Chapter 20 Yulian
YULIAN
“The tempo is too fast.” Alya’s disapproving voice trickles through the chaos, jarring me out of my head.
Seriously, I don’t do well when I think too much, kind of drive myself up a wall, actually.
So I focus on my sister’s scowl as she directs her gaze at the orchestra. She looks stunning tonight, even though this is the last place she wanted to be.
And it’s my fault.
My father wanted me to come with him, and I refused, so he decided to use Alya as a prop, to flaunt her for the world to see how “benevolent” he is in supporting medical research and all that nonsense. He knows shit about the advancements in the field, by the way.
I’ve been following them closely over the years, trying to find an adequate solution to give my sister her legs back, and we’ve tried a few, but they failed.
So I’ve become selective in considering any doctor’s recommendations.
Alya has accepted her disability, and I’ve become extremely careful about not getting her hopes up.
In short, my sister is the only reason I’m even at this event.
I had a huge fight with my dad, demanding she stay back in Chicago. A huge fight, as in he kicked the shit out of me, and my back and chest are full of so many bruises, it hurts to breathe.
Even though part of the reason I bulked up was so Dad’s hits wouldn’t hurt as much, he still finds a way to inflict pain.
“If you want to protect her, then tag along,” is all he said after he kicked me one final time.
So here I am—playing the role of a chess piece in his game.
I’m mostly worried about Alya. Screw medical research.
Yaroslav is anti-imperfection. For him, it’s a weakness, and even though he spoils Alya, he actually hides her from public view, probably ashamed of her disability.
So the fact that he’s bringing her out in the open, with all the Bratva factions around, means he has an agenda.
And I’ll be damned if I let him reach it.
“It’s frustrating and hard to listen to,” she says, still talking about the music no one but her is paying attention to. “I know it’s a style choice, but it should be done with more care.”
“Want me to punch them for you?” I ask with a grin, grabbing a rose-shaped pastry from the plate that’s on her lap.
She scowls but throws a hand in the air. “Not everything has to be done through violence, Yulik. I’ll talk to them when I go get ready to play.”
I swallow the disgustingly sweet pastry and clear my throat. “You don’t have to play.”
“I told Papa I would.”
“Fuck him,” I whisper-yell. “You don’t need to listen to him.”
“But I do want to play. I know he brought me here as a prop to parade around, but screw that, I’m here to play the piano.”
I stroke the top of her head and crouch down so that we’re at eye level. “If that’s what you want, then show those pricks what perfect pitch and tempo is.”
She salutes. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You never do.”
“Thanks for coming.” She kisses my cheek. “It means so much to me to have you around.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Alya.”
“I know.” Her wide smile is contagious, and I would do anything, give my life away if I had to, just to keep it safe.
After Mom’s death, she’s all I have.
“How very touching. Why weren’t we invited into this lovely bond?”
I stand up, my shoulders squared at Lukas’s voice. He smiles at me, but it’s malicious, while my other half-brother, Mikailo, scowls.
They’re from different mothers and were raised separately when young, but they formed a bond, mostly because Lukas keeps Mikailo like a guard dog.
Lukas is around twenty-seven, lean, and always impeccably dressed in tailored or designer suits. He swishes the glass of whiskey in his hand as he looks at us like we’re a problem to be solved.
“Just go away.” Alina scowls, glaring at them.
“The fuck you just say?” Mikailo growls, his voice booming and rumbling.
He’s about twenty-six, broader than Lukas, his nose crooked from a break that was never reset.
His accent is heavier, too, roughened by life on St. Petersburg’s streets before being shipped off to the army.
Both of them were. Forced into the harshest of special forces, all just to prove their worth to Yaroslav.
But where Mikailo is loyal to our father, like a fucking kid with unresolved daddy issues, Lukas would stab him in the back if it meant he got to be on top.
He’d stab all of us just to reign. That’s why I’ve always been more wary of that motherfucker.
“Hey.” I snap my fingers in Mikailo’s face, then grin. “Talk to her in that tone again, and I’ll cut your tongue out.”
He snarls at me and takes a step closer, to hit me, no doubt. It won’t be the first time he’s done that, since our interactions usually end in a fistfight.
When I was younger, he always beat my ass, especially since he was older and more muscled than me back then. Right now, however, we’re almost evenly matched.
“What’s that?” I cup my ear. “Want me to break your nose again, brother dearest?”
“This motherfucker—”
Lukas cuts him off by pulling his hand down, then smiles in that fake-ass way. “Now, now. No need to quarrel between brothers. We’re here to support Dad, not to humiliate him.”
He motions at our father, who’s talking with other leaders, but he throws glances at us—mostly glares, really—to remind us of his wrath.
“Move.” Alina drives her chair right between them, forcing them to break apart. “I’m gonna get ready, Yulik.”
“I’ll come along.”
“No, you’ll just steal my pastries.” She gives me a look. The look of “I want to do this on my own,” so I force myself to just nod.
“I’m sure you’ll kill it, Alya.”
She gives me two thumbs-up, grinning at me, then glares at Lukas and Mikailo before she leaves, navigating through the crowd with expert ease until she disappears behind the doors.
“Tell you what.” Lukas places an arm around my shoulders. “How about you go keep an eye on poor little Alyonushka, and we’ll take care of the grown-up issues around here?”
“I don’t think age matters, Lukas. You know…” I brush his hand off my shoulders. “Since Dad only ever introduced me as his heir to his acquaintances.”
Mikailo visibly tenses, his hands balling into fists.
“Careful there, brother,” Lukas says with a veiled threat. “He won’t protect you forever.”
“Bold of you to assume I want that old man around. I’d rather he be gone, if you know what I mean.”
Mikailo has grown red, more offended on our dear papa’s behalf than about any threats directed at him.
Lukas, however, raises a brow, a look of calculation passing behind his usually dead eyes. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Do you?”
I hold his gaze as Mikailo looks between us with a dumbfounded expression.
Not sure what Lukas is fishing for, but he’s definitely fishing for something. He seems to like my reaction to the possibility of Yaroslav’s erasure. I mean, surely, he didn’t think I’d want to be dear Papa’s punching bag for the rest of my life?
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go do the grown-up stuff.” I whistle, putting a hand in my pocket as I stroll away.
Fuck being Dad’s puppet.
He’s looking at me, expecting me to come over and put on a show of empty fucking pleasantries. These men would kill each other in their sleep if given the chance, so I don’t get why I need to put on the hypocritical facade.
I join him for a few, only because Alya will be the one fucked over if I misbehave. So I bring out the entertainer in me, laugh at an old man’s distasteful joke, then fight sleep when some idiot goes on a long, rampaging political rant.
Fuck, these people are boring.
My gaze strays ahead, and I pause when I see Vaughn’s parents dancing and smiling at each other.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Vaughn looks more like his father—the same hair, jaw shape, and nose—but he has his mother’s eyes.
In a way, he’s a mixture of both, and they brought him up well, probably giving him all the emotional support he needs, which allows him the liberty to be…normal.
Well, as normal as it gets, because Vaughn has an unhinged side he keeps under lock and key.
As I watch them with a tilted head, I realize I never saw my parents smile like that at each other, appearing to be in blissful harmony as if they complete one another.
My father is the most distant motherfucker to ever spawn, treating his wife and kids like accessories to his empire, and my mother, well, she tried her best, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t exactly change the original sin—having Dad for a husband.
It wasn’t her fault. She was pushed into a political marriage, where a woman was once again used for powerful men’s egos.
My grandfather was Kabardian nobility with a shit ton of money that my father needed to get his hands on, and since Dedushka had no male heirs, it made sense to entrust the power-hungry, ruthless Yaroslav with it.
From what I know, Vaughn’s mom also comes from Russian aristocracy, but it doesn’t seem that his dad used her for that purpose or that he treats her like a convenience. If anything, he looks at her like she’s his world.
Fuck this feeling.
Now, I’m wondering what I would’ve grown up to be like if I’d had parents like that. Not that it’d matter.
I’m stuck with this clown called Yaroslav for…well, until either Lukas or I take his life.
I can’t kill him when Alya is in his grasp, so if Lukas can hurry the fuck up, that would be great.
With a sigh, I drag my gaze away from Vaughn’s parents.
Speaking of Vaughn, I swear he was around not too long ago, but now he’s nowhere to be seen.
Not that I want to see him. I left that day with the resolve that I wouldn’t get close to him again.
But did I fight all my goddamn demons not to walk over to him the moment our eyes met? Sure as fuck did.
He looked pissed off, and I eat that energy the fuck up when it comes to him.
But then I realized it was my bad habits rearing their ugly heads, and I had to snuff them out by walking away.
Then why are you looking for him?