Page 32 of Silken Chains
“I’ve got bad news.”
I don’t want to hear bad news. “Talk to me about it later when—”
“Ksenia is here,” he blurts.
Chert poberi, what could Ksenia want at this hour?
I spin around, my glare piercing through him. He’s pointing behind me, but I’m too pissed to care. “Then tell her to f—”
“Hello, brother.”
I wince.
That voice.
My sister.
The tension in the room thickens, and I turn, facing Ksenia. She stands there, all ice queen composure; her eyes, as sharp as daggers, hold a wolf-like power in their gray depths.
She smirks, crossing her arms. “You look like shit. Rough night?”
Ignoring the sounds of Fyodor coughing, crying, shitting, and pissing himself in fear, Ksenia strolls into the dungeon like she owns the place.
This hellhole, where our father used to slice enemies apart, is her playground. At forty-one, six years older than me, she looks at least a decade younger than her age. Ksenia has got this aura—dark, untouchable. Her chestnut hair is pulled back in a bun, her silver-gray eyes scanning the room like she’s plotting a war.
“You always had a stomach for this, didn’t you, Ksenia?” I remark, trying to mask my unease.
“Comes with the territory, little brother,” she replies, her gaze landing on Fyodor. “So, this is the rat?”
I don’t even bother asking how she knows. She just does. Always in the loop; that’s Ksenia.
“Yeah, that’s the rat,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Misha caught him handing over shipment details to Vasiliev’s crew.”
Ksenia circles Fyodor like a predator assessing its prey.
Her eyes don’t betray a thing, but I can’t help but watch her closely as I mention Vasiliev. There’s a history there, buried deep but not forgotten.
“Good. We need to send a message. Can’t have rats thinking they can scurry around without consequences.”
“I know the rules, Ksenia,” I snarl, the memory of her and Ivan Vasiliev flashing through my mind. It’s been over twenty years, but the thought still burns.
Love? More like a cursed pisdec.
She nearly threw everything away for him, even tried to elope. But our father caught wind of it, threatened to kill Ivan if she didn’t leave him and marry Dmitry, the guy he had picked out.
Daughters? To our old man, they’re just chess pieces, nothing more.
Marrying for love? In his world, that’s a damn joke.
She was once young, naive. Now? Ksenia turned into a whole different beast.
“Was about to finish him off before you showed up,” I continue, pushing the memories aside.
Ksenia strides up to Fyodor and grabs a knife off the tray, its blade catching the dim light.
“What a pity. You’ve been a good dog all these years, haven’t you?” she taunts.
With a twisted smirk, she starts slicing into him. Fyodor’s eyes widen in terror as she begins her work, each cut delivered with clinical precision.
