He raised his small fist to the rusty metal, knocking once.
Silence.
Even the rats had stopped their whining, waiting to see if Wolf was still breathing. For a split second, Mikhail’s heart plummeted. If he had died in there?—
Heavy footsteps sounded from the other side of the door, drawing a sigh of relief.
Despite being malnourished, the twelve-year-old boy was stronger than most kids his age, which made no sense to Mikhail, because they both came from the same father, yet he didn’t feel nearly as exceptional as Wolf. Perhaps his mother had been a warrior, a woman of steel.
“I brought food,” Mikhail whispered, tilting his head up to the door’s chuckhole.
“Where did you get this?” his brother croaked, his voice ragged from the icy wind.
A faint, delighted smile. “I set a trap, like you taught me,” Mikhail said.
It was Mikhail’s first time stepping up in what used to be a one-sided relationship, and, despite the circumstances, he was glad to stop taking and start giving for once.
Wolf was older, and he was smart—Father said he was a genius. There was no mess he couldn’t get him out of, no problem he couldn’t solve in minutes. And Mikhail loved him. Desperately. Greedily. Wholeheartedly. Which was why he wouldn’t let him die, no matter the consequences.
“Well done,” Wolf said, his words filled with pride. When he reached for the morsels through the chuckhole, his fingers were raw, bitten all over by those goddamn rats.
Mikhail’s chest squeezed at the sight. “Take this too,” he whispered, handing his older brother his pocketknife. This way, he would at least have something to defend himself with against the perils of his confinement. “If my mother doesn’t let you out by morning, I’ll sneak out again. Get you some vodka for your fingers to disinfect them.”
“No,” Wolf said. “If they catch you, you’ll get in trouble. I’ll be fine.”
Mikhail wanted to protest, but his words died on his tongue. He noticed too late that the guards had come back.
The wooden staircase creaked under their heavy boots. His heart stopped.
There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. When they saw him, they cursed under their breaths, blocking the only way out so they could catch him.
“Just let me talk to him. I wasn’t doing anything!” Mikhail cried out.
They didn’t listen. Of course, they didn’t. His mother—the Pakhan’s wife—had ordered them to keep the boys apart, and that’s what they were going to do.
Despite his desperate attempts to run back outside, Mikhail stood no chance. They were tall and bulky, and he was just a kid. They seized him quickly, dragging him back to the house screaming and thrashing in their grip.
His mother waited in the foyer of the manor, with her silk robe and furrowed brows.
He wanted to cry. To shout. To throw things at her and make her let Wolf out. But she wouldn’t have it. His brother was about to spend the night alone in that dreadful place while hehad their bunk beds all to himself. It couldn’t have been lonelier and more unfair.
“You like going down there so much, maybe I should put you in there,” his mother chided.
Yes, she should do it. He deserved it for all the trouble he caused, if nothing else. But she wouldn’t do it. She would yell at him and pull his hair or his ears, yet to subject him to the same treatment his brother received? Never. Not because she loved Mikhail—or anyone, really—but because she loved power, and she was willing to do anything to get it.
“When will you get it to your head?” She grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him with a force no mother should use. “One day, Wolfgang will be old enough to take over your father’s throne, and you’ll be left with nothing. Nothing! Is that what you want for us?”
When Mikhail didn’t answer—too preoccupied with the flow of anger coursing through his veins—his mother added, somewhat bitterly, “Only when he’s fighting for survival can you get ahead. That’s your only goddamn chance to become someone important in this business. Do you understand?”
Mikhail shook his head, drowning in an amalgam of feelings he couldn’t comprehend. There was shame, powerlessness, and a kindling of something dark that was difficult to accept.
Her words made no sense. He was never going to become Pakhan, because, like she said, Wolf was already miles ahead—the first born, the stellar son his father worshipped. He was so much better than him, in fact, that Mikhail knew he’d support his promotion when the time came. How could he not?
“I don’t care! I don’t care about any of that!” Mikhail cried out, yanking himself free from her grip. It earned him a slap so hard, he stumbled backward and fell.
“Of course you do—you’re just too stupid to get it. Don’t worry, though. What am I here for, if not to make you care?”
14
