15. Kirill
KIRILL
T he concept of home has been foreign to me since…forever.
It’s not a place where I feel safe or even liked. It’s a mere battlefield, where only the stronger comes out alive.
My father didn’t shower my siblings and me with affection. He downright pit us against each other so we’d become invincible.
My mother had only one purpose—get her favorite child to lead the family, no matter how many strings she had to pull.
That sense of internal wars and calculations has been a part of me since I was a child, and it’s only continued to grow over the years.
When I was old enough to put an end to it, I took the chance and flew to the other side of the ocean.
Though I always knew I would come back, because my ambition can’t be contained in the military, I didn’t know it’d be this soon.
Here I am. At the doorstep of our highly secured mansion that’s located on the outskirts of New York.
It’s huge, old, and has the spirit of a dozen devils rolled into one building. The brick facade looks dull, unassuming of what actually lurks behind the walls of this place.
The three-story house sits on a large piece of land with huge gardens surrounding it, a pool in the front, a clinic, and two annexed houses for the staff, one on the east side and the other on the west.
It’s exhausting to recount the facilities Roman made sure to include in his lion’s den. Such as an indoor pool, a golf course, and even a spa.
He turned the property into a royal castle, since he likes to think of himself as some sort of king.
Upon my arrival, it’s no surprise that only the staff comes to meet me. Not that I want to see anyone’s face right now. I only came for one purpose and one purpose alone.
My father.
He killed my men, and that was the last mistake he’ll commit in his lifetime. I’ll make sure he rots in that grotesque body of his until he wishes for death.
The rest of the men went to the annex house to settle the injured in at the clinic and visit any family members they have here.
The only two who remain with me are Viktor—since he sometimes considers himself my shadow—and Sasha.
Maksim calls her name and asks her to join him and Yuri in whatever vain endeavors they’re going to engage in, but she tells them, “I want to meet everyone first.”
“Yikes, good luck with that.” Maksim gives her a salute.
“You know where to find us,” Yuri supplies needlessly.
I cast a glance behind me, and her smile drops as fast as it appeared. Instantly, she returns to her stoic expression that’s a marvelous imitation of Viktor’s grumpy existence.
Everyone has discarded their army uniform, but she’s the only one who looks small and thin in her black slacks and white button-down.
Or maybe I’m the only one who sees it, considering I know exactly what’s hidden by the bandages.
To say I’m taken aback by her decision to come with us would be an understatement. It always felt as if she had roots buried deep in the Russian soil, and in the military specifically.
She nearly lost it when I told her to discharge in the beginning, which means she had a motive to be there.
I never thought she’d easily abandon that motive and Russia to follow me here.
But then again, maybe she did it because of Maksim and Yuri. Considering that she was always a lone wolf, she’s annoyingly close to those two and might think of them as companions for a lifetime.
Whatever her reason, I don’t give a fuck. She made the mistake of offering her existence to me and I’ll have so much fun molding her into whatever the fuck I wish her to be.
Usually, this isn’t a game I like to play, but then again, no one toys with my steel-like control the way innocent-looking Sasha does.
Viktor clears his throat from my right, and it’s then I realize that she’s shifting in place under my scrutiny. It’s not too noticeable, but it’s there.
I push my glasses up my nose with my middle and ring fingers. “Don’t leave my side. Got it?”
She swallows twice before answering, “Yes, sir.”
My lips twitch as I face the entrance again. I like how she calls me sir; it’s different from when everyone else does it.
“Kirochka!”
I’m attacked out of nowhere by a warm hug from a small woman with dark skin.
I pat her back as she hangs on to me with all her might and only pulls back to inspect me left and right as if I’m livestock.
One might think Anna is my mother for all the care and affection she shows me. Truth is, she’s the only mother figure I’ve had, and I’ve only known her since I was a teenager.
In the years since I last saw her, she’s become thinner and bonier. A few more lines surround her eyes and appear on her forehead, and some white hairs start to invade her hair.
She’s dressed in an elegant brown skirt and a pressed white shirt.
“You’ve gotten bigger and even have more muscles. Oh my.” She pats my arm. “Have you been eating right? Did you make sure of it, Viktor?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Even Viktor’s tone of voice changes to that of complete respect in front of Anna.
After all, she’s the only mother figure he knows, too.
She faces him. “And have you been eating well? You look skinnier to me.”
“I’m just fine.”
“Don’t fine me, young man.” She swats him on the arm and then hugs him. He just remains stoically in place. He’s never really known how to accept the flood of affection Anna offers.
“Welcome home, boys. I missed you.”
She then pulls back and casts a narrowed glance at Sasha, who has been silently watching the exchange. “And who is this boy who looks malnourished?”
“My name is Aleksander. Everyone calls me Sasha.”
Anna stares at me. “You brought someone new?”
“He wanted to come.”
“You can’t just bring him over because he wanted to come.” She points a finger in Sasha’s direction without looking at her. “He looks suspicious.”
“I’m actually over here,” Sasha says in a calm tone, but her ears are turning red. Also, she actually speaks with no Russian accent. It’s a bit stiff, but it sounds natural.
That’s hard to accomplish, even for an American-born Russian. The accent is usually there no matter what. Viktor, Maksim, and Yuri have it.
She really did have those private tutors in her previous life.
“Hush, boy.” Anna still doesn’t look at her. “Why are you doing this, Kirochka? It’s not like you.”
She’s right. It’s not.
When Sasha expressed her desire to come along, the most logical solution would’ve been to refuse.
One problem, though. I couldn’t.
Especially when she agreed to place her life in the palm of my hand to do with as I please.
Is it sadism? Probably. But even I can’t recognize what the end goal behind it is.
I can sense the contempt rising in Sasha, but the moment she steps forward, probably to give Anna a piece of her mind, I ask, “Is my father inside?”
A dark shadow falls over Anna’s face, and she seems to forget about Sasha and her suspicions.
“Why, yes. The lady of the house and Konstantin didn’t want to inform you of this, probably not wanting you to come back, but Mr. Roman is…
not doing very well. He has been severely ill for a while now, and it only got worse after he went to Russia last week. ”
Even better.
When I step in the direction of the house, Anna takes my hand between her smaller ones. “Be tolerant of everyone inside, my boy. Everything’s changed, but some things remain the same.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Nonsense.” She gets on her tiptoes to touch my hair and pat my face. “I’m going to see the others. You take care of him, Viktor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With one last unsure look, she heads to where my guards went earlier. Anna is the mother of the orphans. Whenever a child lost his parents, she took it upon herself to raise them ‘right.’
I’m not an orphan, but I found more affection in that woman than in my own parents.
The moment I stroll inside my so-called home, I’m greeted by the tension-filled, unwelcome atmosphere of the living room.
The baroque style of the sofas, chairs, and ceiling gives it an elegant aura that’s stained with invisible splashes of blood.
Two pairs of eyes fall on me in pure contempt. The first belongs to the woman who gave birth to me.
She hasn’t changed one bit. Her golden hair falls to her shoulders in the usual stuck-up sprayed style. She’s wearing one of her straight red dresses with a gold belt and matching heels, and she’s sitting like a queen on her throne.
If Yulia Morozova were an actual ruler, I would’ve been sentenced to death the moment I was born.
The second malicious stare that could get someone accidentally killed belongs to my brother, Konstantin, who’s two years my junior.
He has lighter hair than me, a more angular facial structure that could never look friendly, and my mother’s eyes.
Which is the first reason to put him at the very top of my hit list.
“Look who’s done playing soldier and came back.”
The second thing that would land him on my hit list is the aggravating way he speaks. It’s like he’s begging to be shot, just so that he can be silenced forever.
“Missed you, too, little bro.” I smile, matching his provocative tone with my own, then nod at Yulia. “Mother.”
She rises, her posture stiff, and walks in my direction. When she stops in front of me, I’m gutted by the smell of her strong perfume that could be used like a weapon. “Why are you back, Kirill?”
“Yes, brother.” Konstantin stands beside Yulia like a good little mama’s boy. “You said you might give up everything here, and we wouldn’t see your face again, so what brings you here?”
“Your father. He’s a pesky, insistent piece of work, that one. He even killed my men to force me back here. Seems we can’t get rid of each other that easily.”
“Take the plane to Russia and leave,” Yulia announces as if it’s a given. “You’re neither wanted nor needed here.”
This woman treats me as if I’m lower than the dirt beneath her shoes. A long time ago, I used to wonder why she hated me so much, why she looked at me with so much contempt that I thought she might kill me one day.