Page 6 of Tormented Heir

I walk over to her, and she envelops me in a hug. She smells of roses and cake.

“Not in Russian,” Mamma says. “Anton doesn’t like him speaking the mother tongue.”

“I don’t speak Italian,” Russian Nonna snaps.

“He speaks good English.” Mama beams at me, pride in her violet eyes.

“You do?” Nonna asks me in English.

“Yes, I speak it good,” I say.

“I speak it well,” Mama corrects me.

My cheeks burn. I don’t like getting things wrong.

Why can’t I speak in Russian? After all, I don’t want to be like my new papa. When I grow up, I want to be like my Russian papa in heaven because he was strong, brave, and clever. I need to try harder.

“You’re doing well, Dimitri.” Mama pats my head. “Don’t get upset when I correct you. It’s just another way for you to get better.”

I think about that and then nod.

“Signora Amato, which wine shall I open for the meal?” A young girl sticks her head around the door and addresses Mama.

“Two of the red, two white, and a bottle of champagne to begin, but perhaps ask Anton as he is quite particular.”

The girl nods, and her cheeks turn a bright red. Why is she so red at having to go ask papa?

“Very good, Signora Amato.”

“Amato,” Russian Nonna spits. “Thank God the boy at least kept his father’s name.”

“Thanks to you filling his head full of tales. You made Mikhail sound like a hero and an angel all in one. The boy hero worships a man he can never live up to because he’s dead.”

“What does hero worship mean?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Mamma says with a shake of her head. “Why don’t you go and play?”

Play with who? There are no other children here. Sometimes there are if some of the servants bring theirs to work with them, but mostly there are none. I have home school four days a week where I sit and learn so I can pass my exams. Papa says it would do me good to board, but Mamma says she can’t bear it, and for once she is putting her foot down. I don’t know what that means, but I am glad Mama put her feet down as I don’t want to go away.

I run along the long hallways and race up the stairs. I’ll go to my room and find some of my new toys. I got a shiny red toy car, and I want to race that against my old blue one down the hall.

As I near my room, I hear a strange sound from above. The attic.

I’m not allowed up there as it is Papa’s study. I’m at my door when I hear the noise again. It’s a strange groan, and it isn’t Papa. Is something hurt up there? Maybe one of the cats got stuck. It could be something scary, though, like a wild animal.

Nervous, but excited that there might be a bear in the attic, I quietly open the bottom door and climb the stairs. Some creak. I’ve snuck up before to play with Papa’s pens and pretend I’m important the way he is, so I know which steps to avoid.

Careful to step over stairs four and six, I reach the top and poke my head between the wooden balustrade.

My mouth falls open. Papa has the apple cheeked servant over his desk. His pants are down, and his white, saggy buttocks are clenched as he thrusts backward and forward. The servant is making the funny sounds.

A laugh crawls up my throat. Papa looks so silly. The servant makes another sound, and Papa smacks her bottom. “Shut the fuck up. If my wife hears us, you’ll cost me a fortune in attorney’s fees.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, breathless. “She won’t hear. She’s with her mother.”

My papa shakes and groans and makes weird noises, and then he pulls away from her and pulls his pants up.

I must leave, but I’m frozen to the spot. I know I’ve seen something bad. Something Papa doesn’t want Mama to know about. It’s naughty. It looks like what the animals do in the fields. The servant girl pulls her clothes around her. I can’t see her well, but she’s pushing her skirt down.

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