Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
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.