SASHA
Drip.
Drip.
Drip!
I slowly open my eyes, bracing myself for the image of my family members’ dead bodies and their blood splashing on my face.
A groan sounds from my right, followed by a low curse and a “Come on!”
I look up, but instead of the bodies hanging above my head, there’s a dark green roof full of spots of black mud at the corners. Cracks spread across the walls like sporadic spiderwebs.
A repugnant stench of humidity makes it hard to inhale properly. My lungs suffocate with every breath, nearly triggering a claustrophobic reaction I never knew I had.
There’s no window, and the only exit is a rusty metal door. Couple that with flickering fluorescent lights, and it’s like a scene from the army’s interrogation room.
The dripping sound comes from a wobbly faucet that’s spilling into a yellowish sink in the corner.
The source of the groaning, however, is Viktor, who’s sitting on a metal chair beside me. Both of us are bound with thick plastic straps that create uncomfortable friction.
I release a breath after I’ve made sure he’s alive and well, despite the dry blood that trickles down his temple.
If something happened to Viktor, Kirill wouldn’t be able to cope, so I’m beyond relieved that he made it.
I rack my brain to think of the reason we’re here.
The last thing I remember was seeing Babushka before someone knocked me out. I assume they did the same to Viktor, but he probably struggled more, which explains the wound he has.
I remember nothing after that except for waking up here.
Judging by the way Viktor is struggling in the chair, it doesn’t look like he can undo the bindings. I test them myself, but they’re strapped too tight all over my arms, chest, and my legs.
“Any luck?” I sound a bit groggy, and I have to clear my throat.
Viktor directs his attention at me and shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to no avail.”
If he can’t make an escape, it’ll be hard for me to come up with an alternative.
Just when I’m thinking of the logistics of trying to flip one of us over or sitting back to back to help one another, the door creaks open.
Both of us freeze as our kidnappers walk inside.
I already saw Babushka earlier with her closed-off expression and terrorizing cane, but the other two who accompany her are a surprise.
My jaw nearly hits the floor as the three of them stop a safe distance away from us.
Babushka stands in the middle and slams her cane on the ground in a clear demand of attention, but I couldn’t look at her even if I wanted to.
My focus is stolen by the other two.
One is Uncle Albert, and while that’s predictable, the third presence isn’t.
Even Viktor narrows his eyes on her, despite still struggling in his chair.
The person who’s staring down at us with her holier-than-thou expression is none other than Yulia.
She looks as elegant as ever in a dark red dress and black designer heels. Her golden hair is pulled into a French twist, and her arms are crossed over her chest.
“What…” I trail off, lost for words. What should I ask in a situation like this?
“I’m disappointed in you, Sasha.” Uncle’s voice carries in the air and slaps me across the face. “I really wanted to give you another chance, but you went ahead and chose to stay with the man who killed your family.”
My lips tremble. “I…don’t believe he did it, and I haven’t seen any evidence that convinces me otherwise.”
Babushka approaches, swings her cane, and hits me with it across my middle. That sense of terror I experienced while we were chased returns with a vengeance.
My baby.
“Insolent! Your father must be rolling in his grave for having a daughter like you.”
“My father wouldn’t have been as heartless as you.” I glare at her and then at Uncle. “What is Yulia doing here?”
“I’m an ally,” the woman herself replies, her nose nearly reaching for the sky. “Since we share the same enemy, it only makes sense that we join forces.”
“If you think Kirill will fall for your tricks—”
“He’s already on his way,” Uncle cuts me off. “Seems that we had his weakness all along. You.”
My spine jerks upright, and the possible subsequent events come to mind.
They kidnapped us to make Kirill come alone, and when he does, they’ll kill him.
I have hope that he knows it’s a trap and won’t come. Or at least, he’ll bring backup.
Surely he’ll realize that he’d be walking straight to his death.
…Right?
“Once that devil is dead,” Yulia says. “Kosta will be the new Pakhan.”
“And Anton will be released and return to his rightful place as the leader of the family,” Babushka says. Her voice is fainter, and upon closer inspection, she looks so much older, as if the winds of time have been blowing in her face.
My mind keeps going back to the fact that they plan to kill Kirill, and if they do that…
No.
I refuse to think of that possibility. No one will be able to take Kirill’s life.
No one.
I meet my grandmother’s malicious gaze with my own. “Ever thought that Anton isn’t interested in leading the family’s shady business? Maybe he’s thinking of another life outside of duty and needless drama and wars.”
“Nonsense. Anton knows his role, and he will take it proudly, unlike a certain traitor in our midst.”
“Traitor? I’m the traitor now?” I ask incredulously. “For the past six years, I lived as a man just to be a puppet for the family that never appreciated me or made me feel like I belonged. I sacrificed myself and my identity to protect you, but you still never made me feel like I was a member of this damn family. You know who did? Kirill! He unconditionally made me his family just because I asked, and if you think I’ll let you kill him based on no proof, then you’re delusional.”
“You’re the only delusional one here,” my uncle says. “You can’t stop us anymore, Sasha. That’s why you’re tied to that chair.”
“We’ll make sure you see him getting killed right in front of your eyes,” Yulia adds.
“He’s your son!”
“I never considered that devil my son. He’s just an eyesore reminder of his fucking father. Once I get rid of him, I’ll finally stop seeing Roman in his damn face.”
“Stop saying that! He has nothing to do with what his father did, and neither does Karina.”
“I’ll get rid of them both one at a time.”
It hits me then, and I slide my attention to Uncle Albert. “When you said you had a source who told you about who executed the massacre and who said Kirill was the mastermind, did you by any chance mean Yulia?”
He nods. “We’ve been exchanging information for a few years.”
“You can’t be serious. You just heard her. All she ever wanted was to get rid of Roman and Kirill. She poisoned her husband for years so his health would deteriorate, and he eventually died. She’s lying so that she’ll be able to throw Kirill under the bus.”
“She heard Roman and Kirill talk about the plan right before he enlisted in the army.”