Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Sorrow fills me. Sorrow at what happened to my mother, and sorrow over how her life panned out after. She was sold to a bastard, and had to run away from everything she knew and loved just to have a chance at a normal life. Then the one person she was willing to give everything up for died and left her completely bereft.
I understand why she was willing to bankrupt herself to save Dad. They went through something I’ll never fully understand.
And now she’s back in that world, a hostage to her brother once again.
It makes me hate them so much, but it also makes me even more determined to do something about it.
Something a man like Aram won’t ever see coming.
Chapter 35
Karine
Nikkita sets the formal dining table with white linen and real silver. She pours champagne in crystal glasses and makes sure everything is perfect. Valentin sits at the head of the table, while I sit at his right hand. There’s one other place setting at the far end.
“Bring him in,” Valentin orders.
Anton enters followed by Arsen. The young Armenian is cleaned up and dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks. He looks older and harder than he did when he was taped to the chair, and his expression is laced with suspicion and worry.
“Sit,” Valentin says.
Arsen hesitates but sinks down into his place.
“What’s all this?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Anton. “The basement was the stick? And now I get the carrot?”
“Something like that.” Valentin glares at Arsen, and I get the feeling my husband will draw the gun he has in his lap at any moment and kill my cousin for picking up his fork the wrong way.
Nikkita serves dinner. First is smoked salmon tartare and beluga caviar. It’s unreasonably delicious, and even the usually stoic Nikkita shows a bit of pride when Valentin effusively compliments her skills. Arsen is standoffish and hesitant, but he nibbles at the appetizers and sips his champagne.
“It’s not poisoned,” I tell him, kidding around. He glances at me with alarm and I laugh. “Seriously, if we were going to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”
His smile is slow, but it comes. “That’s a good point. I’m worth more alive.”
“For now,” I say, wagging a finger at him. “Eat something, okay?”
He seems slightly less reluctant when Nikkita brings out a short rib and bone marrow soup. It’s rich and fragrant, a deep red broth with a dollop of sour cream on top. Arsen tucks into it and even seems like he’s enjoying himself.
“Ever have a Russian meal like this before?” Valentin asks. I can tell it’s taking all his willpower to remain civil.
“Never,” Arsen admits. “I think coming within spitting distance of a Russian-owned shop back home is basically treason.”
“I’m guessing your father has a lot of rules around treason,” I say casually.
Arsen doesn’t answer. He gives me a strange look and goes back to eating. I let the moment pass before making small talk with my cousin: I ask him about his life, about school, about girls, about jobs, about what he does with himself.
The picture he paints is bleak. He grew up in the Brotherhood, and the Brotherhood is his life. He runs a crew that specializes in protection rackets and small-time sports gambling. He fixes horse races, robs small stores, and commits murders where applicable.
I get the sense that my cousin doesn’t particularly care for his prospects in life at the moment.
The next course arrives once the soup is done. Sturgeon in champagne sauce with risotto. The smell is unbelievably delicious, and even Arsen tells Nikkita how incredible everything is. He finishes his third glass of champagne, and I can tell he’s beginning to loosen up, when Valentin casually asks him who is next in line for control of the Brotherhood once his father is gone.
Silence falls over the table. Arsen stares at Valentin with flared nostrils. “I know what you’re doing,” he says.
“What are we doing?” I ask sweetly.
“You’re trying to turn me. You want me to be a traitor.”
I shake my head. “That’s not it at all.”
“I won’t turn against them. You can feed me all the good meals you want and talk about how mean my fucking father is, and I still won’t do it.”
“Not even if you were the one atop the Brotherhood?” I’m the one who asks it. Coming from Valentin, it would feel all wrong. Arsen would recoil from it simply because he has history with the Russians. But coming from me? From his own cousin?
He still flinches and looks away. The room’s dead silent. Nobody’s eating anymore. Valentin drinks from his glass and pointedly doesn’t speak. We discussed how we wanted to play this earlier today and now we’re sticking to the script, but my body’s jangling with nerves.
We’re playing a game. It’s a dangerous, terrible game, and this could backfire at any moment. But I’m desperate to make a change, and Valentin’s willing to see if this goes anywhere, though I know he isn’t optimistic at all.