Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
A week later, I was given the name Kirill.
“After my grandfather,” Petr explained, as if I cared. “Kirill Volkov.”
I wasn’t a Volkov.
I wasn’t Kirill.
“Thank you,” I said agreeably even though it felt like my entire soul was on fire.
If Volkov realized that I spoke through gritted teeth, he didn’t call me out on it. He only pushed his chair back, re-holstered the gun that he’d been methodically cleaning, and motioned for me to get out of his study with a dismissive wave. When I reached the door, he stopped me with a casual, “You’ll start learning Russian tomorrow. Fluency is expected from every one of my foot soldiers.”
I hesitated for a long, excruciating moment, then forcibly straightened my shoulders and glanced back at the man who’d come to rule my life with an iron fist. My smile was wooden. My heart felt like ice. I’d shatter completely if I let myself. “Of course.”
Spine still ramrod straight, I turned to make my escape.
“And Kirill?”
I kept my trembling hands in front of me, out of sight, with my back to the room. They didn’t tremble because I was frightened. I was angry. So full of a rage I didn’t even understand that it took everything in me to calmly reply, “Yes, sir?”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how my son follows you like a lost puppy.”
A vice closed around my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
“Make it stop,” Volkov ordered in that quietly terrifying way he had.
“I will, sir.”
“Good.” There was the sound of shuffling papers. “Thank you for stopping by, Kirill. Close the door on your way out.”
“Of course, sir.”
I closed the door with a soft snick and then smothered a scream by biting down on my bottom lip so hard that I drew blood.