Chapter 10 Yulian
YULIAN
Well, this is inconvenient.
And anticlimactic as hell.
Someone needs to do something because I’m seriously contemplating grand-scale things. You know, like bombs and assassination attempts, fifties mafia style.
And that’s a good idea for a shitload of reasons.
“Are we seriously holding a funeral for your bike?” Cyrus stares between me and the rest of the Serpents’ club that has gathered here today to commemorate a legend.
They say nothing because, unlike Cy, they’re not safe from my temper—if they piss me off, they’ll be gone in a heartbeat.
Listen, I don’t remember the names of half the idiots who decided to join the club. Cy and the guards confirmed they’re clean, and since they’re the kids of other members in the Bratva, they’re kind of obligated to respect me on the outside, even if they disregard me on the inside.
Tough shit. They’re stuck with me.
The main reason our parents agreed to send us to The King’s U, a university funded by mafia money on the depressing coast of the United Kingdom, is that they have full control over the board, the grounds, and the mansion we live in.
Another reason is that the other club at the college, the Heathens, is run by the New York mafia kids—sans the actual heir, if I may mention; seriously, what’s the point?—and we just love getting into each other’s business.
Call it the Russian sense of camaraderie.
Anyway, the Serpents’ club was born just to antagonize the Heathens. It’s pretty recent—since Cy and I enrolled in college last year. Bro rejected all the Ivy League colleges in America just to be a pain in my ass. But I get it, really.
I don’t trust myself half of the time, so it’s a good call that he’s here with me. If he wasn’t, I’d already be worm food.
In short, this club is my personal stage for mischief and endless shenanigans. Partying, fucking, sneaking guys into my room, and bribing the staff so nothing gets back to my dad.
Let’s say he didn’t react well the first time he caught me with a guy. Almost killed me, actually.
He promised to “end the life he gave me” in the most painful way possible the next time I put my dick somewhere “unnatural.” So, yeah, I’m not in the mood to die yet, so I’ll be keeping the gay tendencies under wraps until further notice.
I still love the freedom of being so far from home. My dad can’t touch me or backhand me or kick me until I pass out.
Yes, it’s temporary, but it’s better than nothing.
Cy said I can’t trust any member in the Serpents’ club, especially not with my semi-secret sexual orientation, or they’ll use it to put a target on my back. Semi because Cy, Danil, and Mariana—my chief guards—know.
All the guys I’ve fucked know, too, but they’re not part of this world, so they don’t really matter.
I hope.
Seriously, can I not get killed at twenty for literally just fucking around? Please and thank you.
Cy has the mansion under control—handpicked staff and guards whose heads he probably holds shit over—but the other members aren’t as solid.
They’re potential spies.
And because of that, I make their lives as uncomfortable as possible. That’s expected of me anyway, so why the hell not?
“Shh. Don’t listen to his nonsense, Zver. I’ll miss you so much.” I pat the remnants of my baby that are holed up in the back of a van. I’ve kept it in the garage since the brutal murder a few days ago, but Cy insisted on getting rid of the “scraps of metal.”
He got punched for calling Zveroushka mere scraps of metal.
“This is absolute nonsense,” he continues nagging to my right, like an annoying fly. “You should be focused on other important matters.”
“Don’t blaspheme. Nothing is as important as the death of my baby.”
“How about the one who caused the death of said ‘baby’?”
I shake my head, feigning sadness. “I even sacrificed my Zveroushka, and he’s still running away. Isn’t it sad?”
“It should be enraging, not sad.” Cy lowers his voice so only I can hear. “Someone breached our security and managed to blow up your ride—”
“My baby.”
“Fine. Your baby. You could’ve gotten killed. Why the fuck are you being so nonchalant about this?”
“Because I wasn’t going to get killed.” I tilt my head to the side, recalling the text I received from Vaughn right after the tragic death of Zver. “He didn’t want to kill me. He only wanted to punish me for messing with his toy. A toy for a toy, see what I did there?”
“And then what? Did your grand plan produce anything yet?”
“Don’t be impatient, Cy.”
“You said he’d be taking the next plane to the island that day.” He searches his surroundings. “I don’t see him anywhere, do you?”
I roll my eyes, then wave at the staff, who are driving the love of my life to her grave. The others scatter, getting ready for the party I decided to throw tomorrow on a whim.
The grounds of the mansion are massive, and with the typical cloudy sky, it looks like it’s cut from the Gothic era.
The place has too many windows whose glass has been bulletproofed to eliminate any security hazards.
Spires like it’s trying to stab the sky, wrought-iron gates that creak even when they’re closed, and enough stone gargoyles to start a cult.
The walls are a moody gray that always looks wet, like the place is permanently mourning someone—probably my Zver.
She went too early.
Cy follows me as I walk inside. We’re instantly surrounded by high ceilings, echoey halls, chandeliers that cost more than my soul, and rugs so thick, they could smother a man. The mansion smells like waxed wood, old money, and control.
There’s a panic room in the east wing. My father had it built for “emergencies.” I use it to store liquor, questionable tools, and a punching bag with his face drawn on it in Sharpie. Feels poetic, no?
Cy grabs my elbow and pulls me with him to a quiet corner out of the hustle and bustle of the staff preparing the grand hall for the party.
He’s a bit shorter than me, so it should make the judgmental look in his eyes comical at best. But no, he looks serious.
I think.
Fuck me sideways. And the nagging starts in three, two, one—
“You need to let your fixation with Vaughn go.” He speaks in a low, even voice. “It was stupid enough to fly to New York and fuck his girlfriend, then send him the video. He might let it go with blowing up your bike, so this is your chance to cut it out.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“The fuck is wrong with you? You want your dad to kill you or something?”
“What does this have to do with him? I’m just playing an extremely innocent game.”
“There’s nothing innocent about you, motherfucker.”
“That’s true. Anyway, seriously, you worry too much. My dad won’t find out. My revenge will be over before he gets wind of this.”
He narrows his eyes, then leans against the wall, his arms and ankles crossed. “Are you sure it’s even for revenge purposes at this point?”
“Of course it is.”
“Extremely doubtful.”
“God forbid a man wants another man to pay for his sins.”
“Four years after the fact?”
“I’m like a horse. I hold grudges for ages.”
“Camel.”
“What?”
“Camels are the animals known for holding a grudge, supposedly, at least.”
“Camel, horse, nobody gives a fuck.”
“I do.”
“You don’t count.” I shake my head and walk away. “Off to work out so I can look awesome at the party.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Does that mean I can’t shoot my way into the New York kids’ mansion?”
“What?”
“Just kidding.” I’m whistling as I wave without looking at him.
Cyrus can be tiring even in small doses, and it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he’s usually right.
Okay, most of the time.
Fiiine. Always.
My phone rings, and I grin as I pick up the video call from my sister.
Her face appears on the other end, soft and radiant with huge blue eyes and auburn hair that falls to her shoulders in waves.
Except for her eyes, Alina’s looking more and more like our mom, which is a blessing because this way, I feel like I’ll never forget our mother’s face.
“How’s my favorite girl?” I ask, holding the phone up as I walk out of the main entrance.
“Bored.” She pouts. “And stuck on this piece I’m working on.”
“Oh no, need me to beat some sense into someone?”
She laughs, her voice ringing all around me. “You’ll beat some sense into my brain?”
“If need be, absolutely.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Nah, resourceful. There’s a difference.”
She rolls back, and my chest clenches when I see her in the chair, dressed in a beautiful dark-red gown. Her room appears in the background, full of posters of classical music soloists and albums. “What do you think? I’m wearing this for the recital tomorrow.”
“Stunning as usual. I wish I were there to cheer you on.”
“No, it’s better you don’t meet with Papa that often.” Her smile drops a bit before she rolls back to the camera.
My sister has been paralyzed for four years, and every time I look at her, I feel the knife I lodged deep in my soul move and slash through my very existence.
Dying a little is the correct term.
Because Alya wouldn’t be in this predicament if I were there.
If I weren’t so preoccupied with the unattainable.
The fucking lethal obsession.
“We’ll have to meet eventually,” I say, keeping my tone light.
“Well, eventually doesn’t have to be now.” She’s silent for a moment. “I wish you could stay far away forever.”
“And leave you behind? No way in hell.”
“He doesn’t torture me to near death like he does you.”
“I still don’t like that you’re on your own with Lukas and Mikailo there.” Lukas and Mikailo being our older half-brothers—from different mothers, because Dad liked to fuck around—you know, the same thing he promised to kill me for with a slight change of gender.
“They don’t care about me enough to kill me. I think being in a chair makes me no competition whatsoever, so silver linings, I guess.” She laughs.
I don’t.
My heart is ripping from the inside out.