Page 2 of Slipping into the Dark Side

Tatianna groaned and rolled her eyes before she put on a pleasant, beautiful smile and turned toward the man approaching. Her boyfriend, Fedor Utkins, was the size of a buffalo with broad shoulders, a slender frame, and a long, thick black beard. At twenty, his facial hair was his pride and joy, and he spent an hour in the morning combing through it, tweezing and shaping it to the perfection that it was today. It was aconversation piece at awkward moments when people focused on his black skin next to his white-skinned father.

Fedor slowed as he got closer, his eyes widening on the stranger behind her. Tatianna thought about explaining the situation, but she thought it would be fun to have a little drama, so she said nothing until he was standing right beside her.

Fedor’s fingers slipped around her bicep as he faced the man. Tatianna dutifully introduced over her shoulder, “This is my fiancée, Fedor Utkins.”

Fedor held out his hand, “Good to meet you, Mr. Morozov.”

Tatianna snapped her head around, wide-eyed, as she met the light blue of Morozov’s gaze. He was still fucking humored, and she hated him for it. Did he think she was impressed?

“My deepest condolences.”

“Yakov,” Yakov introduced himself as he shook Fedor’s hand. “I’m not the heir. Just another son.”

Tatianna turned to face him, forcing Fedor to let go of her arm if only to rest it on her back. “Condolences, Mr. Morozov.”

Yakov blew out smoke, flicking his eyes between the two of them. The quiet was unsettling, and Tatianna ran her manicured fingernails through her blond curls in a mild attempt to move whatever this was along.

“It was such a tragic accident.” Fedor finally found something to say.

“An accident,” Yakov repeated as he sucked in. “Very tragic.”

It was mocking, and it confused Tatianna. Shouldn’t this boy be in mourning for his father’s sudden departure? Sure, his father had been nearly seventy, but falling out of a tree stand while hunting wasn’t the best way to go.

“I’m sorry,” Fedor flustered. “How do you two know each other?”

“We don’t,” Tatianna assured, resting a hand on his bicep. “Let’s go pay our respects.”

Yakov stopped their departure. “The Utkins typically don’t come this far north.” Yakov blew smoke out. His blue eyes were like X-ray scanners, zooming over them, searching for betrayals and deceits. “I’ve been to all my father’s meetings and never once seen Mr. Nevsky. I’m curious why you all came this way for a man you’ve never met.”

Fedor shifted uncomfortably. “My father’s orders, Mr. Morozov.”

“Yakov,” Yakov corrected again. “Well, I hope you will do more than visit the dead. Come back to the house. I would love to hear how things are going in the South.”

Flustered and excited, Fedor stuttered a reply, “I. I would be happy to. Thank you, sir.”

Yakov stepped on his cigarette and met Tatianna’s eyes. “Bring your fiancé. We can make a night of it.”

Yakov waved as he walked away, but it wasn’t until he made it to the casket that Fedor turned to her. “Yakov Morozov just invited us to his house,” he slightly panicked. Fedor scratched his massive beard, a nervous habit. “Oh, I can’t believe it,” he proudly grinned. “I’m gonna get this family on the map. I’ve got to go tell my father.” Fedor kissed her cheek and ran off.

Tatianna fell against the cast iron gate.

And daringly, she looked toward the funeral to find Yakov’s blue eyes were on her.

Chapter two

Reception

The number of tears Yakov saw today was humorous. Even in death, they feared his father, as if their performance was being judged from Yaroslav’s prison in Hell. But that was the power of his father, to intimidate even from beyond the grave, and Yakov only envied such control.

With a drink in hand, he joined the circle of his brothers. Yefim was the eldest at twenty-three and next in line. At the reading of the will, all of Yaroslav’s power would pass to him. Yefim was trying hard not to show his excitement, but he bounced on his toes, a telling sign that he hadn’t conquered the habit their father constantly berated him for.

To the right was Yaroslav Jr., the youngest male at ten. His sadness was perhaps real, but Yakov wasn’t close with the boy.He was meek, skinny, and awkward, but what kid wasn’t at that age? Puberty might help him, but nothing could fix his ugly face. Not everyone could be good-looking. Someone in the family would end up with dog features, considering how grotesque their mother was.

Yakov was lucky it wasn’t him.

“So many faces I’ve never seen before,” Yefim nodded toward the door. Another batch of visitors who only showed up to get a free meal. “Pathetic.”

“They are your people now,” Yakov murmured before he took a drink.

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