Down the hallway and past the living room and parlor and to the door of my father’s office. The door is closed, so I press my ear to it, just in case he’s in there. I don’t hear anything, so I turn the knob and open the door slowly.
I poke my head through to an empty office. Quickly, I slip in and close the door behind me. My father’s large oak desk, the bookshelf walls, the drink caddy and small couch in the corner… the not so faint smell of his cologne and those nasty Russian cigarettes…
I check the desk first. Seems a little obvious, but hell, that could be the point. I also want to get it out of the way. Two of the drawers come open easily, nothing in them but papers and some pens, a small roll of caramel candies, half a pack of his cigarettes…
The third drawer is locked. Shoot. I didn’t grab anything from the kitchen to pick the lock. Maybe there’s a key somewhere. I kneel down and look under the desk, and sure enough, there’s a key taped underneath. Perfect.
I take the key and use it on the third drawer. Inside is a mini file cabinet. Folders flap as I pull it open and my heart starts to thrum in my ears. Whatever’s in here was important enough to be locked up, so…
I go through the folders. It’s mostly just financial stuff. Bank and tax statements, titles to some of his cars, nothing too earth shattering.
And then I see a spine of leather in the furthermost file. A book? I reach in, and sure enough, it’s a book. A journal, from the looks of it. I sit in my father’s chair and open it. The first page I turn to is dated for around eight years ago…
This is Nicki’s handwriting. Oh, my God.This is his journal.I read the first paragraph.
I’m finallywhere I’ve been trying to get to my entire life. An enforcer in my father’s army. And with any luck and Viktor’s help, I’m the baddest thing walking and talking. Well, next to him, anyway. It’s great. I think Papa’s proud. He’s always been on me to learn about the Bratva so that I’ll be fit to take over when he’s gone. I think that he sees me as the man he always hoped I’d be.
So, why doesn’t this feel like it’s supposed to?
Marla was right.He was questioning things.
I’m notin doubt about this life. At least, I don’t think I am. Everything is happening the way it’s supposed to in a way. Papa wants me to strive for more. Look into becoming a brigadier and have my own brigade to command. I feel strange about that. Outside of the fact that I’m not a fan of the idea of becoming Vik’s boss after he was the one who trained me, I just don’t think I want more than this.
All I’ve ever wanted was my father’s respect, and I feel like I have it. Even if I’m just a byki. Even if he wants more for me. I don’t have any desire to be more than this. Is that wrong? I’m the son of a Pakhan. I should want to be more than just this.
Why don’t I?
The doorknob turnsand I jump, shutting the journal and shoving it back in the drawer. The door opens and Yanov walks in, his stone face in a deep frown. “Tatiana? What are you doing in here?”
“Nothing,” I say and almost immediately regret it. “I mean, I was looking for a pen. I wanted to leave Dad a note.”
He nods as he looks me over, narrowing his eyes. “So, your father isn’t home?”
“I don’t think so. He wasn’t in his room.”
He walks around the desk and his eyes immediately look down at the drawer. It’s still open just a little bit. “Tatiana, you weren’t, perhaps, snooping, were you?”
I’m caught. Yanov’s a lot of things, but he’s far from stupid. He reaches down and opens the drawer, almost immediatelyspotting the journal, crooked from my throwing it in there so quickly. He pulls it out and turns it around in his hand.
“You know, I once spent time in a Russian work camp,” he says. “This was back when the Soviets were in power. The charge was espionage. I was just fifteen years old. Espionage.” He snickers and flips through the pages uselessly. “My father was an important military man, you see, and one day, I got curious about his work. I decided to look through his files, just the way that you decided to do. I was caught and shipped off to Siberia. Did you have a chance to see Siberia or anything of that part of the world while you were overseas?”
I shake my head, a cold fear coming over me.
“It is a truly depressing place. Even today. Back then, it was a million times worse. I had to dig ditches in a frozen ground with barely any clothes to keep me warm and nothing but gruel to nourish my body. You are so lucky to have never experienced that level of cruelty and neglect. I think your pretty little body would break under that kind of pressure.”
He’s smiling as he talks, and it’s the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen. His lips have thinned, showing yellowed teeth, some of them far too sharp, like they’ve been filed down to a point.
“I know times have changed,” he says, stuffing the journal in the inner pocket of his jacket, “and such punishments are unconscionable. But I’ll tell you something, Tatiana. I am thankful to my father for turning me in to the authorities. It hardened me in a way that would eventually make me more of an asset to your father. I wonder if the youth of today were subjected to those extremes, would they understand how… lucky they are.”
He says the wordluckylike a threat, and I have to take a half-step back from him.
“I shouldn’t see you in here again… right?”
“N–No. No, you won’t.” I walk backward away from him and then make my way out of the office. His eyes follow me, and for a second, I think that his body will follow.
He doesn’t. That doesn’t stop me from speed walking down the hallway and back up to my room. Once I’m on the other side of my door, I realize my hands are shaking.
But… but Marla was right. Nicki had doubts. And if he had doubts, then it’s not all that outside of the realm of possibility that he would want to leave the Bratva.
And I know now that at least my father knew about it. I don’t know if he’s done anything about it, but maybe Yanov did.
Either way, it’s proof. And I need to get my hands on it. I just wish I knew how.
