Page 91 of Skin Deep

“Meeting over?” Yuri asked, leaning on his broom.

War nodded. “You could’ve come.”

“Didn’t need to,” Yuri replied. “Your job. Your responsibility.”

Nikita dropped his cigarette on the stone stairs and ground it down with his boot. Yuri narrowed his eyes at Nikita, who smirked and picked up the butt, tossing it into the dustpan that Yuri held out before turning back to me. “Could we steal you for a moment, Paxton? We’d like a word.”

I glanced over at War. He eyed them both with suspicion. “What for?”

Nikita shrugged. “Just a little man to man talk.”

“Go on,” I urged War and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, enjoying the way he turned red with Yuri and Nikita watching us. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I needed a shower anyway.” War lowered his head and marched past Yuri, stepping inside and up the stairs.

I ran my hands over my shirt. “What can I do for you two?”

Yuri didn’t smile. He leaned the broom against the side of the house and said firmly, “Come inside.”

I followed Yuri and Nikita into the kitchen where he washed his hands while Nikita went straight to the fridge, pulling it open to peer inside.

“Has War told you what I did in the old country?” Yuri asked.

“I assume it was related to what you do now,” I said with a shrug. “Handling and preparing the dead.”

“Things were different then.” He turned around, meticulously drying each finger on the printed hand towel. “The soviets were still in charge, and all of that was handled by the state. I was not afforded the luxury of choice. Preparation of the dead was my family business going back to the time before, back when we had czars instead of presidents. Death is in my family’s blood. We are born to it. Though Warrick and I share no blood, that connection runs deep. He may have been born a Volkov, but make no mistake, he is also a Laskin.”

Nikita got out a bottle of vodka from the freezer, bringing it over with three shot glasses. “He’s our son,” he said, putting the glasses down and filling them to the brim. “So, naturally, we must ask what every good father would.”

“You want to know what my intentions are with him,” I said.

Yuri nodded.

I’d been waiting for this talk for a while, ever since we’d arrived at the Laskin homestead. Whether it would come from Yuri or Nikita was up in the air, since Nikita was his biological father. They weren’t close, but War didn’t seem close with anyone except maybe Shepherd.

Nikita sat at the table. Both he and Yuri watched me closely. Yuri’s glare was more intense, while Nikita gave off an air of disinterest, though I figured that was an act. He wouldn’t be there if he didn’t care.

I took a deep breath. “I intend to marry him. With your blessing, of course.”

Nikita smirked, but Yuri didn’t react at all. If either was surprised, they didn’t show it.

“You understand what that means?” Nikita said. “If you marry Warrick, you’ll be binding yourself and your daughters to this family.”

“I understand—”

“You understand nothing,” Yuri snapped coldly, cutting me off. His expression softened when Nikita put a hand on his arm. “When I came to this country, I came in debt. The vory paid my way here and saved my life. To be queer in my homeland was a death sentence. I watched my friends and lovers be rounded up and sent to rot in Russian prisons for years. When Sacha got me out, I…” He choked on the words, eyes growing glassy.

“He never intended to become involved,” Nikita said, taking over. “All he wanted was to work off his debt and start a new life in America. But I ruined that for him. And you’ve been cleaning up my messes ever since, haven’t you, old man?” Nikita smiled and said it with such affection that it was almost hard to believe he was the same man who’d gunned down a bunch of men the day before.

Yuri nodded. “The trouble our affair has caused over the years could be an epic tale filled with blood and regret. Many have died. What we have, where we are, it is a place bought and paid for in blood.”

“That is not the life I wanted for my son,” Nikita said somberly. “It is not the life any father wants for his children.”

“I don’t intend for Charlie and Lettie to be exposed to all the murder that goes on around here,” I said firmly.

“You don’t,” Nikita agreed with a nod. “But they will be. Take it from someone who tried everything to spare his son the wrath of his ancestors. Eventually, it will happen. You cannot stop the cycle while still being a part of it. Your daughters, they will come to know the truth of who and what you are. They may even come to hate you once they see the truth. Men like us, we have to be at peace with that. It is the price of fatherhood in this life.” He slid a shot glass to me.

“This family will circle around your children and be a shield,” Yuri promised. “A bloody shield, but one that protects them without hesitation. If you become one of us, our history becomes your history. Our secrets become yours to keep. Your daughters' secrets to keep. You have children of an impressionable age. It’s important that they understand that we stand or fall as one.”

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