Page 3 of Slipping into the Dark Side

“First thing I’m going to do is weed through the dead weight. The southern families are all a waste of space. We need to concentrate on our city.”

Yakov cleared his throat and carelessly put out there, “The southern families make us a decent amount of money.”

“Still. We should expand in Moscow. Open more markets for our marijuana distribution and cut out the Borisyuks and the Rostovas who take more than a third of our earnings.”

Yakov looked over his shoulder to the group of Rostovas in the corner. Aside from their unpleasant appearance, dirty pants and thick beards, they all wore big family rings with the letter ‘R’ engraved in the gold. There was rumor that the Rostovas had big caves on their land full of gold, but no one dared to threaten them. They came from an ancient line of gypsies, and the fear of being cursed kept everyone at a distance. As evident by the six feet of space put between them and everyone else.

If Yakov believed in curses, he’d have become a priest. “The Borisyuks are small, but they have potential.”

Yefim glared at him. The same blue eyes as their father. “I’m not interested in hearing what you would do, Yakov. This is my family now.”

Yakov held up an innocent hand. “I’m just pointing out a flaw in your thoughts.”

Dasha was beside Yefim and nudged him, “Yakov’s just jealous of you, Brother. Don’t listen to him.”

Dasha was sixteen and a suck-up. There was nothing worse in Yakov’s eyes than someone pretending to be likable, but being naturally likable was something that Dasha failed at.

“I’ve paid little attention to Yakov since he was born,” Yefim assured. Then he nudged his head toward the incoming group of girls. “I’ll leave it to our sisters to humor him.”

Yakov watched him leave and imagined what it would feel like to watch a bullet splatter his brain on the mahogany floor. But killing family was against the rules of their society. Even if Yakov managed to kill Yefim, he’d get nothing but excommunication.

Unless it was an accident.

“Oh, Yakov, what a face,” his sisters giggled around him, forcing a smile to wedge through his vile thoughts. Four sisters were older, and one was younger, but they were caring like their mother should have been but failed to be. The older ones were married now and were popping out babies. A new baby showed up every Christmas. He wasn’t quite sure he knew how many or even all of their names, but he had been forced to hold each of them in turn. A few ran around the hall, and their giggles echoed up the 20-foot ceilings.

None of them were upset about the death of their father. They had all been forced to marry at sixteen. Any love that lingered was destroyed by their husbands. It wasn’t something that was talked about, but occasionally, a sister would return with a black eye or a bandaged hand. It was the price paid for power.

Yakov noticed the momentshestepped into the room: Tatianna Nevsky. He pretended not to, but he shifted just enough to casually glance in her direction without anyone noticing. Right over his sister’s left shoulder, fifty feet fromwhere he was standing, Tatianna hugged Fedor’s arm with a pressed-on smile, dutifully greeting anyone who came to her. But her gaze was popping around the hall, impressed by the grand decorations, the high ceilings, and the great chandelier that glittered above them. This hall alone was worth more than her entire estate.

Then her eyes landed on him, a half a second, a mere accident, and she snapped her head away, forcing her deep concentration on the side of Fedor’s face like he was growing a mushroom in his beard.

Yakov hid a smirk behind his drink. Reading people had been something his father taught him; Tatianna didn’t realize how much she exposed in a single look. Perhaps she knew no one paid much attention to her because she was a woman, and though Yakov would agree with such a statement for most women, including his sisters, this was not true for her.

Luerna, Yakov’s eldest sister, shifted in front of his gaze, “Who are you staring at?”

“No one.” The words came out quicker than intended, and a smile pulled at Luerna’s dull lips.

She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder, standing directly in front of him to follow the same path as his eyes. “Oh, wow.” Luerna turned back to him. “Who’s she?”

Yakov shrugged, “Don’t know.” His lie would be easily caught because Luerna was just as talented at reading people. Their father would use her at parties to be a dumb-witted girl among the men while she gathered information from their conversations. Luerna had been Yaroslav’s favorite, and if she hadn’t been born a girl, she might have had a decent future. Instead, she was on baby number four and five, and her pregnant belly had become enormous in such a short time. Twins typically ran in the family. His twin brother had been born a half-mutated, a barely viable ball of tissue. The doctors weresure he had stolen every nutritious morsel and let his brother starve.

“He was talking to her at the funeral,” Anastasia announced. His youngest sister was a gossiper at twelve and he despised her for it. “Looked like a great conversation till her fiancée came over and interrupted.”

“Engaged isn’t married,” Luerna sweetly sang as she rubbed her fat belly.

Yakov threw back the rest of his drink. “If I listen to you all chatter another moment longer, I’m bound to lose my testicles.”

“You’re gonna go talk to her,” Luerna revealed as she took up his empty glass.

Yakov was about to snap back at her that he had no intention of doing so until Anastasia giggled, “He totally is.”

With bitterness in his back, Yakov made his way to Fedor and his fiancé. He could hear the cackles of his devilish sisters and promised revenge upon them another time. He could always set the sprinklers off when they were having brunch on the lawn.

Tatianna had never seen such extravagance in her life. The house, the money, the people: it was everything she ever wanted.

Why did I have to come from a poor family?

Poor, perhaps, was not the right word, considering Tatianna’s family was in the top five percent of society, but Tatianna wantedto be in the top one percent. She knew she was worth it. She had ideas that would blow the most educated hustler’s mind. There were so many ways to make money; if her father listened to only half of what she said, they would be on the same spectrum as the Morozovs. Instead, she was used as a binding contract between two families, and her intelligence was more of a nuisance than a desirable trait.

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