Page 54 of Bloody Savage God
Again, not something I’m about to say out loud.For fuck’s sake.
“Got it,” is all I say as I get up and head straight for the door.
Time to take care of some business. Especially since I’ve got a date later on.
Which I still need to convince Gianna to actually come to.
Heading back down the hallway, another door opens, and my sister steps in my way.
“Get in here,” she says, more than a hint of annoyance in her eyes. In fact, she looks murderous, which is slightly disconcerting, though I still smirk at her, partially because I know that will enrage my little sister, but also because I don’t need her to see the unease I’m feeling anywhere in my expression.
“Hey,sestrichka.”
The room holds two couches, a small kitchenette, and a large fridge. I know from experience that the fridge is full of old takeout containers and I open it to check if there are any Chinese left-overs inside. The food we had at the Souvlaki House is the last proper meal I’ve had, and you can only go so long with just caffeine, despite my best efforts.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Anya repeats the same question my father asked me minutes earlier, making me chuckle. As much as I am like my father in many ways, Anya is pretty much a miniature version of him. Except for her looks, that is, which she got from our mother who took off when Anya was only two, nowhere to be seen again.
“You know, you could replace dad and I doubt anyone would even notice. He asked the exact same thing.”
My sister’s expression turns sour. “Yeah, right. No one would notice.”
“You know what I mean. You guys think alike.”
“No, I don’t know that, and if you had been in his fucking office ten minutes ago, you’d know exactly how untrue that statement is.”
Turning around, a Chinese container in hand, I look at my sister curiously. Her face is darker than I’ve ever seen it. Her mouth set in a grim line, and now that I’m paying attention, her eyes look reddish. If I didn’t know better, I would have said Anya had cried before I got here, which she hasn’t done since she was five and my father told her to grow the fuck up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my full attention now on my sister.
Her face contorts in anger when she answers. “He says I’m supposed to get married.”
That suggestion is so crazy I stare at her for a moment before I sputter out the only thing I can think of. “But you don’t even have a boyfriend.”
The scowl I get in return isn’t particularly helpful in figuring out what has her in such a mood.
When I don’t make any further comments, Anya huffs in annoyance and lets herself drop down on one of the couches. Sensing that this is one of those times when I’m supposed to act like a big brother, I sit down, too, starting to eat my Chinese food while I wait for her to get whatever is bugging her off her chest.
“He figured out I took care of stuff at the clubs while you were gone the past couple of days. Now he’s trying to use me as a fucking pawn. Like we’re in some goddamned Regency romance and he can just marry me off to broker some deal. I’m not sure what he’ll do if he figures out I’ve been running all the shit for years now. I mean, really, what did he think? That you’re fucking superhuman?”
I raise my eyebrows, not bothering to pretend I’m insulted. She’s right, there is no way I could have done all the stuff she’s been doing. Nor would I have wanted to. My guess is he assumed I delegated to some of our men. I am surprised that he didn’t mention any of this to me earlier, though I can guess why. Anya has always roused my protective instincts, which tend to come out in violent ways, and my father has been quite adept at channeling my psychopathic tendencies in a way that benefits the Bratva.
But that’s hardly what has my sister spewing fire. Our father is actually trying to marry her off.Holy hell.
I’m not about to say it, continuing the theme of the day, but I’m not really surprised. One level below us single moms and drug addicts are dancing in skimpy outfits, or giving blowjobs and quick fucks in the private rooms, all to get by, so it’s not as if my father’s misogynistic attitude is much of a secret.
It’s more surprising that he’s permitted Anya to go through grad school first, giving her a taste of freedom.
“Does he have someone specific in mind?” I ask what I consider being the next logical question.
Apparently, that is the wrong thing to say.
“That’s what you want to know? Seriously? Does it matter? Shouldn’t I have a right to decide whether I even want to get married? It doesn’t fucking matter which asshole father is looking to make a deal with. I sure as hell am not going to just go along with this.”
I consider Anya for a second. She deserves a different life than the one she’s been born into. Unlike Gianna, whose father pulled her into the business, Anya was raised to be a sheltered princess whom my father wanted to keep as far away as possible from the shit my family is involved with.
Not that it worked out for him.
Putting down the container of Chow Mein with a small sense of regret, I lean my elbows on my knees and look at my little sister. Seeing the way she fidgets and the way she has bitten her nails to shreds, tell me she’s close to reaching some edge she might just be prepared to jump off of. At twenty-four, she is five years younger than me and with the way dad raised us, it’s a surprise we ended up being close. I was thrown together with some of my dad’s men to occupy my time from a young age, while Anya was raised by a hired nanny. And yet, here we are. Which means I’ve got to figure out what the fuck to say next.
