by A. E. King
“She looked beautiful, even lying crumpled on the floor covered in blood. Much like I imagine you would look.”
Dima grips the side of his chair.
“We had a celebration of sorts. The full Council was there, along with the Organizatsaya. I encouraged her to look her best. She showed up wearing the most magnificent gown. It was pale gold and shimmered when she moved. She was radiant. I told her so. I kissed her, capturing her final breath, and then I shot her.”
“She doesn’t need to hear this.” Dima speaks up for the first time.
I dig my fingers into the sofa needing something to hold onto.
“Of course she does. It’s her family history. Part of who she is. Everyone should know their story.” His voice is calm, delicate, almost detached as he relives this terrible crime.
“There were cheers as her blood spilled across the floor. Some men danced in it. I didn’t. I watched it drain from her. Every drop taking her farther and farther away from me . . .”
I feel sick.
“When everyone else cleared out, I stayed behind. I lay next to her, caressing her, kissing her all through the night. I didn’t want her to be alone as she transitioned into nothingness. She turned stiff long before she went cold.”
“That’s enough.” Dimitri’s voice seems to wake my father from the past.
“Yes it probably is,” he concedes.
His words ring in my ears. Every echo a knife to my heart.
“Look at me, Yulia,” my father demands.
I’m dark and devastated. I thought I was strong, but maybe I’m broken beyond repair. I can feel myself slipping into the blackness, but I won’t let this murderous sociopath know how completely he has destroyed me.
I lift my eyes and look into the face of my mother’s killer. He looks back at me. Not with his standard sneer but with fatigue and shock in his dull grey eyes. “It’s a relief to finally say all of that.”
It was not a relief to hear it. He smiles longingly at me. “Looking at you is almost like seeing her.”
Dima shifts in his chair, and I wonder if he feels any of the sickness I do.
We gaze at each other, father and daughter, for a long time. “Is this supposed to be remorse?” I ask.
He laughs a dry, humorless laugh. “Remorse, regret, revenge. None of it matters now.”
I agree. None of that matters. No amount of remorse could save him from his crimes. If hell has a waiting list, his name is at the top.
“You bore it better than your brother. Maybe I’ve underestimated you.”
I don’t want to listen to his snake words any longer. I don’t want to hear him speak of my mother and brother. He doesn’t deserve their memories.
“Do whatever it is you plan to do. I don’t care what you have to say. It’s unforgivable.” Even I am surprised by the hatred that flows out of me. I’d never imagined a living creature could feel emotions like these and live to breathe another breath.
My words wake him fully from his nightmarish recollections. He clears his throat and shakes his head.
He turns to Dimitri. “How did you find her?” The shift in his demeanor is jarring. He moves from being almost contrite to strategic with one shake of the head.
Dimitri looks at me, scanning me as though trying to decide how much of me he will offer as tribute. The muscles in his jaw are so tight they could be made of marble. “She’s smarter than I gave her credit for. She even played me. So I guessed she would do what people least expected. While the police set up checkpoints at the airport, bus stations, train stations, and borders to the nenoozhny line, I went one stop away and watched her walk off the train as calm as can be.”
“And then what?” my father asks, not looking at me.
“Then I grabbed her and dragged her to an empty alley, where I smashed her head against the wall for the betrayal,” he says calmly.
“Show me,” my father demands.
Dimitri stands, brushing my hair aside to show my father the bump on my head.
“Hmm.” He nods, looking somewhat satisfied. Did Dimitri lie to protect me, to protect the Myatezhniki, or is he just protecting himself?”
“It’s late. And I’m tired. Come see me tomorrow morning, and we’ll discuss our options.”
Dimitri stands and grabs my arm, rushing me out of the office.
“Dimitri.” My father stops us just before the door. “Teach her the consequence of disobedience and disloyalty.”
“Yes Verkhovney Gosudar,” he says through gritted teeth. Then he pulls me roughly from the room as I tremble at the thought of those lessons.
Chapter 23
“It’s good to be back, darling,” Dimitri says before he opens the door to my apartment. He pulls me close and kisses me. I taste his anger through his hard and unfeeling lips.
He pulls me inside, closes the door, then almost pushes me away from him. He paces back and forth. He’s so tense I feel like he’s on the verge of snapping.
“Dima, I’m sorry.” I try to apologize, but he’s nowhere near ready to listen.
“You’re sorry you got caught. There’s a difference.” His voice is menacing in its control.
“I wanted to tell you. That’s why I asked if you would walk away from all of this.”
“How many times did I tell you I would give you what you wanted? If you had told me you planned to risk your life to escape, I would have told you how to do it.” He’s losing his battle with calm.
“I didn’t think you would let me go.”
“And why was that? Because I did everything you asked of me? Because I helped you with the orphanage? Or because I have been willing to sacrifice my safety and wellbeing for yours? I was so busy trying to earn your trust I missed you plotting to betray mine. You didn’t have to do it like this, Yulia.” He glares at me.
I feel wretched. He thinks I took him into my bed to fill his head with dreams and his heart with love so I could lower his guard. That wasn’t it at all. That was the most honest I’ve been with him in years, but he’s right. Everything else was one manipulation after another.
Desperate for him to understand, I try again. “I didn’t mean . . .” But he cuts me off, too angry for the truth. Too betrayed for trust.
“Save it.” He folds his arms, his muscles tense and angry. “Do you have any bruises?”
“Can we please talk about this?” I place my hand on his arm.
“We said more than enough last night. He examines both of my arms and lifts my sleeves. “Show me your torso.” His coldness chills my heart.
I lift up my shirt, He surveys my ribs without touching me, evaluating the emerging shadows settling over my left side.
He pinches his forehead and closes his eyes tightly as though steeling himself against the effects of my treachery. “You will have to give yourself more.”
“Is this some sort of joke?” I ask.
His grim features assure me it isn’t. My father expects Dimitri to beat me. I pull my shirt down and hug my arms, coming to terms with this situation. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Sasha and I made a twisted sort of art out of it. It hurts the same, but it keeps your dignity intact.” He looks me up and down as though trying to decide where to bruise me, and I step back.
“Do you want me to punch myself in the face?” This is the most ridiculous idea I’ve heard in my life.
“Never the face. That would damage your ability to serve your purpose. No one wants to see Yulia Bituskaya with a black eye.”
“This is crazy!” I throw my hands up in exasperation.
“Crazy would be walking back into your father’s office tomorrow, unmarked,” he spits back at me. “It would be the end of both of us.”
Right there,” he says. “If you hit the wall there, you’ll have some variations in the bruising.”
“Dima, I can’t.” I start to panic.
“You have to bruise yourself.” His frustration is building. “Because I refuse to hurt you!”
I look at the wall and then back at him. My heart beats hard in my chest.
“Your father wouldn’t question me if I chose to call in a guard to do my dirty work. It’s either you or him doing the damage.”
I survey the wall, and he yells, “NOW!”
I run across the room as fast as I can and hurl myself into the unyielding surface. My body crumples to the ground with a loud thud. Pictures fall off the wall, and glass shatters all around me. Blood drips from a cut on my forearm, and the left side of my body aches. Tears sting my eyes as a dull throb runs through my shoulder, elbow, and hip.
Dimitri walks to me as I gingerly assess my injuries. He offers his hand to lift me up.
I wince as he pulls me to my feet. “Let me see,” he says with less heat but no compassion. I have angry red marks all down the side that connected with the wall.
“Good. Your fair skin bruises easily.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Go again, and this time, yell for help.”
As I run, Dima yells, calling me a name that cuts deeper than the broken glass.
“No, Dima! Someone help me!” I yell and crash into the wall. Tears sting my eyes, and I look into his pale, white face and glassy eyes.
“Please don’t use that name,” he whispers, “Call me, Dimitri.”
We repeat the process, Dimitri allowing me to rest in between by pacing the room and yelling at me about how I humiliated him and need to learn respect. Finally, he’s happy with the damage I’ve done both to myself and to the wall. “The cleaning crew will have stories to tell,” he says, studying the smears of blood and the dented plaster. He punches the wall.
I scream out in surprise as his hand cracks the plaster and hits the hard stone. Dima pulls his hand back and studies it. A few drops of blood seep out of his knuckles.
He turns to me. “It needs to look like I grabbed you. Brace yourself.” He grabs my upper arms with both hands like vises.
“Ow, Dima.” I instinctively try to wiggle free.
“Hold still, and it will be done faster,” he says, watching my arms closely. He continues to apply more pressure until my skin starts to turn a deep red.
He rubs my arms, and for the first time I see a crack in his facade. When I peer into the crack, it’s full of anguish. The pain shooting through my body is nothing to the pain of knowing I injured him so deeply. “No ice. Let it swell. But I’ll send you some medicine for the pain. Do you want Zhenya to attend you when her train arrives?”
I shake my head. I don’t want her to see me like this. I betrayed her too, and I’m not ready to face her pain and disappointment.
He turns to leave.
“Dima, wait.” I desperately want to fall into his arms, but I won’t ask for that. We’ve both hurt enough for one day. He doesn’t stop. “Dimitri, what’s going to happen tomorrow?” He pauses but doesn’t turn.
“I don’t know for sure. I’m going to try to prevent your execution, but I’m also going to do whatever it takes to keep you from revealing my treason. And if all goes well, I’ll do what I should have done years ago.” He won’t even look at me.
Last night he offered to love me forever. In this moment I would give just about anything to see him look at me with admiration once more. But something tells me he’ll never look at me that way again. I’ve broken his trust and lost his love. “You’ll stop loving me?”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Finally he says, “No. I’m going to help you join the Myatezhniki.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it’s not this. “Then why didn’t you just let me go today?” I ask.
He turns around, his eyes blazing with betrayal. “You have to pass a test for admittance. And if by some crazy chance they’ve changed their rules for you, they don’t have the infrastructure to safely get you out of the city. You, and everyone you came in contact with, would have been discovered and shot in Red Square. To get out, you need my help.”
“What about you?” I ask.
“I can take care of myself. Be prepared to work fast. You need to be gone before this sham of a wedding.”
I feel horrible for the pain I’ve caused.
“I gave you everything I had. What more could I have done to earn your trust?”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“You’re just like your father. You see what you want to see. You hear what you want to hear. And you only care about your own neck.”
How dare he? Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away.
“I came to terms with losing you a long time ago. Don’t imagine decades of love will outweigh your deceit when I decide how to act tomorrow. For the moment, we’re still allies,” he reminds me. “Only this time, I will watch you like a hawk. Don’t betray me twice. You won’t like the consequences,” he growls.
He turns and leaves me bruised and throbbing in both body and soul.
Chapter 24
We are summoned to my father’s office first thing after breakfast.
My body aches. I draw a deep breath, and my ribs scream in protest. I pray for our safety.
Dimitri carries himself like a stranger as two guards escort us to my father’s office. I can’t blame him. I made promises one minute and broke them the next. My bruised body reflecting my bruised conscience.
My father wastes no time addressing Dimitri once we arrive. “What are my options?”
“There are a few options, none of them perfect,” Dimitri answers.
My father nods for him to continue.
“You could kill Yulia.”
I gasp, and my father laughs before asking, “Pros?”
“She can’t be problematic if she’s dead. Such decisive action would please the Dragovich family and send a message of strength to all of your enemies. Plus, I won’t have to marry her.” Dimitri doesn’t look at me.
“Cons?” my father asks.
“She’s your last family member, so you lose any chance of having an heir. Your enemies may see you as weak, rash, or untrustworthy for executing your family rather than controlling them, especially since this was Yulia’s first offense. They may question your mental state and doubt your ability to keep other families under control.”
My father scowls and looks down at me over the tip of his nose. “It’s a second offense. She already cost us dearly in relationships and capital with her orphanage stunt.”
“That was ignorance. This was willful. And she’s still useful, despite all of it. She distracts the media and deflects any light they try to shine on you, the Council, or the families. It’s always been a concern that the public would uncover the trade route in our orphanages. Now, if it does, you’ve got a heroic narrative to feed them. You can rebuild what she cost you.”
“Next option?” My father looks away from me.
“You could kill me.” Again, Dimitri speaks without any emotion.
My eyes widen with shock. “Dima, no. You don’t have to take the blame.”
“Pros?” My father interrupts me.
“You can pin all of the failures of the past few weeks on me. My incompetence threw the orphanage into chaos and created discord among the families. There is no stain on your family, so you can arrange another strategic marriage for Yulia. Maybe even the heir of the Dragovich family. The families will fall over themselves to put forth a candidate. Then you get your heir.”
“Absolutely not,” I shout.
My father rolls his eyes. “Remain silent, or Dimitri will gag you.” I fold my arms and grind my teeth tightly together. Dima promised he’d help me get out. I have to trust that he won’t repay my betrayal with one of his own.
“Cons?” My father stares at Dimitri with a penetrating gaze.
Dimitri shrugs. “You won’t have anyone else to play this game with.”
My father leans back his head and laughs out loud. “Did you know, Yulia, that this is what your future husband is known for? He has a brilliant mind for achieving the maximum outcome with the least amount of trouble
. He has pronounced the death sentence of half the men I’ve put down. Did you tell her about the puppies?”
“I have told her as little as possible, as per our agreement.” Dimitri is stoic, and I wish he would give me some sign of what’s going on in his head.
My father moves next to me as though we’re having a regular conversation after dinner.
“When Dimitri and Sasha were twelve, I sent them off to school for proper training. The first three months, we break the children. Not enough sleep. Not enough food. Beatings. Then we give them a ‘holiday.’ We bring in food and games. At the end of Dimitri’s holiday, the instructor brought in a dog and her litter of puppies for the boys to play with. Just as they fell in love with the dirty things, the instructor gave the students their first test of obedience and loyalty by ordering them to kill the puppies. Your brother, always a disappointment, fought against the instructor. He was punished to make an example for the other boys, yet he continued to fight. Dimitri, on the other hand, took the gun and shot the mother.”
My father doubles over laughing as if this horrible story is a hilarious anecdote told at a cocktail party. I look at Dimitri, mortified, desperate for some sort of denial. He looks to his feet, avoiding my judgment.
“He yelled to the instructor, ‘I’ve saved your bullets. One shot, and now they will all die.’ And the arrogant little boy was right. We only needed one killer, not seven. It was brilliant. I love this brain.” He points to Dimitri’s head then reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table in front of us to pour himself and Dimitri a drink. “He’s been putting it to work for me ever since.”
My father raises his glass in salute to Dimitri, and they both take a sip.
“I imagine,” my father licks his lips, “that you don’t favor either of those plans, Dimitri. So why don’t we skip ahead to your favored recommendation.”
“Put her to work.” Dimitri sets down his glass. “She has Yelena’s ease of mixing with the nenoozhny. But now that I’ve spent more time with her, I see how much she takes after you.” I have to bite my tongue to keep from arguing. Does he really see so much of my father in me?
