Page 31 of Porcelain Lies

“Diana doesn’t control me either.” I move toward the window, needing space to breathe. “Go home, Sofia. I have work to do.”

She doesn’t move, her reflection in the glass showing her internal struggle between pride and persistence. Her jawline is set in a surly line, and I remember my mother, trapped in endless cycles of questioning and demands, trying to appease an unappeasable partner.

“This isn’t over,” she finally says. She doesn’t speak further, and I assume she’s gone, but I don’t turn around to check. The silence feels like a blessing, but her lingering perfume reminds me that I’m never truly free.

The undernote of vanilla fills my nose. Just like my mother’s. And suddenly, I’m ten again, standing in our St. Petersburg apartment’s doorway as she braids Diana’s hair. Her fingers move swiftly, lovingly, while humming that lullaby she always sang.

That was the last morning I saw her.

Later that day, I came home from school to find her vanished. No note. No goodbye. Just Father sitting in his armchair, reeking of vodka, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Where’s Mama?” Diana had asked.

His silence filled the room like poison gas. Those dead eyes fixed on us, daring us to ask again. The unspoken threat clear:Don’t question, don’t search, don’t speak her name.

For weeks after, I’d wake to Diana crying in the next room. But we never mentioned our mother again. Not when Father stumbled home drunk. Not when his new women paraded through our home. Not even when-

“Are you even listening to me?” Sofia’s sharp voice cuts through the memory.

Blyad!

She’s still here, ranting about my obligations and her expectations.

I turn from the window, ice flooding my veins. The same possessive rage that lived in my father’s eyes now burns in hers. The need to control, to own, to break.

“Get out.” My voice comes out low, dangerous.

Sofia’s mouth drops open. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Each word falls like a hammer blow. “Out. Now.”

She takes a step back, finally recognizing the threat in my tone. Good. Let her feel what real fear is. Let her understand exactly who she’s trying to cage.

“This isn’t over, Aleksei.” Her voice trembles despite her attempt at authority. “We have an arrangement—”

“Which can be broken.” I move toward her, watching her retreat. “Remember that.”

Sofia stands frozen, her perfect mask cracking. Good. Time to shatter her delusions completely.

“Let me be clear.” I regard her coldly. “This arrangement exists for one reason — to satisfy the old guard’s outdated expectations. Nothing more.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “But Diana said—”

“I told you. My sister doesn’t speak for me.” The words come out sharp enough to make her flinch. “She arranged this marriage thinking it would benefit the Bratva. But I run the Bratva, not her.”

“The other families expect—”

“The other families answer to me.” I straighten to my full height. “Or have you forgotten who holds power here?”

Color drains from Sofia’s face. For all her pretense at being the perfect mob wife, she’s never truly understood our world. The violence that built it. The blood that maintains it.

“This isn’t about the families.” Her voice wavers. “Diana promised we would—”

“Diana promised what she had no right to promise.” The mention of my sister’s meddling sets my teeth on edge. Always trying to fix me, to force me into her idea of normalcy. “My personal life isn’t a chess piece for her to move.”

Sofia’s hands shake as she grips her designer purse. “You can’t just—”

“I can do whatever I want.” Power flows through my words, the tone that makes hardened criminals step back.“That’s what beingPakhanmeans. Something you and my sister seem to have forgotten.”

---