pulls the car into a long, narrow driveway. I lift my head to look out the window at the beautiful land that surrounds us. Tall cypress trees line the concrete. The house lookshuge.Snow dusts the black roof, making it appear a faded gray. Tall windows cover the entire side of the house. A fountain rests in the middle of a small island at the end of the driveway.
“This is your new home. Does it suffice?” Mr. Gray asks with a subtle smile.
I can hardly contain my excitement as I nod over and over again.
“My name is Pavel Stepanov. You will take my last name, and I will take you in as my own. I will raise you as my sons. Be sure not to come into my office. That is where I work and must not be bothered. Kirill, you still need to prove yourself, but we will talk about that later.” He gets out of the car and leads my brother and me to the front door.
“This is insane,” Kirill mutters.
A young woman walks down the stairs with a toddler in her arms. She looks at Mr. Stepanov with curiosity written on her face.
He motions for her to come to us. “See this little one? Her name is Anya. She is your sister, and you will not let harm touch her.”
“Can I hold her?” I ask the woman with long brown hair. She has kind eyes. I almost never come across eyes like hers.
