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The woman kneels to the floor so I’m level with Anya. Her face looks smooth, and her lips pout. She has big eyes and dark hair. Her fingers move to try and wave at me. I wave back.
“Galina, once they are ready, show them around and let them pick their rooms.”
A wide smile spreads across my face as I hold my sister in my arms. I try to wrap my mind around everything that happened today. I can’t think of a single thing that went wrong.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.
CHAPTER2
MIKHAIL
Two years ago ...
My father’s men flood the door to his bedroom. He can’t have a moment of goddamn peace. There isn’t a single thing that makes them different from one another. Not even their morals.
Even I can understand why a man lying on his death bed might beg for a moment of peace, but they don’t show my father the decency.
They take their turns saying their goodbyes, but I know they’re all full of shit. They don’t care about him. They have no reason to. He’s used them for the entire time they’ve worked for him.
To Pavel, his men are his shield. They protect him from a tragic end. He doesn’t care if they live or die. That’s what makes him capable of doing what he does.
His tragic end: cancer. Fucking cancer.
A strong man like Pavel was meant to die defending his kingdom, to remain strong until his last and final breath, but the devil had other plans. Tumors are spreading through his brain like wildfire, threatening to kill him in less than a month. It’s almost as if they feed off one another.
There are times when he’ll look me in the eye and not recognize me. I know in these moments hope was created as some inspirational bullshit to keep people from facing the harsh reality of life.
Hope rests in the hands of the devil. Every waking hour you think there’s something out there to grant you your wishes, the devil claps his hands and shatters your hopes as if they were nothing.
This is my harsh reality. The man who took me under his wing as his own is leaving me in this world to fend for myself.
He taught me everything I know, and yet I feel as if I only know the tip of the iceberg. I was supposed to have years with him.
I lift my attention away from the ground and watch my father cough into his pale, veiny hands. He’s weak, but he tries to cover his pain with a soulful smile.
“Misha.” He calls my name.
I brush into his men’s shoulders to get them out of my way. These men will never be anything. There’s no doubt in my mind each of them tried to convince him to pass his power over to them. Their faces all lack emotion, which seems disrespectful to my father in a strange way.
“Give us the room,” my father demands.
Turning their hunched backs, they mope out of the room swearing under their breath.
I watch the door until I hear it click closed. Then, pulling up a padded stool, I take a seat next to my father.
He turns his head to me slowly as if it takes every muscle in his body to accomplish such a simple task. I grab his hand and pull it to my chest.
“Still beating strong,” he says.
“Still beating for you.”
“Mikhail,” he starts.
Barely able to keep my emotions under control, I hold his hands to my face, allowing a tear to fall down his wrist.
“You cut that shit off right now.” He uses humor as a coping mechanism.
I laugh through the tears and shake my head. “You’re leaving me soon.”
