Page 3 of Savage Surrender

2

IRINA

Ilingered at the front door to the apartment. Calling it an apartment was an overstatement. This tiny, cramped hovel was barely an excuse for a residence. Yet, it was supposed to be “home” for Maxim. My father put my younger brother here, claiming it was safer for him to live outside the stately Petrov mansion, but he wouldn’t fool me. I knew exactly what this grimy apartment was.

It was a prison. A cell. A location where Maxim would never thrive or prosper, like a fugitive.

He’d never done anything wrong—except be born. He’d never acted out or done something to warrant punishment. But here he was, trapped day in and day out, only able to anticipate infrequent visits from me, the only family he had, really. Igor Petrov would rather be dead than acknowledge Maxim as his relative at all.

“Been coming around a lot lately, Irina,” the Petrov guard said from his position at the doorway. He arched one graying brow, appearing mildly amused but always bored. This post had to be dull. Expected to keep Maxim here and no visitors in, thisguard was nothing more than a glorified babysitter, following my father’s decree that Maxim stay out of his sight.

Having grown up surrounded by my father’s men, I was used to their talking to me, even challenging me sometimes. I shrugged. “I haven’t been on campus since it’s winter break,” I replied, responding verbally to him at the same time that I signed it out for Maxim. He was deaf, but skilled with reading lips and ASL. I wouldn’t agree with this guard that I’d been visiting my brother often. My father only ever allowed me to visit as a hard-earned and seldom-given reward.

“Hmm.” The guard nodded. “It’s making me wonder if something’s going to change around here.” He gestured vaguely at the bare, sparsely decorated apartment.

“No changes that I know of,” I replied verbally and in ASL. No changes would ever be coming in regard to how Igor Petrov viewed his only son. Maxim had always been less than, and it was because of this that I tried to provide Max with as much nurturing love as I could.

In the corner, near the tiny fake Christmas tree that had yet to be taken down, a small pile of gifts sat for him. I was the one who gave him the minimal luxuries beyond essentials. And even then, I couldn’t be guaranteed to know the gifts I bought under my strictly watched allowance would remain with Maxim. My father learned long ago that he could easily punish me by hurting Max and depriving him of nicer things.

“I will see you as soon as I can,” I told Max near the door.

He hugged me again, then stepped back to reply with his hands and fingers. “I know you’ll be busy in school soon.”

My heart ached for his never having that chance. He was still just a teen, a young teen, but the “homeschool” he had and limited online lessons he was permitted here as a deaf and immunocompromised boy weren’t the same as the experience of going to school and having the full freedom to learn whatever he wanted to, however he wanted to.

“But I will still visit as soon as I can,” I insisted.

He nodded, knowing how things had to be.

For now.

My heart ached as the driver assigned to me grunted in the hallway. “Let’s move it.”

I was always told what to do, always expected to obey the Petrov men dictating how things would be. I was powerless to help Maxim or demand that he have a better life.

For now.

One day, I would make things better. One day,someday, I would take charge of my life and Maxim’s.

Behind the driver, I walked out of the filthy apartment building, deadened to the details of such a low quality of life that could be had here. I had to go numb and block it all out. If I didn’t, I’d fall prey to the need to scream and rage at the injustice of it all.

For not the first time, I vowed to right this grave wrong. One day, I would kill my father. I would end his life, and in doing so, I would end his power to punish Maxim.

I wouldn’t have to be his spy on campus anymore.

I wouldn’t be required to report on this drug and turf war he was attempting to not only instigate but win against the Baranovs and the Ilyins, two other prominent Mafia Families in New York.

On the ride back to my father’s house, I zoned out and stared unseeing at the scenery as the car sped through the bleak and gray wintry day.

I hated this life. I loathed the details of my existence and prayed I could escape these circumstances—trapped as a daughter, used as a spy, and cast aside as an inferior person who could be as indispensable as the next soldier or guard. It was nolife. It was a sentence. A curse. A damnation that I was ever so unfortunate to be born a Petrov.

Hating this life was the motivation that fueled me, but declaring freedom from my father was too important of a goal for me to screw it up. I couldn’t leave anything to chance. I had to do this correctly, wisely, because if I erred in overthrowing him and robbing him of the power to neglect or punish Maxim, I would risk being a target myself.

The driver took a call, conversing in grunts and one-word sounds. It was all a code, all a ploy to prevent me from actually knowing anything of use.

Again, I was used to it. But witnessing another call designed to keep information from me reiterated how careful I would need to be when I killed my father and ended his reign of terror—the terror over me and Maxim.

I couldn’t count on any of the Petrov men to surrender or turn rat. I couldn’t look to any allies within the Petrov Family to assist me or even offer advice. Wishful thinking had me dreaming of asking some of the men to help me stage a coup. None wouldbe willing, though, as all of them, young and old, feared Igor. Younger soldiers were too naïve to act out, eager to win the favor of the bosses and leaders within the organization. Older soldiers were too content and comfortable in their seniority to rebel.

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