Page 22 of Slipping into the Dark Side

“He killed your father!”

“My father was draining him.” Fedor snapped back. It was odd to see anger in him, but she wanted it. Tatianna wanted to see something other than his love. Fedor stepped back. “You know he wasn’t a good man, Tati. I miss him and am glad he’s gone in the same sentence. My mother was fourteen when he raped her. She was disowned by her parents and now lives as a whore. I can help her, but only if I have money. And what about you? I cannot allow you to have anything less than you deserve.” Fedor paced, fiddling with his thick beard. “If Yakov Morozov is good for my pockets, then I will be on his side. It is really none of your business who I talk to, and I certainly don’t like you questioning me.”

Tatianna got to her feet and stepped up to him. “Why? Because I’m a girl, so I must not understand?”

Fedor came to her with his hands on her arms. “I know you are smarter than me, Tati. I’ve always known. You read novels and poetry and have such opinions about things I have never thought about. It is what I love about you. And I have loved you for a very long time. I think from the moment I met you when I was fifteen, I wanted to marry you. I’m telling you this because even though you are smart, I am smart in a different way. Business is what I know. What I was bred to do.”

A tear dripped down her cheek.

He cupped her face, wiping the wetness from her skin as he rested his forehead on hers. “Please don’t be angry at me fordenying you. I don’t do it lightly. I’ve saved myself for you, just as you have for me. And on our wedding night, when you are officially my wife, I will make it up to you. I promise.” Fedor kissed her gently. He nudged her with his nose, squatting down to get her beautiful eyes on him. When a smile finally pulled at her lips, he embraced her. “Once you are my wife and we have a child, you won’t feel so bored.”

“I’m not bored,” she fought lamely.

“Most of your poor decisions come from boredom. How many times have you gotten us in trouble with your ridiculous shenanigans? I thought you were going to get a job. What happened to that?”

“My father wouldn’t sign the paper to allow me to work.”

“When I am your husband, I’ll sign it. Until you are with child, you can work as much as you want.”

Tatianna rested her head against his shoulder, holding him, loving him, and yet hating him all in the same moment.

In the following days, Tatianna watched the news and listened to every broadcast. She sat in the family room, refusing to budge as she flipped back and forth between stations. Her siblings would complain, and she’d slap at their hands when they reached for the knob on the TV. When her father got tired of all thecomplaints and asked her to share, she bitterly replied, “Or you can buy another TV.”

He didn’t like that.

Now Tatianna stood at the sink scrubbing dishes, destroying the hard work she put into her beautiful nails. She worked the sponge as if it was its fault for keeping her in the house so long. This was precisely why women didn’t stay at home after eighteen. She was dying for freedom. Dying to know what she was capable of.

“A train collision–” Tatianna snapped her head up as a news anchor sounded through the room. “On the way to Moscow caused a forty-two person fatality and an explosion that was felt for miles.”

Like being called by Siren, Tatianna, with dripping hands, numbly made her way to the living room. “A hundred cases of illegal liquor caused a blaze for hours, and firefighters were unable to locate any bodies. Now rumor is the conductor of one of the trains was fighting depression after he had lost his son in the war. We can’t say for sure if suicide was the objective.”

Tatianna’s legs gave out beneath her.

Nevsky turned in his chair. “Tati? What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t speak. Her breath wouldn’t come, and her heart pounded in her ears. Shame, guilt, and horror flooded into her, submerging any thoughts into a fog. It had been what she was waiting for. Yakov had gone through with one of her suggestions. He had done it perfectly. The attention was taken away from the fact that there was liquor on the train and now put on the conductor as if he had set it up himself.

With a hand over her mouth, Tatianna fought a smile. It felt wrong to do something like that. A whole bunch of people had died. But one thing she was taught in the mafia was that no one matters but family. Everyone else was chess pieces; the quicker they got taken off the board, the better.

Yakov gave her the kind of power she was searching for, and it filled her like an overflowing vase. She wanted to run to him now, to allow him to do everything he thought of doing and more. There was no question who she would choose now. It was Yakov. It might have always been him. She began to climb the stairs to call him when the phone rang. Nevsky crossed the threshold to his office. She followed him instead, slightly hoping it was Yakov. She waited just outside the door. One thing she loved about this stupid house was the ability to hear through the walls.

“Nevsky speaking.” A pause and then, “Are you serious? How many members?” Tatianna nearly squealed. “Three members of the Rostovas? Holy shit. Who do you think it was? Yeah, don’t say anything. You never know who is listening.” Another pause. “What? Why?”

She pressed her ear against it, waiting.

“Why doeshewant to talk to my daughter? Is he aware she is already engaged? Yeah. I will.”

Tatianna tiptoed across the room and dug her hands into the water of the sink just as her father came barreling out of his room.

“Why does Yakov Morozov want to talk to you? Why was he here the other day? What is going on?”

Tatianna stared at him like a deer in headlights. “Papa–”

Nevsky had her by the arm, pulling her in front of him. “What have you gotten yourself involved in?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you dishonored me? Look at me.” He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Have you?”

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