VLAD

by Ker Dukey

  I stand and fold the map neatly. Precise squares. Slowly. Just to make her wait. When she huffs, I abandon my task and meet her eyes. “Mrs. Vetrov, just like you wanted.”

  She can’t keep the giddiness from her eyes at my words. Whore. “Your engagement will be a long one.”

  “What?” she demands. “Why? I want to marry Veniamin now.”

  I stare at her for a long moment, drinking in her vulnerability before I go in for the kill. When I’ve had enough waiting, I cluck my tongue. “Oh, Vika,” I say, as though it pains me to deliver the news, “not Veniamin. Father wants you to marry Ruslan.”

  It takes a moment for her to register what I’m saying. The words actually lash out like a ball whip and stun her into stumbling back a few feet. Then, she screeches in horror. “What? That’s ridiculous! He’s seventeen! Have you seen his face?!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I say in a dry tone. “You’re only eighteen yourself. Besides, in another few months, he will be of legal age. Then you both can make lots of Vetrov babies.”

  “You fucking asshole,” she hisses. “You did this. I’m going to speak to Father and he’ll—”

  “He’ll do nothing,” I bite out, my own anger brimming to the surface. “He’ll do nothing because it’s already been decided.”

  She screams as she charges my desk and slings all my papers onto the floor. Her snooty features have been replaced by a snarled, rage-filled expression. Amber eyes blaze like the devil himself is inside her and ready to wreak havoc. “You won’t get away with this,” she whispers, her body trembling with anger. “I’ll win. You’ll see.”

  I simply smile at her. “We’ll see.”

  With a roar, she storms from the room.

  Sitting back down, I open an email to send to Ven. I’ll explain that Vika will be marrying Ruslan, and that his father will agree to it upon my father’s suggestion. That it will tighten our families’ bond if we send the future Mrs. Vetrov to live there during their engagement, so the happy couple can have a proper courtship before marriage.

  And between the lines, he’ll realize he now owes me a huge fucking favor.

  I just saved his neck by sacrificing his brother to the hungry wolf that is my sister.

  Veniamin Vetrov will make good on that favor. He never lets me down.

  My father may think he designed these games—not just The V Games, but every game in life. What he never counted on was for someone to change the rules.

  New Rule Number One: You hurt my brother, I fucking hurt you.

  The walls in Diana’s office drive me stir crazy. Why she insists on plastering art deco everywhere is odd to me. I prefer the classic paintings, real art, crafted by hours of an arched spine and hand cramps using oil paints and your mind’s eye.

  “Shadow,” my sister snaps the nickname given to me by our father since before I can remember. Apparently, I’ve been living in my sister’s shadow since I was a toddler.

  I look over to her from the armchair she allowed me to drag in here. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a tight bun. Smoky eye shadow and dark red lips decorate her large features. She looks like a film star even at the office. Her silk blouse is tucked neatly into her pencil skirt, showing off her slim figure and curvy hips. I look down at my own clothes and cringe. My checkered shirt has mayonnaise smeared down the front from lunch.

  “Shadow?”

  “Huh?” I jolt, remembering she called my name.

  Fierce blue eyes that match my own pin me. “Irvac is coming in next, so pay attention.”

  Pay attention? Her words are an insult. I always pay attention. Every detail is captured, logged, and stored away for later use. I noticed she’s wearing more makeup than usual and the top two buttons of her blouse are open instead of closed like any other day. The warmth in her cheeks is noticeable, and she keeps checking her cell phone, then crossing and uncrossing her legs.

  “Are you sure the numbers are wrong?” she urges.

  “Numbers don’t lie, Diana,” I say in a terse tone. “The people inputting the numbers lie.”

  She sighs and takes a swig from a cup on her desk. She drinks too much coffee.

  “This is unfortunate. Irvac has been with us a long time.”

  I flit my fingers over my laptop and bring up the spreadsheet to show her the inaccuracy. We have more products leaving our warehouses than the return being entered. It’s small in the grand scheme of things, but it’s there, and thieves get greedy if left unpunished.

  Volkov Spirits is one of the fastest growing companies in Russia with plans to expand our offices to Paris, New York, and London within seven years. Our product is exported in over thirty-five countries so far, and we employ over five thousand people, so our management needs to be loyal and capable.

  Our legitimate businesses are the foundation for the other side of our business, and they need to be ran with the same reprimands to avoid these unfortunate events from reoccurring.

  A knock at the door alerts us to Irvac’s presence. Diana’s office is situated in our father’s mansion. It shows her supremacy—makes us both less vulnerable to the men in this business who see women as inferior to them. It’s a power play, a my dick is bigger than yours show of dominance. Look where we live and see the money and influence behind us.

  “Come in, Irvac.” Diana welcomes him with a hand motion to the chair in front of the enormous mahogany desk she had hand-carved with our family crest and shipped in from Japan. The lone, giant peregrine falcon’s wings inside the etched crest span the entire length of the desk. Long and tipped in black. Instead of a curved beak, she has the mouth of a wolf. Snarling and vicious. I love that she is female. Father doesn’t know this, but I’ve studied the markings of the giant birds. The one chosen for our crest is most definitely female. Her size indicates so, and also the fact that she has her claws curled around two eggs in a protective, motherly way. She’s fierce and takes shit from no one.

  “Ma’am,” he greets. He’s broad and tall and enters with swift strides, tugging at his jacket before taking a seat.

  His thick beard hides half his face, but if he’s the one stealing from us, his eyes will tell me everything I need to know.

  “Irvac, are you stealing from us?” she outright asks, just like we practiced. It’s an old trick used by my father when testing members of his staff. Some would break despite the fact that my father had no proof or cause to ask. It’s just random and a sign of the power and fear he holds over people.

  Irvac sits up straighter and squints, his gaze darting back and forth between Diana and me. “Of course not.”

  Standing, I walk over to Diana and lean down to whisper in her ear.

  “I fancy mors for dinner,” I murmur, and she nods. With a few words that are confusing to others, I indicate Irvac is a thieving liar.

  His teeth grind and eyes narrow, wondering what I’m telling her. I move back to my seat in the corner, and she folds her arms.

  “I’m going to give you the opportunity to come clean this one time.”

  He stands and rubs a hand through his black, long hair that ends just above his shoulders. “Miss Volkov,” he utters in exasperation. “What is this about?”

  I move to her again and tap the buttons on the laptop as if showing her something.

  His eyes track me, his cheeks heat, and his shoulders tense. “What is it?” he demands, and I smile politely in his direction.

  Diana gestures to the seat he’s vacated, but he ignores her and begins pacing the floor.

  “You have this one chance,” Diana reminds him.

  He shakes his head. “I was going to pay it back.”

  Liar.

  “I didn’t think it would be noticed and I could put it back before—”

  She holds her hand up to stop him. Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks back toward the door.

  I press my hand onto her shoulder—another one of our many signals—letting her know I’m leaving to get Anton, our father’s most loyal sub
ject, a bodyguard of sorts.

  As I pass Irvac, he grabs my arm and jerks me toward him.

  “What are you telling her? Is this you always in the corner with your damn laptop?” he sneers, squeezing my arm unbearably tight. I whimper despite myself and try to pull free, but he has height and strength over me.

  “Let her go. Now,” my sister demands as she chambers the Glock from under her desk, cracking the tense atmosphere with the echo of the metal.

  He releases me with a hard shove, and I tumble backward against a tall glass bookcase, hurtling through the glass. It rains down around me like deadly confetti, the shards peppering over my shoulders and the impact robbing me of breath.

  A popping sound rings in my ears as Diana pulls the trigger, and the thud as Irvac’s heavy form hits the floor makes my heart jump.

  “Thieving is one thing, touching one of us is another entirely,” she breathes, fury dripping from her every word.

  The door bursts open and Vlad stands in the doorway, much to our surprise. Diana hasn’t seen him since he took her to lunch after his brother’s funeral. I’d wanted to grill her about the date, but bit my tongue. She didn’t offer much either.

  He looks down at the still-warm body, and then to my sister. Finally, his intense golden-brown eyes flit to me. I fixate on his full lips as he casually asks, “Am I interrupting something?” He arches his brow, his only show of brief amusement.

  I gather my wits and pick some of the glass from my clothes. Diana rushes over to me, inspecting my face and neck like a mother hen. Her icy blue eyes flicker with worry. My sister may be a badass most of the time, but sometimes, only to me, she’ll show a glimpse of the girl I used to run with through the woods behind our house as we pretended to be evil queens hunting down our lowly peasants. I can almost hear her childhood cackling—

  “Are you injured?” she asks, concern pulling her brows down in a scowl as she helps me to my feet. All traces of the smiley, fun-loving sister I grew up with are gone. The serious, shrewd powerhouse of a woman is back in place.

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure her, my voice terse. I step past her, but have to stop when Vlad doesn’t move from the doorway, blocking me from fleeing. I look up at him, expecting him to be studying Diana or the scene before him, because I’m invisible to him—to everyone—but our eyes clash, and the world stops moving.

  My heart slows, and the blood rushes through my veins like wine into a goblet over dinner. Looking at him up close is like seeing all Seven Wonders of the World at once. Like hearing my favorite song sang live and just for me. Seconds pass, but they feel like hours. His eyes skim from my eyes to my nose. My cheeks heat at his careful inspection. The moment I blush, one corner of his lips twitch as though he might smile. He doesn’t. Instead, he continues staring down at me, this time landing on my lips. I part them slightly as if to drink him in.

  I can taste his breath.

  I can sense the beating of his heart.

  I can almost hear his thoughts.

  My own heart is whispering, “Recognize me.” And just like that, he moves out of my way to take the seat Irvac just vacated and the moment is gone. All the air leaves me in a rush, and I stumble from the office into the arms of Anton, who catches my fall.

  “What happened?” he demands, moving me to a seat along the wall of the corridor.

  “It’s fine,” I mutter. “It’s been dealt with.”

  He leaves me to check on Diana, and I gather my strength to stand and go to my room. As I run through the maze of intricate hallways, I try not to think about him, but like the dangling of a carrot I can never have, Vlad’s perfect eyes are in the forefront of my mind. Seeing me. Noticing every small freckle I desperately try to hide behind my foundation.

  I strip my clothes from my clammy body and hiss through the pain of some cuts over my chest. Going to the bathroom, I turn the shower on cold and step beneath its punishing rainfall.

  Blood clears to show small slits on my skin. I loosen the braid in my hair and pull the strands apart, letting the water soak through the long blonde locks. Unlike my sister, I have virgin hair, skin, and body. Guys have never been on my radar, apart from the weird allure Vlad has over me. I’m not ugly, just indifferent to beauty. I don’t try to emphasize my assets. Makeup is for girly girls. I always have my nose in books and study texts. My sister says I’m more beautiful than she is—more like our mother. I know she only does this to boost my self-esteem. Our mother is beautiful, but she’s always lacked a backbone, so she didn’t encourage me to have any self-esteem. My father’s wandering eyes beat our mother’s confidence out of her.

  Turning the tap off, I step from the shower, wrap a towel around myself, and wait for Diana to come and dress my wounds. She’s predictable, and within five minutes, she’s pushing through my bathroom door with a first aid kit.

  “Anton is taking care of the mess,” she rushes to tell me, placing the cotton swab over my cuts and dabbing. The sting isn’t as harsh as anticipated, and I find myself playing with the end of the towel.

  “And Vlad?”

  She grins up at me, her smile lighting her entire face. “He wants to take me to dinner.” Her joy is palpable. I need to be excited for her, but it’s hard. Guilt surges through me.

  “Do you even like him?” I find the words tumbling from my lips with a harsher tone than intended.

  She narrows her eyes and shrugs. “You have eyes, Irina.” And boy, do I ever. Those eyes can’t seem to stop looking at him whenever he’s near. She winks at me, and my stomach twists.

  He’s beautiful. Just like you, Diana.

  God, their babies will be stunning.

  “It’s not just about looks,” I retort, the bitterness dripping in my tone. “He’s moody.”

  Her smile reaches her eyes and warms my heart. “He would be a great match.” She places a Band-Aid over the last cut and rises to her feet. “Father would approve.”

  “You sound like Vika,” I snap, irritated at her answer. “That’s all she talks about when we’re forced to attend any of the Vasiliev’s functions.” Vlad’s sister is a bitch, plain and simple. Sure, she parades around with a pretty smile, but I’ve watched her flitting from person to person, whispering lies to whoever will listen.

  “Enough, Shadow,” she warns, marching into my bedroom.

  I follow, fury building in my gut. “You should choose your own match. Who cares what Father approves of?”

  She turns abruptly, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Enough, Irina! Life isn’t that cut and dry, and you know it. Now, get dressed. Father wants to see that you’re okay.”

  We glare at each other for a long moment.

  With a cold smile that unfortunately matches our father’s, I spit out, “Enjoy your dinner date with your match. Let me know when the wedding is.”

  She glowers at me, gives a shake to her head, and storms from the room without another word. The moment she’s gone, I slam it shut and blink away the stupid tears forming in my eyes.

  The past…

  “Where do you think they keep the vodka?” Niko asks, a smirk on his face. He’s growing a mustache, and it looks so fucking lame. Apparently, his father isn’t strict like ours. Father says we must always be clean-cut and presentable because you’ll never know who you might run into at a moment’s notice.

  “All you have to do is ask,” I rumble, dragging my gaze from my best friend to the sunroom just off the living room of the Volkov home. Father needed to meet with Mr. Volkov. He insisted Niko and I tag along. Niko has a thing for Diana, so he didn’t mind at all. She’s seventeen, and Niko is always sporting a boner whenever she’s near. As much as he hates it, though, she’ll have nothing to do with his fifteen-year-old ass. And she might be into me based on the way she smiles at me all the time, but I know better.

  A Vasiliev has a reputation to uphold.

  If Father requests I see her, then I will.

  He’ll keep his options open for as long as he can, though, in case something
better comes along. Always calculating three moves ahead, just like he taught Viktor and me in chess.

  “I’m going to explore. You coming with?” Niko asks.

  I wave him off. “I’m fine right here.”

  His gaze follows mine to the tiny artist—the girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her hair is a wild blonde mess as she paints a picture on a canvas far more detailed and well done than any I’ve seen hanging on our walls at home. She’s young, perhaps Viktor’s age, ten or eleven, but she paints like she’s been doing it for centuries. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy coming with Father to his meetings with the Volkovs.

  “It’s hard to believe they’re sisters,” Niko utters. “Diana is so fucking hot, and that little girl looks like she has a different daddy. I bet their mother boned the butler. There’s no way they came from—”

  “I think I overheard old man Volkov say Diana’s in the library,” I snap, cutting him off.

  He’s gone without another word, leaving me to watch from the shadows as the girl paints a sunrise behind a snowcapped mountain. The rays are brilliant and almost an exact replica of the way the sun comes through the window and reflects off her hair.

  What do you do with your paintings, little Irina?

  As if sensing me, she turns and regards me with a solemn expression. There’re glass doors separating us, and I know she can’t see my face at this angle with the sun reflecting back at her from the glass. Where Diana is all smiles and wide, bright blue eyes, her younger sister is serious. She stares hard in my direction, as if willing her eyes to see me. I’ve watched her gaze stray to me every time I enter a room, studying me. For a brief moment, I wonder if she’s ever painted me. I narrow my stare, but don’t blink. If she can see through the glass, I want her to get a glimpse of the real me—the me I’m allowed to be when not under Father’s watchful scrutiny.

  Her lips purse and her golden brows furl. I’m seconds from stepping into the sunroom and asking if she’d like to paint me. For some reason, the idea of having my face—not the one I stare at in the mirror each day—on a canvas is inviting.