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If my heart wasn’t already too broken to feel, I’d be embarrassed at the prospect that my brother knew about Kirill and me all along.
He probably didn’t intervene because: A) he would’ve looked suspicious, and B) he thought all of that was part of my elaborate plan.
A plan whose result is to be broken to pieces, maybe. But I had no damn plan, and that’s the saddest thing about this.
Despite my attempts, Anton didn’t let me touch Maksim and was the one who singlehandedly took care of him while I started repairs upstairs.
But I did have to come back down to check that he wasn’t killing him when I wasn’t there.
Then he helped me with repairs, or more like, did whatever I told him to. Anton is surprisingly good with handiwork, a fact I didn’t know before. Maybe it’s because we grew up wealthy, so we never really had to work for ourselves.
But then again, Anton has had to enlist in the army and work in the mafia. Even though he did an excellent job at pretending he was a weakling combat-wise, in reality, he’s not.
For two weeks, we come here in the morning and leave by sunset. Uncle, Babushka, and Mike think we’re doing special training, so they never suspect anything.
Maksim gave us the silent treatment at first, so I brought cards and board games and tried to get him to talk.
Considering he’s a hopeless extrovert, it didn’t take him long to talk to me. Anton, however, is a different story. The only time they speak to each other is when they’re ready to rip each other’s hearts out.
It’s become worse ever since Maksim got better. We often find him pacing the basement like a caged animal.
He must really feel like one.
Maksim is a man who’s been around violence since he was young. He enlisted in the army at the age of nineteen. Spent four years there living his best life and then went to the mafia world, where he was tasked with mostly on-ground operations.
So now that he’s locked up, it’s like we’ve cut off his wings. But I really don’t see any other way to avoid conflict. If we let him go, he’ll go back to Kirill, and it’ll be a disaster.
Or maybe I’m merely trying to delay the inevitable.
Uncle Albert is already setting things in motion, and we’ll eventually go to New York to kill Kirill.
We just have to wait for his spies in the criminal organizations to put everything in place. It has to happen during an event at his house, because Anton and I know that place like the back of our hands.
And because justice is poetic, he’ll die in front of his family.
I’ll be the one who kills him. Not Anton. Not Uncle Albert. Me.
I chose this. It’s enough punishment for falling for the monster.
I probably won’t survive after I kill him, but who fucking cares?
What’s my future outside of revenge anyway? It’s just a pipe dream. I don’t remember what I wanted to be when I was a little girl. All I ever hoped for was to grow older with my cousins while escaping Mama’s scolding and Babushka’s cane.
Now, my sole purpose seems to have become revenge.
“Morning, Maks,” I greet as I get inside.
He grumbles under his breath, his eyes hard, and his muscles tense beneath his shirt. I can tell he’s on edge without him having to say a word.
“We need to do something,” he says. “If I spend one more moment in this place, I’m going to punch the wall.”
Judging by his bruised knuckles, I think he might have already done that.
“And no fucking board games,” he snaps before I manage to speak.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Anton warns from beside me.
Maksim narrows his eyes on him. “You. Fight me.”
I offer a placating smile. “I’m sure we can come up with something better…Anton!”
My brother is already removing his coat and stepping to the middle of the basement. Anton built him a new bed and we brought over a few weights and a TV, but apparently, those aren’t enough to entertain Maksim.
“What are you guys doing?” I try to get between them.
“Stay out of this, Sasha.” Maksim is talking to me, but his hawk-like attention is on my brother. “This is between me and the fake motherfucker.”
“Yes. Stay out. I’m going to put this insolent fucker back in his place—”
His sentence isn’t finished, and Maksim has already driven his fist into his face. “Not so fun when I’m not tied up and helpless, is it, asshole?”
Anton swings back with his own punch. Then they’re downright throwing each other against the wall, on the sofa, and to the floor as they exchange blows.
I give up trying to break up the fight a few minutes after they start. This might well be what they need to get whatever animosity is lurking out of their systems.
