6. Kirill #2
But that’s neither necessary nor fun.
I step forward. “I might give you a chance if you answer a question.”
He straightens and, curiously, his colorful eyes become a bright green. “Yes, sir.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
His shoulders hunch so fast, it would be comical under any other circumstance. “I…have not.”
“Night, soldier.”
“No, wait.” He jumps in front of me so that his chest nearly slams against mine.
I stare down at him, and I can smell the soft tones of his skin. The little fucking tease.
“Are you blocking my way, Lipovsky?”
He jumps back, his chest heaving. “No, sir. I just…can I be honest?”
“When have you ever not?”
His eyes meet mine for one second, two, before he shifts them downward and murmurs, “You make me uncomfortable, that’s why.”
Well, well, would you look at that?
It takes everything in me not to grab him by the throat and throw him against the nearest wall.
But then again, all the scenarios I’m picturing in my head are frowned upon, especially with someone who’s supposed to be under my care.
So I step past him.
“I answered you. Are you going to give me a chance?”
“No.”
“But you said—”
“I might consider it. I did that and decided against it.” I disappear down the hall and catch a glimpse of the insolent soldier glaring at my back.
Good. Because I’m going to make him even more uncomfortable going forward.
To the point where he’ll hate his own skin and regret ever crossing my path.
* * *
On the day of the mission, everyone is on high alert.
However, it’s not the suffocating type where it feels like a mistake is waiting to happen.
My team is focused and have the level of training to keep their heads in the game.
The sooner this is done, the faster we’ll get to leave.
I’m about to head out of my office when someone barges through the door. Before I contemplate smashing their head in and using the corpse as my new mattress, the man in question comes into view.
His round belly precedes him in presence and has more character than the man himself. At least that belly has been consistent, which can’t be said about him.
An air of confident smugness coats each and every one of his beady features. His darker eyes shine with pure evil. His nose is straight, high, and makes him look as arrogant as a god.
That’s about the only physical feature I inherited from the man. I mostly take after my mother—something he and I share a mutual disregard for.
Viktor appears at the threshold behind him, wearing a rare apologetic expression.
He of all people knows that Roman Morozov and I shouldn’t share the same continent, universe, or time—period. In fact, seeing him on the day of my mission is no different than dreaming about ravens, crows, and serpents eating from my skull.
And I’m not even superstitious.
There’s no need to ask how he got here. My father has the type of power that enables him to stuff some politicians in his pockets and some military leaders in his service.
The only thing he’s pissed about is that he doesn’t have enough power to have me discharged yet.
I glance at Viktor and he nods, then steps outside.
Not wanting to look at my old man’s putrid face, and not having the option to pray for his disappearance, I busy myself with checking my weapons.
I dismantle my rifle slowly, taking my time in doing the task. “To what do I owe this unpleasant visit?”
“You were always an insolent little fucker,” he heaves, probably due to the effort he exerted to carry his belly here.
“Kind of learned from the best.”
I don’t look at him, but I can feel the heat of his glare hitting the back of my neck. He surely doesn’t waste time in letting his true colors show through.
Having obviously lost the battle of remaining in a standing position, he all but marches over and throws his weight on my chair. Right opposite to where I’m perching on the desk.
His face is too big for his neck, his hands are too fat, his veins are about to pop, and he’s sweating profusely, not even saved by Russia’s winter.
“I haven’t seen you in a year and this is the welcome I get?” He stresses his words in that holier-than-thou tone. The one he uses whenever he decides to ‘punish’ me.
Teach me the way.
Make me learn how to become his suitable ‘heir.’
“You haven’t seen me in a year, but I’m curious how you still expect some form of a welcoming ceremony.” I lift my head. “Have you earned some royal title I’m not aware of?”
“You fucking—” He lifts his hand off the desk. It’s a habit at this point that the old fuck has had trouble getting rid of.
I stare right at that hand, daring him to hit me.
Just touch me, Roman. I fucking dare you.
He lowers it back down, knowing full well I’d shoot him between the eyes.
I told him as much the last time he hit me—when I was fifteen. I said if he does it again, I’ll kill him, butcher his corpse, and bury it where the sun doesn’t shine.
He’s been taking it seriously. That and I’m way stronger than him. I can take ten of him combined.
Roman Morozov was once the strongest man I knew. Now, he’s nothing but a shadow of his former self. A clown of a fat old man whose body is riddled with enough diseases to put an entire hospital to shame.
He smooths his ugly gray tie that looks like it was stolen from a nineties B movie. “You haven’t been replying to my calls or letters. Why?”
“I told you why.” I click the magazine in place. “In fact, I told you the reason four years ago when I left.”
“I will not be accepting that nonsense. As my eldest son, it’s your duty to inherit the empire and lead the Morozov family.”
“That’s such an honor,” I say with the most sarcasm I can muster. “But I’m going to have to pass. Let Konstantin do it.”
“Konstantin is a reckless motherfucker that I wouldn’t trust with the safety of a goldfish, let alone my family.”
“You made him; you deal with him. Not my problem, not my talk to have.”
“Kirill.” He bangs both hands on the desk and rises to his full height. The motion is supposed to be some form of intimidation, but it looks more like a dying man’s last plea for help.
“Yes?”
“The situation has changed in the Bratva since you left. My position is no longer secure and there are even hints that I might be replaced by some new blood.”
“Thanks for the info. I’ll call when I find any fucks to give.”
A dark shadow falls over his features, mingled with a putrid sense of desperation.
A long time ago, when I painted his world black and he did the same to mine, I would’ve given my left ball to see him like this.
Hopeless, desperate, and on the verge of spilling his beloved pride at my feet, just so I would benefit him and his empire with my services.
Now, it brings nothing but the knowledge that he’s pathetic.
“What should I do so you’ll quit this fucking madness and come back home?”
“The time for you to do anything has long passed. And you, dear Papa, have no say in my life anymore.”
“Or maybe that’s what you think.”
I stare him in the eye, refusing to let him get into my head. He’s done it enough for a lifetime. Even if his threat is valid, I won’t let him have the power anymore.
“Are you done? Because if you are…” I point a thumb behind me. “The door is right there.”
“One last chance. Are you going to come back willingly?”
“Sure. Hit me up for your funeral.”
His face turns a deep shade of red, but my expression doesn’t change and neither does my demeanor.
My father leans forward and snarls. “You’ll regret this.
I might have tolerated this stupidity, but my patience has limits, Kirill.
You’re not suited for leading men on the battlefield, fighting other people’s wars and getting nothing but fuck all as a reward.
You’re my heir and were always meant to lead and grow the Morozov Empire.
Fight it all you want, but you’ll always be my son. You will always be like me .”
My upper lip lifts in a snarl and I realize I almost let him into my head again. A blasphemy that shouldn’t happen in this lifetime.
“See you at home, son.” He pats my shoulder, then squeezes it before he’s out the door.
I grab the nearest object but stop myself before I haul it against the wall.
He will not get to me.
I already won my freedom and nothing will be able to take it away.
Nothing.
“Is everything okay?” Viktor asks after my father leaves.
I fling the rifle over my shoulder. “It will be. Let’s get this over with.”