"I'm sorry," Dimitri says before I can speak. "I know you're just doing your job. Go ahead and show me whatever Father thinks will serve as good blackmail material, then you can go."
"I have a drive to for you." My voice comes out wooden, rehearsed. "This drive contains footage that will cause problems for you if it becomes public. As long as you cooperate, the footage stays private." I hold out the drive, feeling like a moron for repeating what Father said and for not even knowing what is on the drive. This is a humiliating ritual for both of us and such a typical move by Father I want to punch a hole in the wall.
Dimitri doesn't take it. Instead, he moves closer, studying my face with an intensity that makes me even more uncomfortable. "What's your name?"
Clearly he wasn't paying attention when Father said it. That fits with my impression of him so far.
"Does it matter?"
"To me, it does." He flashes a shark grin. "I like to know the names of people Father sends to threaten me. More honest that way. More personal."
"I haven’t threatened you. I’m just delivering a message. This is ridiculous.” I roll my eyes before I catch myself and then cringe. I’ve had more access for five minutes and already blown it.
Dimitri gives an uncaring chuckle, then raises his eyebrow looking at me, still waiting for me to answer.
"Sofiya." I don't know why I gave him my real name. I should have used my stage name. Too late now.
"Sofiya." He tests it, seeing how it fits. "Beautiful name. Russian?"
"Yes, but born in the US,” I answer in Russian.
He takes the drive from my hand but doesn't examine it, just continues taking me in. He’s looking at me the way you look at someone you're trying to recognize.
That prickling sensation intensifies. Volk is definitely here. I can feel his presence like a physical weight.
"Do you know who I am?" Dimitri asks.
"The Pakhan's son. That's all I need to know."
"No." His eyes are shrewd. "That's not all you need to know. Not at all." He sets the drive on a nearby end table and turns to face me fully. "I'm going to tell you something. Because there's something in your eyes that suggests you might understand."
My entire body tenses. Whatever he's about to say is going to change everything. I can feel it.
"I had a half sister," Dimitri says. "A legitimate child of Father's, unfortunate enough to be born a girl. Never met her, but I know she existed. Father married her mother while screwing mine. Until the day she died, she kept waiting for that man to suddenly start caring." He huffs out a frustrated breath. "I grew up seeing Father sporadically and thought maybe oneday I'd meet my half sister, but she died. Or so I was told." He steps closer. I force myself not to move backward. He’s nearly as tall as Volk and I have to tilt my head to maintain eye contact.
"But over the years, I started to wonder what really happened to her. The more I dealt with Father, becoming the 'heir,' I started to hope she'd beaten him. That she'd become someone far away from this shithole of a life." My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear him over the rushing in my ears. "You look like me," he continues. "How I imagined she might look. You have her eyes, I think. Her mother’s, green and sharp. The only difference is the hair." He studies my expertly dyed locks—dark and shining in the lamp light.
Somehow, he knows that beneath all these layers of dye, my hair would be as blonde as myMomochka’swas. Nearly white like the snow in Siberia where our family comes from.
"You don't know me." My voice breaks.
"But I think I do. I think you're my sister." He doesn't speak again. Doesn't move. Just stands there like a man with infinite patience while my mind scrambles.
The room tilts, and I grab the edge of a bookshelf to steady myself. In the shadows, I swear I see movement, a shape that could be a man. Could be Volk. Watching this unfold, knowing what it means.
"How?" I whisper.
"Because Father is lazy. I know what happened to your mother, he handled that himself. But you were just a loose end, so he gave you to his men. And when idiots like Igor and Anatoly are left in charge, mistakes are made." Dimitri's voice is matter of fact. "Because he's paranoid and raised me to be the same. I know better than to take the word of crooked men, especially on something as significant as killing a fifteen-year-old girl. And now that I've seen you, Iknow." He emphasizes that last word. No room for argument.
Still, I try. "You're lying."
"I'm not. My name is Dimitri, my mother was Katya, and our father is the man in that office who just ordered you to threaten me. And you ... you're the sister I never had the chance to meet."
I feel tears on my face. When did I start crying? Everything is lost. Dimitri is the first besides Volk to recognize me. Once he tells Father, I'm dead. I stiffen my shoulders. Yes, they'll kill me, but I won't die on my knees. I'll take as many of these assholes with me as I can.
"I'm sorry," Dimitri says, and he sounds like he means it. "I'm sorry for what Father did to you, for what he did to your mother. I'm sorry for not finding you sooner. I'm sorry for all of it." He extends his hand. Not as a threat, but as an offering. Peace. Acknowledgment of a connection.
"We're not going to hurt each other," he says. Statement of fact, not a question. "We're not going to let him use us against each other. We're family. That has to mean something."
