I walked with that thought, my soul lighting up a little brighter. My winter boots scrunched through the thin layer of snow covering the stone that led up to our main entrance. I hadn’t even realized I made it so close to the house. My mind had been entirely elsewhere these past few weeks.
I’d been thinking about the wolf… a lot.
His condescending tone angered me, even through my memories. I’d come up with much better comebacks when replaying our conversation. And I itched to throw them in his face and see him crumble under the weight of my words. Because it hadn’t been a fair fight. He took me by surprise when he showed up, then had the nerve toinsultme by saying I was somehow bound to the approval of men to do what I pleased—a far-fetched assumption.
That was one reason he was on my mind.
The other reason was… well, much more complicated. I didn’t want to admit it then, but looking back at the situation, I could see it now. His darkness drew me to him. It made me curious. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I wanted to know who he was behind those mocking remarks and alluring gestures. And I wanted to live with that mystery for a while. It was thrilling.
Which is why I decided I would not entertain that thought any longer.
The goons Father assigned to drive me home finally scattered as I entered the house. My backpack hung heavy on my shoulder, loaded with history books I was supposed to study for tomorrow’s exam, but I wasn’t going to. I’d already read everything Sasha brought me aboutThe Medici Family Feudsweeks ago. Devoured it, even. He did that a lot—taught me about history, and politics, and games that kept the mind sharp, despite never being compensated for the extra time he dedicated to me.
Taking the corner into the dining room, I saw my mother sitting with one leg crossed over the other at the long table, puffing out smoke from a cigarette.
Her fingers trembled around it, bringing it back to her mouth, which only told me this wasn’t her first. Or her second. The muted fire ate more and more of the paper holding the nicotine together, her drag long and deep. When she exhaled, it took her a moment to see me through the thick cloud of smoke curling along her face.
“Is it two already?” she asked, her voice laced with exhaustion.
I narrowed my eyes, dropping my backpack on an empty chair. “What’s going on?”
“Where’s your sister?”
“I don’t know. On her way back, I think. Mom… what’s wrong?”
She tapped the cigarette against the ashtray. “For God’s sake, Victoria, stop asking so many questions. Lunch is on the stove.” She jerked her head toward it, her platinum-blond hair—my hair, and my sister’s hair—slipping from behind her ear. “Go get yourself some.”
Hesitantly, I rounded the table and grabbed a bowl, then lifted the lid of a steaming pot. The beef stroganoff smelled delicious as I served myself a portion—not my mother’s cooking.
We’d had a chef ever since my father’s business began making heaps of money. And I was convinced Mom had been happierthat day than the day she gave birth to me. It made sense, I guessed, since she had been forced to marry a man she never loved, then have kids with him on top of that.
Still, with Anya, it was different. Mother liked to spoil her, to praise every little thing she did. She called her beautiful when she combed her hair when we were kids. Tucked her in longer than she ever tucked me in.
It took most of my childhood to accept it. That the little love she had left to give was all for my sister. It’s the reason I became so attached to Sasha, who felt more like a parent to me than my real ones ever did.
I ate my lunch in silence while Mom looked through me, lost in whatever troubled her mind on this Monday afternoon. Minutes later, Anya finally showed up.
“Jesus!” Anya scrunched her nose, waving her manicured hand in the air. “Open a window or something! I can’t breathe in here.”
Mother’s eyes snapped to her, throat bobbing when she got up to pour herself scotch from the decanter across the room. “Sit down, Anya. Victoria, you can go to your room.”
Anya threw me a questioning look, but I only shrugged in response.
“What is it this time?” my sister mused, plopping down on a chair next to me. “Are my grades not to your liking again?” She turned to me mouthing,“Stay?”and I was glad she askedbecause I didn’t want to leave. Whatever Mom had to say, it seemed serious enough that she’d fully given in to her vices today.
So I’d stay, then, if only just for damage control.
Mom turned around with her drink, rolling her eyes at seeing the decision etched on my face. “Fine. You were going to find out anyway.” Then she just sat there with her head bowed toward her lap, delaying the inevitable.
A swirl of nervousness sprung in my gut, and it seemed my sister felt it too because she found my hand under the table and squeezed. An odd and rare gesture, but of course, I squeezed back.
“I guess you’re old enough to hear the truth about your father’s work.”
“Yeah, weknow,” Anya drawled. “He’s working for the Bratva. Do you really think we haven’t noticed the kinds of men walking in and out of our home like they own the place?”
She was right. Besides, it was hard not to overhear the conversations our parents had in this house. I watched our mother like a hawk, curious to see what she’d say to that. But she merely offered a clipped nod. “Good.”
Good? There was nothing good about this. Nothing at all.
