4. Scream
Chapter four
Scream
O ne month after his father’s funeral, they were all finally sitting down to read the will. Yakov thought it would be a family affair, but for some reason Yaroslav’s lawyer brought in every captain of their organization. From the most paid to the lowest level. Thirty five heads with their sons. They had to orchestrate this gathering in the grand hall instead of their father’s study to fit all the guests. The sun came in through the windows, blasting rays and unbelievable heat that even the air conditioner in the corner of the room couldn’t combat. He was sweating in his suit and he pulled at his collar.
It’s been forty days without Yaroslav and Yakov still waited for the man to come back to life. His ghost floated in the hallways, watching, never giving up his control on his family. Yakov would do anything to stomp his ghost into hell. Which was why drinking and drugs would have been very beneficial these last few weeks, but Tatianna’s words kept him from such weaknesses. If Yefim came for him in the middle of the night, he needed to be ready. Living in a constant state of fear had done damage to his pride. Never before had he been scared to sleep. Today would end all of that.
The five sons of Yaroslav sat in the front row with their sisters in the back. Thankfully no children today which was a blessing. As much as they were entertaining, the quiet was preferable. They were waiting for the last of the guests to arrive when Yakov’s aggravation broke through. “Why were so many invited to this thing?”
“Don’t worry, brother.” Yefim’s legs bounced even as he chastised Yakov for being impatient. “You’ll get your inheritance soon enough.”
Yakov clenched his teeth, twisting his notepad in a pole, willing himself to smack his brother in the face with it.
A hand landed on his shoulder from behind. Boris Stephanov was his best friend and confident and the man whispered in his ear, “Whatever happens today, I’m on your side.”
Yakov nodded once, but it was a needed assurance. There was a dread in his gut about today. So many things could change. He was hoping his father would treat him with the respect he deserved but one thing about Yaroslav was you never knew where you stood with him. He liked you one minute, but would shoot your dog the next. Yaroslav loved how he made people afraid of him.
“Why would Nevsky bring his daughter?”
Yakov spun his head faster than intended and found Tatianna just behind her father’s right shoulder. She skipped over him in her assessment of the room and scooted ahead when Nevsky directed her to a chair. She was dressed in a white pencil skirt and tight white long sleeve shirt. She held out her hand to Fedor and he kissed her knuckles in greeting. She acted like she adored it, but she was so far above him, she was like a hundred thousand dollar painting, and he was a drawing by Yakov’s five year old niece.
Women were something he never would understand. Nor would he take the time to try.
Yakov had tried to forget about her. Whores were plenty in the Morozov household, and they were talented at their job. But too many times he found himself fantasizing what it would be like to get between Tatianna’s legs. He bet there was a venus-fly trap down there waiting to devour him. And he didn’t think he’d mind the pain.
Boris cackled in his ear, “The one that got away.”
“Shut up,” Yakov hissed.
“So touchy. Is this why you’ve been in a terrible mood?”
“Yes, my father was ripped apart by a pack of wolves, but a witless woman is why I’m miserable.”
Yakov exaggerated about the wolves. His father was already dead when the wolves fed on his carcass, but it hit with the right dramatic flare.
Boris snickered. “You lovesick fool.”
Yakov spun around and smacked him with the paper, but Boris only laughed as he covered himself, profusely apologizing. Yakov huffed, found Tatianna’s gaze on him, and spun around to fix his composure. He ignored the side eye roll from Yefim and the hushed ‘children’ he chastised under his breath.
Yaroslav’s lawyer came to the front of the room, standing in front of Yaroslav’s massive self portrait. Funny enough, Yaroslav was wearing wolf skin over his shoulders.
The speech went on for an hour. Most of it was bullshit. Yakov barely held on to the topics as the lawyer divided up small portions of his father’s empire. It was all normal stuff, lands that people already controlled being kept in their positions. It was tedious, but necessary incase anyone got ideas about expansion or taking what wasn’t theirs.
Yakov didn’t start to listen till the lawyer got to Yaroslav’s sons and he sat up straight, ready to take the disappointment like a man.
“To my sons, Yaroslav Jr., Dasha, and Slavik. A yearly inheritance of three hundred thousand will be divided between you. And a hundred thousand will be given for every child you conceive, (Legitimate or bastard). I ask you to follow your brother in leading the company, but if you chose to venture out, you will be excommunicated from the family and all inheritance will be lost.”
Just like that, Yaroslav controlled his siblings from the grave. It wasn’t surprising, but it was disappointing to hear. Yakov didn’t feel badly for them however. He worried more now for himself. What had his father planned for him? Why not include him with his other brothers?
“Yefim and Yakov.”
Yakov rested his elbows on his knees so he didn’t have to see his brother’s bouncing leg. He twisted the roll of paper in his hands, having completely forgotten to take any notes, but what did he need to remember all this tedious information for anyway? He was going to be cast out. He was going to be exiled. He’d become a beggar on the streets.
No, even if he lost everything, there was no living like a peasant. He’d get it all again. It would take him years perhaps, but he’d come back swinging.
“This decision was the hardest to make, but I made it without hesitation. Yefim will be sent to America–”
“What?” All of Yefim’s movements stalled and Yakov forgot to breathe.
“To join forces with the Rostovas in their business venture. Yakov will take over as my replacement for the family.”
Yakov stared ahead, watching as the lawyer tucked the paper back into the manila envelope. Even as his brother got to his feet and rushed out of the room with his pregnant wife in tow, or how the crowd behind him outraged, nothing made much sense. The lawyer stood in front of him and handed him the envelope, “Mr. Morozov.”
Boris latched onto his shoulders, “Holy fucking shit!”
Yakov didn’t reach for it. He pushed around the lawyer and went to the vanity against the wall and pulled out a pistol. It was already loaded and he pulled back on the hammer and waited for Yefim to come back through the doors. He didn’t know if he could do it, but he knew he’d have no choice. If Yefim tried to kill him, he’d have to kill him first. There was no taking this title away from him. He deserved it even if Yefim didn’t feel that way.
“Everybody, sit down,” Yakov demanded, never taking his eyes off the doorway. He wanted to hear him, hear the door slam, and hear Yefim’s car drive away. “Be quiet,” he barked. He licked his lips and waited. Sweat dripped from his armpit and soaked the side of his shirt. He continued to wait. Minute after minute.
His sister Luerna ran out of the room and only two minutes later returned, “He’s gone. He went out the back.”
Did he trust her? Could he? She had been his caretaker since he was born, but did she love him more than Yefim?
“It’s okay, Yakov,” she assured.
If she was betraying him, he wouldn’t see it coming. Luerna could set fire to his house, admit it, and he’d still blame someone else. As the family head, having a weakness like that wasn’t worth keeping around. His father would tell him to send her away and perhaps he would, but for now, Yakov turned his attention to the audience.
The upset was clear on too many faces. They had all been sucking up to the wrong son all these years and now they were bitter. Boris was grinning because he knew that his life would change for the simple fact of being Yakov’s friend.
But what was going to happen for being Yakov’s enemy?
Yakov fired.
The bullet smacked into Demir Utkins, and blood spattered onto Fedor and on Tatianna’s white skirt. She stood in horror, though she hadn’t screamed, Yakov noted. His sisters had, but not her. He kept the gun trained on the audience and watched each movement. Hands went into jackets or hips, but everyone stayed still. “Your only warning. Obey me and live.”
There was little movement, the shock keeping them still.
Fedor was the first one to stand, covered in his father’s blood. Yakov met his gaze, preparing another bullet into the chamber, but Fedor held up a hand. He was shaking and wild eyed. “Does our conversation still apply?”
Yakov kept his grip tight. Demir Utkins had been up his brother’s ass for a long time. Killing him was purposeful, and a little selfish. He wanted Fedor to get pissed off so he could kill him, get him out of the way so Yakov could pursue Tatianna. The conversation with Fedor at his father’s funeral had been truthful then, but with this turn of events, it didn’t apply. In front of so many, Yakov had to build trust. Or they would all turn against him.
Yakov nodded. “It does.”
Fedor glanced at his father, who sat with his head back and mouth wide and blood dripping into the carpet. The sound was more like a ‘splat’ than a drip. Fedor bowed his head. “Mr. Morozov.”
It was slow, the acceptance, but it came. They could have outnumbered him, they could have all drawn their guns at the same time and killed him, but Yaroslav’s painting was behind Yakov and any disagreement dissolved under his scrutiny.
Yakov wanted power like that.
The power to control without even being in the room.
Until then, this will do.
—
Yakov found her in the servant’s quarters. Tatianna stood beside the sink as a maid went about trying to scrub out the blood but it only smeared it. She slapped a hand against her hip, “Thank you for trying.”
Her politeness caught him off guard. He never thanked the help and he didn’t know anyone who did.
After another failed attempt to get rid of the red stain, Yakov interrupted. “Go get her a change of clothes from my sister’s closet.”
Tatianna didn’t look back at him, staring at the floor instead.
“Please,” he added awkwardly.
The maid rushed off and Yakov approached from behind. There was a rush to him, an excitement that he didn’t know if he could contain. Everything he wanted was coming to him, all the pieces were fitting into place. It was addicting and filled him with a happiness he had not felt in a long time.
Perhaps he had never been happy because this feeling was euphoric and incomparable. The only thing would make it better would be to have a woman in his bed tonight.
Yakov stopped when he was only inches behind her. Close enough to smell her perfume, but not enough to feel her ass. He could see the different shades of blond in her hair and wondered what it would feel like to slip his fingers into it. And clench his hand around it. “You didn’t scream.” He ran his eyes down the low dip in the back of her blouse. It exposed her spine but nothing else. It was just enough tease to entice him.
“Was I supposed to?”
He fought a smile. “Girls typically scream.”
“When they are scared or shocked. I was neither.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. Tatianna didn’t know how to answer it. When she saw him standing there waiting for his brother to come barreling through the door, she had prepared herself for it. She thought she was going to watch them try to kill each other. But when he turned the gun on the audience, she remembered how he had looked at Demir at the funeral. The eyes of a killer weren’t hard to notice. For her at least.
Two fingertips ran down her spine, causing a terrible shiver. Yakov smirked as he watched her skin pebble.
“Don’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t move away. She didn’t change her position.
“You don’t belong with him.”
Tatianna hardened herself upon those words and pulled away, turning to face him. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Yet.” He smirked.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Normal girls scream. A normal girl marries a normal man. If that is what you want to be, then Fedor is a perfect match.” Yakov backed away as he heard the maid return. He wasn’t going to keep pushing. If she truly didn’t want to explore her options and she’d rather settle for less, then there was nothing he could do. Nothing he was willing to do anyway. He was now the new leader to the Morozov family. There would be plenty of women to choose from. “Just some advice for next time if you wish to continue your game.” Yakov turned from her. “Scream.”