Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Xeniya Morozova
Present
Istared at Gemma—Dr. Hayes—my gut churning. I pressed a hand to my head.
“Are you okay, Xeniya?” she asked, deep concern in her voice.
No. I was breaking wide open, and everything—everything—was flooding back in.
And I was unstable. Just because I wanted to forget my past didn’t mean I was capable of doing it.
Because it was a flood, and all I could think about now was Severin—what he had once meant to me.
Every memory we’d ever shared stormed into my mind, hitting me like a hurricane.
Moment after moment after moment, until my memory settled on one in particular.
Severin Volkov was my first punch and my first kiss… and I got in trouble for both.
Twenty-Eight Years Ago
Age 7
I was sulking and getting my cute little sky-blue dress dirty. Momma always told me not to play in the dirt or roll around in fields, that I needed to be a good little princess and stay clean. But I liked dirt and fields. I liked grass, flowers, and even weeds, though the grass hated me.
As evidenced by the hives climbing up my legs and arms. Apparently, I was very allergic. I was also allergic to strawberries. Why would God make me so allergic to something I loved so much? It seemed mean.
A lot of things seemed mean.
Like Momma collapsing again in front of me. My momma was sick. She always had tubes hanging out of her, a pale-ash complexion, and she never played with us.
Papa said I wasn’t allowed to be angry about that, but I was. I was always angry.
But grass made me happy, and picking dandelions made me happy. So while he was forced to bring me to the Pakhan’s house again, I decided to pick flowers and sulk in the fields.
Yes, I had a nanny and a full staff of maids, guards, cooks, and other weird men who did something for Daddy, and any of them could have watched me.
But Mamma didn’t trust them. So she made Papa bring my younger sister, my brother, and me here, which was weird because my nanny, Olga, was far nicer than the Pakhan.
The Pakhan was scary. Like scary, scary. He was always yelling and punishing people. Even Papa was afraid of him… and Papa wasn’t afraid of anyone.
“What are you doing all the way out here, Zaya?” Severin Volkov called, running up to me.
I wrinkled my nose and glared at him. “I am not a bunny.”
“Then why are you always in the fields?” he asked, plopping down beside me.
Severin was my closest friend in the world. We’d known each other since birth. Well, my birth, because he was technically nine months and fifteen days older than me.
And he always rubbed it in.
“Because I can be. I never get to be outside at my house.”
“Dandelions again?”
“Yep. Do you want one?” I held out a small flower for him.
“Sure.”
“You know what I just saw on my way over here?” I asked, dropping my voice into a secretive whisper.
“What?” he asked, too loudly.
“Shhh,” I reprimanded. “I saw Mikhail kissing a girl behind the training center.”
“What?” Severin asked, his voice dropping to an excited whisper.
“Yeah. And his hands were on her, too.” I put my fingers back into the dirt and pulled out another dandelion by its roots. “It was fascinating.”
I held the dandelion to my lips and blew the seeds out into the field.
“Kiss me.”
My head whipped to him. “What?”
“Kiss me.”
“Why?”
“You’re a girl, and I’m a boy. If it’s so fascinating, I’d like to see why.” He raised a dark eyebrow in challenge.
I frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to like the person you’re kissing?”
“You like me.”
I scrunched up my nose again. “I guess, but I think it’s different.” I pursed my lips and stared at him. He really wanted to try it. “Fine.” I huffed.
“Here.” He got on his knees in front of me, and I mimicked him, so we were facing each other.
He placed his hands on either side of my face. I giggled. It was so silly. “Now what?”
“I guess we just touch lips…”
“Ok.”
Severin leaned in and placed his lips on mine, his soft skin touching me, and just holding there.
It was… boring… and not at all fun. I waited for a moment for anything to happen. Mikhail had seemed to enjoy what he was doing. But I was not enjoying this.
This was awkward.
I pulled away, and my brow furrowed. “That was boring.”
Severin nodded. “I know, I don’t get it.”
“Well”—I shrugged—“I have a better idea. Let’s fight.” I jumped up and threw my hands up like the way I’d seen the guards do during training.
“You’re a girl. I can’t fight you,” he said, standing too.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I whined. Then I stepped up to him and threw a punch like I’d seen the guards do a thousand times.
Then I made Severin bleed.
And it hurt.
“Ouch!” He screamed, clutching his nose as blood gushed down his face.
“Oh dang it…” I wasn’t allowed to curse. Dang, it was the most I’d ever been able to say. But dang it, I broke him, and maybe myself.
I shook my hand out, my knuckles turning red and my thumb throbbing with pain. Punching wasn’t supposed to hurt the puncher.
Right?
“I’m sorry, Sev, punch me back.”
“No, you’re a girl.” His voice was muffled by his hand as he tried desperately to stop the bleeding.
I glanced down at my dress, grabbed the bottom of my skirt, and ripped off a strip before handing it to Severin. “Here.”
He put it up to his nose and glared at me. “That wasn’t nice.”
“No…” But it was fun. I sighed. “We should probably get help. Your Olga can help, right?”
His housekeeper was also named Olga.
He nodded.
Ten minutes later, we were with his Olga, an extremely severe woman who always glared at me. I was fairly certain she hated me. But I had never done anything except befriend Severin. I sighed. Maybe that was the problem.
Everyone here acted like Severin wasn’t allowed to have friends.
I sat on a counter in the massive staff kitchen of the main manor house, my feet dangling as I watched Severin’s Olga patch him up. The room was cold and commanding, covered in silver, as if it had been dipped in mercury.
I’d just learned about the element of mercury. It was fascinating stuff. Also, apparently, it was deadly to touch with your bare hands, which was so cool. I wanted to break a thermometer and play with it. But not with my bare hands.
Of course, I didn’t have a death wish.
“Well, it doesn’t look broken, but you’ll definitely have a black eye. Maybe two,” Severin’s Olga said.
“Oh, cool.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. His Olga glared at me as my hand flew up to cover my mouth. I wished I could stay quiet… for once.
Olga opened her mouth to respond, then stopped, frozen, her eyes wide with worry.
Everything went quiet. The heavy boots came first, thudding from the hallway. I would never forget the weight of his footfalls. They would be scarred into my mind forever. The reverberating force of them. Fast, dark, and furious.
The saloon-style door swung open with a boom, and before I knew it, all the liquid silver in the room shook. But no. It wasn’t the room. It wasn’t an earthquake. It was me.
Aleksandr Volkov twisted his fingers into the front of my dress and hauled me into the air until his face was in mine.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you, girl.”
I swallowed and glanced at Severin for help.
The world narrowed on Severin as I searched his face for help. “It was an accident.”
“Quiet, boy. If I wanted to hear from you, I would have asked.” He shook me harder. “Tell me, why do you deserve to live?”
I blinked too fast, unable to think of anything to say.
“Say something, or I will kill you.”
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. “I am a Morozova.”
It was the only thing I could think to say. Clearly, my father was important. Big men like Aleksandr were always saying nice things to him and trying to get on his good side. Maybe if I brought it up now, it would save me.
Luckily, something did happen. His throat bobbed, and he placed me back on the counter. “That won’t save you forever.”
Save me?
“But if you want to act like a boy and punch my son, you will train like a boy… In every way.” I swallowed, not understanding. “You will join the boys your age every day after school.”
He slapped me across the face. “Do you hear me?”
My nostrils flared. “Yes, Pakhan.”
“Good.” He wrapped his hand around my throat and pressed.
All my breath whooshed out of me, and my fingers came up to try to stop him.
“I own you, girl. Never forget it. You punch my son, and he will hit you back tenfold.” He turned to his son, his mouth in a hard line.
“And my son will punch you back next time.”
Aleksandr raised an eyebrow, daring Severin to contradict him. But Severin didn’t. He simply stood there, his face draining of color, his hands curled into fists.
“She wants to act like a boy? Then she will be like a boy.”
And that was how a delicate mafia princess who loved grass and dandelions became an unofficial foot soldier in the Russian mafia—forced to train with the boys and learn how to take a punch.
But I wasn’t done getting in trouble that day.
I also got a long, scary lecture from my sickly mother about punching Severin and how horrible it was that her daughter had to train with the boys.
But honestly, I didn’t see what the big deal was.
Ilya, my twin brother, trained with the boys.
And while I’d much prefer to wear a dress and play in nature, I was not a wussy.
I could take a punch and kick some butt.
The lecture didn’t stop at the punch, though. Apparently, my little sister—who liked to tell everyone she wasn’t little at all because she was only one year younger than us—saw me kiss Severin and told my parents.
So, yeah, I was grounded for about fifteen years. Or something equally dramatic.
Sisters were such nuisances.