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.
“What’s that?” I cup my ear. “Want me to break your nose again, brother dearest?”
“This motherfucker?—”
Lukas cuts him off by pulling his hand down, then smiles in that fake-ass way. “Now, now. No need to quarrel between brothers. We’re here to support Dad, not to humiliate him.”
He motions at our father, who’s talking with other leaders, but he throws glances at us—mostly glares, really—to remind us of his wrath.
“Move.” Alina drives her chair right between them, forcing them to break apart. “I’m gonna get ready, Yulik.”
“I’ll come along.”
“No, you’ll just steal my pastries.” She gives me a look. The look of “I want to do this on my own,” so I force myself to just nod.
“I’m sure you’ll kill it, Alya.”
She gives me two thumbs-up, grinning at me, then glares at Lukas and Mikailo before she leaves, navigating through the crowd with expert ease until she disappears behind the doors.
“Tell you what.” Lukas places an arm around my shoulders. “How about you go keep an eye on poor little Alyonushka, and we’ll take care of the grown-up issues around here?”
“I don’t think age matters, Lukas. You know…” I brush his hand off my shoulders. “Since Dad only ever introducedmeas his heir to his acquaintances.”
Mikailo visibly tenses, his hands balling into fists.
“Careful there, brother,” Lukas says with a veiled threat. “He won’t protect you forever.”
“Bold of you to assume I want that old man around. I’d rather he be gone, if you know what I mean.”
Mikailo has grown red, more offended on our dear papa’s behalf than about any threats directed at him.
Lukas, however, raises a brow, a look of calculation passing behind his usually dead eyes. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Do you?”
I hold his gaze as Mikailo looks between us with a dumbfounded expression.
Not sure what Lukas is fishing for, but he’s definitely fishing for something. He seems to like my reaction to the possibility of Yaroslav’s erasure. I mean, surely, he didn’t think I’d want to be dear Papa’s punching bag for the rest of my life?
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go do thegrown-upstuff.” I whistle, putting a hand in my pocket as I stroll away.
Fuck being Dad’s puppet.
He’s looking at me, expecting me to come over and put on a show of empty fucking pleasantries. These men would kill each other in their sleep if given the chance, so I don’t get why I need to put on the hypocritical facade.
I join him for a few, only because Alya will be the one fucked over if I misbehave. So I bring out the entertainer in me, laugh at an old man’s distasteful joke, then fight sleep when some idiot goes on a long, rampaging political rant.
Fuck, these people are boring.
My gaze strays ahead, and I pause when I see Vaughn’s parents dancing and smiling at each other.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Vaughn looks more like his father—the same hair, jaw shape, and nose—but he has his mother’s eyes.
In a way, he’s a mixture of both, and they brought him up well, probably giving him all the emotional support he needs, which allows him the liberty to be…normal.
Well, as normal as it gets, because Vaughn has an unhinged side he keeps under lock and key.
