18. Daniil #2
My cock throbs painfully in my pants, rock-hard and aching, and I shift in my seat trying to find relief that doesn’t exist. Mikhail shoots me a look that promises that he’s going to get me back for that.
“We’re not discussing this further at lunch,” our mother says suddenly, cutting through the tension. “Eat. You can strategize later.”
Our father makes a dismissive noise but doesn’t argue.
Mikhail shifts in his seat, adjusting slightly, and glances at me. The silence drags on, and he squeezes my thigh under the table. That’s my cue.
Then he turns to Yulian with that grin, the one that means he’s about to start shit on purpose.
“How’s the brothel business going? Bet it’s hard keeping clients when your own hookers would rather fuck a mop handle than choke on your sad little dick.”
Father drops his fork and knife, and glares at Mikhail, and Yulian pushes away his plate and looks up and bites the inside of his cheek.
I snort, he always has a way of pushing everyone’s buttons so well, and I don’t even know how he comes up with this stuff half the time. It’s impressive and exactly what we need right now.
Yulian blinks slowly, lifts his glass, and takes a long sip. “Mop handle. Creative. Truly.”
Mikhail leans forward. “What’s wrong? Hit a nerve? Or are you just pissed the mop’s getting more action than you are?”
Yulian pushes himself up and points at Mikhail. “Watch yourself. I’m not sitting here while you keep trying to start something.”
Lev opens his mouth, but Mikhail cuts him off. “Great, here comes Lev to lecture us all. The same guy who drove both his wives to screw the guards because watching paint dry is more exciting than him. How do you even manage that?”
Lev shoves his chair back and comes around the table slowly, rolling his sleeves, pointing a finger at Mikhail. “What did you take this time? You’ve fried your brain. No way you’re sober talking like this.”
I push myself up too, edging back, already bracing for someone to bleed. Mother’s chair scrapes and her heels click as she stands, her voice tight as she tells them to stop.
Mikhail clears his throat. “Interesting how we’re suddenly concerned with accountability. That vase incident is still unresolved, isn’t it? Funny how everyone’s memory fails when that comes up.”
And there it is.
Yulian exhales. “I was stealing Lev’s hidden chocolate in the kitchen when that happened. It wasn’t me.”
“You what?” Lev looks at him. “That was you this whole time? And why are we still going on about that vase? It wasn’t even nice to look at.”
Mikhail picks up his glass. “Because someone smashed it and has been pretending they didn’t. You were clumsy as hell back then, Lev. Could’ve been you.” He glances at our mother. “Or maybe someone else knocked it over and won’t say.”
She sighs heavily, eyes moving across each of us.
“That vase was given to my great-grandmother by the tsar himself. During the Revolution, she escaped with only what she could carry, and that vase was it. Everything else was abandoned or destroyed. Someone here knows exactly what happened, and I’m tired of the lies. ”
Yulian scoffs. “That vase was ugly. I’m not even sorry it’s gone.”
Mother’s expression hardens. “Yulian.”
“What? I’m being honest.”
Lev gestures dismissively toward Mikhail. “We all know—”
“Enough. I’m done hearing about this.” Father’s hand crashes down on the table with enough force that everything on it jumps. Glasses tip, silverware scatters, and the sound echoes around the room.
Slow steps backward carry me toward the door as the screaming erupts. Something crashes, followed by Father shouting at the top of his lungs.
Once I’m clear, I turn and walk through the house, up the black marble stairs. My phone comes out to disable the cameras, then the code gets punched into the lock pad. The office door swings open and I hurry inside, closing it softly behind me.
The office has dark green walls and a massive desk at the back with a large window behind it. The same window Mikhail broke with a baseball when we were kids. We let Alexei take the blame, and he never ratted us out.
Bookcases line both walls, filled with books from Russia that nobody reads anymore. I’ve only been in here once before when I set up the security system. This feels so wrong, being here without permission.
The shouting downstairs is getting louder, which means Mikhail’s doing his job perfectly. I just need to find what we’re looking for and get out before they kill each other.
I start going through all the drawers, searching for any hint about who I was or why I got adopted into this family. But all I find is paperwork, contracts, business documents that mean nothing to me. I keep running through all of them and come up empty.
I rub at my temple, frustration building. He wouldn’t keep anything personal on his computer. The man barely knows how to use the thing, struggles with online meetings, and uses one finger at a time when typing.
The bookcase catches my eye, and I remember the safe hidden there. I walk over and move the books out of the way to reveal it. Lucky for me, I built the security system, so I know the rotating code. I punch it in, and it clicks open with a soft sound.
Inside I see stacks of cash, some envelopes, jewelry, and childhood pictures of Roman and his family from Russia. My heart pounds as I search through everything carefully, trying not to disturb the organization too much.
I spot an old-looking envelope in the back and pull it out with shaking fingers. Inside is a yellowed newspaper article about some kind of massacre. I pull out my phone to snap a quick picture so I can read it later without staying here too long.
A photo drops to the floor. My brows knit together, and I bend down to grab it, my breath catching in my throat. It’s a picture of me when I was young, maybe two years old. But I look messed up. Bruised, scared, frozen in a way that makes my stomach turn.
My hands shake as I turn it over. On the back, in Lina’s handwriting, it says:
Safe now – L
The shouting downstairs gets louder, and I force myself to focus.
I take pictures of both sides of the photo with trembling hands, then carefully put everything back exactly where I found it. My fingers shake as I close the safe, move the books back into place, and make sure everything looks untouched before I slip out of the room and head back downstairs.