Slipping into the Dark Side (Morozov Mafia)

5. Attack

Chapter five

Attack

J ust her luck, Tatianna was sitting at another funeral. The struggle to not roll her eyes was real, and she thanked the dark sunglasses, hiding her withered expression. It wasn’t that she wasn’t sad–though she wasn’t–-it was the fact that mourning for the dead should be a private thing, something done in the middle of the night where no one can hear the pathetic weeping or see the ugly expression people make in their sobs. A lot of work went into her makeup, and she wasn’t about to ruin it. Fedor stood beside her with a rigid back and stiff face. She held his hand like a dutiful girlfriend and patted him on the back when his emotions overcame him.

He is rather emotional for a man.

Tatianna didn’t understand how anyone could still be carrying on after forty days of grief. Thankfully, it was the last day of the grieving period, and tomorrow, all the clocks would be set right, and all the sheets would be taken off the mirrors. It was hell getting ready in Fedor’s home, and she wasn’t sure her hair was all in the right place.

The fallout from Yakov’s movements was still being felt. There was quiet in the Utkins household as everyone tiptoed around each other. Demir had six sons and one living brother. All thought themselves deserving of Utkins’ lands. And though Fedor was the oldest, he was also a bastard. The only child that was actually legitimate was twelve-year-old Micah. Fedor stood behind him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. He was the only brother who hired Micah a personal guard in case one of his half-brothers decided to kill him.

The reading of the will would be tomorrow, which was something Tatianna was sad to miss.

It did put her in a predicament. If Demir Utkins didn’t pass the lands to Fedor, then marrying him wouldn’t benefit her family. And it would make her look used. A rumor of Fedor taking her to his bed was all that needed to escalate, and her reputation would be tarnished. She would be seen as damaged goods.

Her future depended on Fedor.

And Tatianna didn’t like that. She wasn’t the kind of woman that sat around. Marrying Fedor had been her idea. He was the easiest to manage out of all the sons. And he was the kindest. She couldn’t have asked for a better match.

Fedor’s younger brother, Sergey, approached. He had too much of his father in his face and in the beady of his dirty brown eyes. Tatianna had to hide her cringe. He had just turned fifteen and still possessed some childish features in his cheeks. Undoubtedly, he would grow to be attractive, but he was an oddball. Too polite, in Tatianna’s opinion, probably to hide some narcissism.

“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” he began with a sweeping gesture of the lands. It was full of people from the small town down the hill. Utkins governed them for forty years, and he did so with generosity. But there was also the expectation that if Demir wanted anything, the people would be required to give it. Land, a priceless heirloom, a daughter; his wants were unpredictable. She was sure when the news spread through the bars and brothels, there was a quiet celebration of his passing.

“Miss Nevsky, you really have to tell me what you use in your hair,” he flicked his hands through his black tresses. “I can’t seem to fix this mess upon my head.”

She didn’t know if he was patronizing or actually wanting an answer. Tatianna opened her mouth when a scream cut through the yard. She spun her head as Fedor gripped her arm, pulling her in a different direction. “What’s going on?”

“Come, come,” he demanded as he removed his gun from the inside of his coat.

A gun went off in the distance, and the sound echoed across the vast land like a wave. The lantern not inches from her shattered, and a piece of it sliced at her calf. She gasped and almost fell if not for Fedor pulling along, “Get up!”

“What’s going on!” she asked again, limping as she ran.

“There’s a revolt. I knew this would happen. I have men posted.”

“You knew this, and you didn’t tell me?”

“There was no sense of worrying you.”

A herd of soldiers enveloped them like a cocoon as they returned to the house. His brothers were scattered, going in their own directions. Another gun fired, and the man in front of Tatianna fell.

As silly as it was, she tried to scream, but it came out as a pathetic moan that embarrassed her, but thankfully, no one was paying much attention.

Sergey took up her other arm, wrapping it around his shoulder. “Where to?”

“The safe room.”

She was surprised Sergey had stayed close by. She thought he would have had his own escort. But he seemed just as confused.

“What do we do?” Sergey asked.

“I’ve hired men. Father’s hold on the people is at an end. We must fight if we don’t want to be taken out.”

“You are always ready for anything. I cannot fathom your intellect. I’d much rather draw than read those war books you constantly study.”

“I’ve been telling you to prepare for years.”

“Well, I figured you could simply handle it, and I’ll reap the benefits.”

Fedor sighed and set Tatianna in a chair before he turned and gave his brother an exasperated look. “If Father names you heir, all is lost.”

“If Father names me heir, I’m redoing this entire living room. It is absolutely dreadful.”

Fedor chuckled, despising and adoring at the same time.

Gunfire blasted the window on the left, making Tatianna fall to the floor to cover, but she didn’t hide. She wanted to see these men. They were stupid little crickets for attacking. When another soldier collapsed nearby, it wasn’t a scream that came through her throat but a scoff.

I refuse to go to another funeral.

“Get to the safe room, Tati.” Fedor kissed her cheek and checked his gun before he went to the shattered window to search for the resistance.

Running away with the women disgusted her. But she had never been allowed to shoot or hold a gun and wouldn’t be much help anyway.

When the shooting stalled, Tatianna ran across the wooden floor into the kitchen. The maids scurried around, trying to find good places to hide. She waved her hand. “To the safe room, let’s go.” Tatianna pushed them all out, pulling resistant old ladies as they cowered. Gunfire resumed, and a bowl of flour burst. One woman wouldn’t move despite how hard Tatianna grabbed her arms.

“The baby. The baby,” she whimpered and hid her face in her arms.

Tatianna gripped her arms. “Where?”

“Third room down the hall. Please, miss. Please.”

Tatianna ordered another servant to take the woman before Tatianna grabbed a vegetable knife and journeyed down the hall. It was quiet back here, blocking out the sounds from the yard. The brick walls kept her safe, but there was no telling if someone had come through the back. It increased her breath. She didn’t know what kind of resistance this was, but it didn’t matter. She was not a part of it and, therefore, an enemy.

With every step, her breath got heavy. Blood dripped down her leg. She had lost her shoe, and she left a bloody footprint behind. On the third door, Tatianna pushed it open and found the crib. The baby lay asleep inside. She smiled upon stepping up to the little boy. Abram was the last known son of Demire Utkins. Another victim of rape, born from a barmaid. She leaned over it, touching its tiny cheek, wondering what it would be like to have a child. There was a part of her that wanted one now, to hold and cherish, but then the other part of her hated the very idea of it. Perhaps because having a child would limit her, and she wanted to be limitless.

A breeze behind sent a chill up her spine. Arms encircled her shoulders, a hand on her mouth to quiet her screams. Tatianna dug her nails into her capture’s skin while the other slammed the knife into his thigh. He groaned into her hair before he flung her away, and she rolled across the ground till she hit a wall. The stranger was dressed in black with a ski mask. She panted, eyeing him, knowing she’d never make it to the door. But she tried anyway.

She ran, and he punched her hard, knocking her to the ground. There was no fighting consciousness, and Tatianna went limp.