"Sergei is sneaky," Gennady continues, his eyes returning to my father. "He always has been when he knows he has fuckedup. But there’s no way he knew we were coming, so he couldn’t have gotten far."
My father’s face shifts, just slightly. Too slow to hide.
Gennady’s eyes cut back to me like a hand closing around my throat.
"You," he says calmly. "Do you know where he is?"
I feel every gaze in the room snap to me.
"No," my father says sharply. "She doesn’t."
I say nothing, because I know exactly where he is.
The servants’ passage behind the dining room. An old corridor sealed off decades ago, forgotten by everyone except the boy who used it to hide when he broke something, stole something, ruined something, and needed somewhere to wait until the storm passed.
Until I cleaned it up or paid the price.
"Matilda," my mother whispers, pleading. "Tell the Pakhan you don’t know where your brother is."
I look at her, the woman who told me to be patient. To forgive. To keep the peace. Who told me family meant endurance, not fairness and this would only ever be a man’s world.
I look at my father, whose pride always bent around my brother’s failures until they became mine to fix. Who punished me with silences and neglect if I ever dared to stand up for myself.
I look at Katya, and know she will receive the same treatment as I did. That she will always be second best to my brothers, and it breaks my heart.
I feel something cold and quiet settle in my chest.
"No," I say.
My father stares at me. "What?"
"I’m done cleaning up his mess. I’m done paying for his mistakes. I’m done being told this is what family looks like and that I have to be okay with that. I'm done."
"You can’t," my little sister whispers, horrified, pulling away from me with a look of shocked disgust. "We are family."
"If you do this," my father snarls, leaning toward me, "you are no longer a Lazovski."
The words are meant to frighten me, hurt me. But twenty-three years in this house, this family, have hardened me beyond feeling.
I shrug.
"I’m ashamed of the name," I say evenly. "If this is what it costs to be free of it, I’ll pay."
The silence that follows is total.
Then I turn to Gennady.
"I’ll tell you where he is," I say. "And in exchange, you will take me with you."
A flicker of interest sharpens his gaze. "You’re offering yourself in exchange for what, precisely?"
"No, I'm not offering myself." I correct. "I will tell you where Sergei is, and you will take me with you. I’ll work for you and rebuild my life without them." I don’t look back at my family. "Alone. Safe."
My mother lets out a broken sound. My father lunges toward me and is grabbed by one of Gennady’s men.
"You ungrateful little bitch—" he snarls, and I believe in that moment that he hates me. That he would never have felt any other way for me, no matter how hard I tried. I would never be a boy. I would never be his firstborn. I would never be good enough.
Gennady lifts one hand. "Enough," he bellows, his attention snapping back to me. "Tell me."
