Page 4 of Between Power and Passion

"Dima has a big crush on Valentina Makarov," she singsongs in that annoying way only little sisters can manage.

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I shoot her a withering glare. "I do not!"

But my denial only makes her laugh harder. Even Mama can't hide her smile as she ladles the bright red soup into bowls.

"Aw, leave the boy be," she chides gently, her tone warm with affection. "Young love is nothing to be ashamed of."

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. Easy for her to say. She's not the one being teased mercilessly.

Papa chooses that moment to enter the kitchen, his brow furrowed in that serious way of his. He takes his usual seat at the head of the table and fixes me with a stern look.

"Your mother is right about one thing. There's no shame in admiring a beautiful girl." His gaze intensifies. "But you need to remember your place, Dmitri. The Makarovs are powerful, and Valentina is off-limits to the likes of us."

I know he's right, of course. The Makarov family runs this city's underworld with an iron fist. We're nothing but foot soldiers in their ranks. Still, I can't help the way my heart flutters whenever I catch a glimpse of Valentina's raven hair or the sound of her lilting laugh. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by a sharp rap on the front door. It sends a chill down my spine. Papa tenses, his hand instinctively going for the pistol at his hip as the laughter dies in Katya's throat. A hush falls over the kitchen, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Papa rises slowly, exchanging a loaded glance with Mama before cautiously making his way to the door. The rest of us hold our breath, bracing for the unknown.

In a blur of movement, the front door bursts open and Papa is shoved violently back into the room. I jump to my feet as more than ten armed men pour into our small kitchen, their weapons trained on my father.

"What is the meaning of this?" Papa demands, but his words are cut short as the barrel of a gun slams into the side of his head. He falls to the floor with a pained groan.

Rage courses through me, and I lunge forward without thinking. A searing pain explodes across my skull as one of the intruders brings the butt of his rifle down on me. The world tilts violently, and everything goes black.

When I regain consciousness, I'm lying on the cold, hard floor, my wrists and ankles bound tightly with coarse rope. The rough fibers have rubbed my skin raw. I push myself to sit up, resting my back against the wall, and the pain in my joints intensify with every movement. Katya is beside me, her eyes wide with fear, her small frame trembling. Only her wrists are bound. Across the room, Mama and Papa are similarly restrained, seated on the floor with their backs against the opposite wall. Their wrists are tied behind them, and their ankles are bound together. Papa's face is a mess of bruises and blood.

"What do you want from us?" I demand, glaring at the armed men who stand over us.

A burly man with a twisted scar on his face steps forward and slaps me hard across the face. My head snaps to the side, pain exploding through my cheek.

"You do not speak unless spoken to, boy," he snarls. "Show some respect to your elders."

I taste blood but keep my mouth shut. What could we have done to deserve this?

The scarred man's sneer grows as he grabs a fistful of Papa's hair, wrenching his head back. "Sergei Makarov does not tolerate mistakes, Ivanov. You know the price for disloyalty."

Papa grimaces but holds the man's gaze. "I have been nothing but loyal. Whatever you think I've done, you're mistaken."

"Liar!" the scarred man roars, slamming his fist into Papa's face.

Mama cries out with tears streaming down her face. "Please, he's telling the truth! We don't know what you're accusing him of!"

Fear churns in my stomach as I struggle against the ropes, the fibers cutting deeper into my skin. But the knots are too tight.

"Tell us what we want to know," the scarred man growls, "and this can all be over quickly."

Papa remains silent.

"Wrong answer."

A gunshot rings out, deafening in the small room. Mama's body jerks violently, and she collapses to the floor, blood spreading across her chest. Her lifeless eyes stare blankly, frozen in an expression of shock.

"Mama!" The anguished cry tears from my throat before I can stop it.

Katya's screams mingle with my own as she stares at our mother's still form, her face streaked with tears and spattered with Mama's blood.

"You animals!" I roar, my voice cracking with rage and despair. "She did nothing to you!"

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