Page 32 of Cruel Longing

The house shook with another crash of thunder. The storm had stalled directly over the mansion. I wondered if Anna Novikov was involved too or even the Petrovs. How far-reaching was the betrayal?

“I’ll find out,” he promised.

“Thank you.”

Ciro walked out briskly.

I sat in my office, trying to understand what this meant. I had to get ahead of Luka. There was no way to do that if I didn’t know what he was planning. Hadn’t he done enough? Caused enough pain? I hadn’t returned his calls or texts. Maybe it was time I offered an olive branch. Maybe it was time I turned the tables on him.

Seventeen

LUKA

Iopened the door when I heard the first crash on the hardwood floor outside my father’s office. It sounded like glass.

“Mother?” I rushed toward her. She was hunched over, gripping a wine bottle in one hand while trying to stack shards of glass with the other. “Here. Move. You’re going to cut yourself.”

I tried to extract her from the broken portrait at her feet.

“Who put that there?” she snarled at the family photo. It was at least twenty years old.

“I think it’s been on the wall a long time,” I explained.

She staggered backward while I tried to make the path to the staircase walkable. I noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes or slippers.

“You don’t think I know where things belong in this house?”

I shook my head. She was drunk. Again.

“Can I take you to your room?” I reached for the bottle in her fist. Had she stopped using glasses?

She recoiled. “No.”

“I need to call someone to clean up this mess. You can still cut the bottoms of your feet. Just don’t move.” I pressed my hand forward to keep her still.

“They should have already been here,” she spat. “Lazy. Everyone here is lazy.” I heard the bottle thump on the ground as she sat on her heels. The silk robe she wore gathered in layers at her feet.

It occurred to me these incidents had been going on before my father’s death. I never believed she was struggling as a grieving widow. I looked up to the balcony. One of the house staff was already jogging down the stairs with a broom and dustpan as if she knew what to expect when she heard the glass break.

I frowned. The wheels had been coming off my family’s axis for a long time. Since the day Katya’s contract was signed. It only continued to spin farther out of control in my absence. Did my father know what he had done? Did he realize what he put in motion by stealing his children’s lives from them?

I was sent away. Katya wanted to leave Andrey. My father died. My mother was a drunk. The family fortune had been drained. How the fuck was I supposed to make a dynasty out of this train wreck? Being the Pakhan was a fucking curse some days.

“Where have you been?” my mother snapped at the girl.

“I had to find the broom,” she explained, sweeping the cracked frame into the center of the dustpan.

I lifted the portrait from the floor. It was a formal shot. All our family pictures were. My mother and Katya were both in long gowns, despite that my sister was barely ten in the photograph. I tried to remember what I thought about the Bratva organization when I was fifteen. I knew it paid for expensive vacations and boarding school. I knew it was the reason my father was feared. It was the reason I had a security detail as a child. It was the reason I lost an uncle and a cousin.

“Here.” I handed the staffer the canvas. “You can throw this out too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I didn’t need the reminder. “Can you make sure Mrs. Novikov gets to bed?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” I stepped toward my mother, but her eyes had started to close. I kissed her on the top of the head. “Sleep well. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” I wanted to ask my sister how much she knew about the drinking. Katya had enough going on.

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