Sofia
His deep voice rumbles from the dining room, making my heart rate pick up.
Miron.
My father’s sovietnik and most trusted advisor is here. I slow down my pace, feeling my stomach turn over at the thought of facing him. Father told me we would have a guest for dinner, but as always, I’m never told who.
He insisted I had to look my best, which makes no sense considering Miron is like family-at least to my father. Thank God he did tell me to dress well, though. I long to impress the man who I’ve known since I was a child.
He’s the man I’ve been secretly in love with for as long as I can remember. Bratva brotherhoods are essentially a family, but Miron is close to my father in particular. They’ve known each other since they lived in Russia.
I quicken my pace, feeling excited to see the muscle-bound, silver fox who has been at the center of my dreams for years. He’s more than twice my age, at forty-five years old. He has dark brown hair peppered with grey and built like a man half of his age.
I can feel my cheeks heat thinking about him. My footsteps quicken as I get closer to the dining room, but the door is only slightly ajar. I knock on it and wait, knowing my father wouldn’t accept me entering without knocking. He’s always quick to remind me of my place in this family.
“Come in, Sofia,” my father calls.
I enter the room, and like a moth to a flame, my eyes find him instantly. He is wearing a dark navy, pinstripe suit that hugs his broad, muscled back.
The man is always impeccably dressed, particularly for a member of the brotherhood.
My mouth dries as I walk closer to him, dreading the moment those piercing hazel eyes meet mine. Every time he looks at me, I fall to pieces. I know tonight will be no different. All the daydreams and fantasies I have of looking him in the eyes and telling him the truth are so far from reality.
“Come and say hello to Uncle Miron,” Father says, drawing my eyes to him for the first time since I stepped into the room. I glare at the man who constantly taunts and ridicules me. I hate that he calls him Uncle Miron. We’re not related, even if he is like a brother to my father.
“He’s not my uncle,” I grit out.
My father chuckles, as I approach Miron. He hasn’t even turned around yet. I’m so insignificant to him. I swallow hard as it hurts how much he doesn’t pay any regard to me.
Once I’m close to him, he finally turns and smiles the most stunning smile. It stops me in my tracks and makes my heart beat harder.
Before I can open my mouth, he speaks, “Good evening, Sofia.” He grabs my hand, sending shock waves racing through my veins. It feels like he has shot me with electric with one touch-something he never usually does.
I watch as he brings the back of my hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the skin there. Heat blazes from that spot all around my body, making me tingle with need. He holds my gaze intensely.
“Evening,” I mutter, averting my gaze. It’s impossible to keep staring into those stunning eyes without exploding into flames. This is how I always feel when he’s around.
“Now we’re all here, let us eat,” Yerik whines. Father claps his hands. “Indeed, take a seat.”
Miron is still holding my hand, and once I look up, he’s still staring at me. I clear my throat, and he realizes, dropping my hand.
I turn and walk to the table, waiting for my father to tell me where to sit.
Father always likes to order people where to sit.
“Miron, sit here,” he commands, pointing at the seat to his right.
He gives me a nod to the seat next to Miron. I swallow hard and sit down, wishing I didn’t have to sit so close to him. It’s difficult to control my nerves when I’m this close to the man I’ve longed for.
“Miron, dig in,” Father commands, setting my nerves on edge. I hate the way he speaks to him. Miron is supposed to be his trusted and respected advisor, but he treats him no better than the rest of his men.
A silence falls over the table as the clink of cutlery against china fills the grand room. I can hardly eat, as my stomach is a mess of nerves. My father and Yerik begin discussing punishments, as Miron remains silent. I keep my eyes on my plate, but I feel his attention move to me. A shiver passes down my spine.
His gaze lingers, and I wonder if he’s going to say something. Instead, he turns away.
“What do you think, Miron?” my dad asks. “About what?” he replies
“Weren’t you listening? We were discussing what punishment to give Osyen. Do you have any suggestions?”
My stomach churns, and I try to ignore his answer, hoping it won’t be as twisted and sick as my brother’s suggestion.
“I’m not sure, but I’m confident you and Yerik will come up with a perfectly suitable punishment.”
I can’t understand why I feel relief that he doesn’t wish to take part in their sick and twisted conversation about torture and murder. It’s the same every night. There’s always someone needing punishment.
Father claps his hands, making me jump in my chair. “It’s settled then.
Amari will love to punish him, I’m sure.”
I drop my knife and fork, suddenly not feeling hungry. Father has that poor animal chained up in the basement. My father mistreats Amari. Anytime he sends anyone in there, it tears them to shreds. He’s forced me to watch on numerous occasions.
How was I born into such a cruel family?
I feel Yerik’s attention switch to me. “Maybe one day, we can feed the bitch to him.” A lump forms in my throat at the suggestion. It’s not the first time Yerik has suggested my death, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Dad touches his arm. “You can’t mean your sister. Yes, she’s a burden at times, but she will fetch a handsome reward in turn for her hand in marriage.”
I glare at them. “I am here, you know. Why are you talking about me as if I’m a thing instead of a person?” I can feel the tears glazing my eyes, but I will not let them fall. He will not get that satisfaction.
“Don’t overstep, or I’ll make you regret it,” Yerik says, grabbing his knife and drawing it from its sheath. He points the tip toward me. “Do you understand?”
Instead of answering, I glare at him in defiance. He may want to break me, hurt me, but I won’t let him know the pain he causes me. No matter what, I’ll stay strong.
“Answer me, bitch,” he spits.
“Enough of this nonsense. Yerik put the knife away and eat your food,” Father says.
It’s a surprise whenever he comes to my aid, but I know it’s not out of care for me. He has to stop things escalating. I’m not sure what I did to deserve Yerik’s hate. It started to manifest as he entered his teenage years, getting worse the older we got.
“Sorry, you had to witness that, Miron,” Father says, although, from the look on his face, he isn’t that sorry. I keep my eyes down and eat my food in silence. There’s a tension across the table, but my father and Yerik are soon discussing something else. It’s not long before the two of them stand from the table and head toward the dresser for more whiskey.
“So, Sofia,” Miron says, drawing my attention to him. His unique hazel eyes cut to me, and it feels like he can see into my soul. “How are you finding college?”
I swallow hard, trying to think of something to say. Anytime Miron speaks to me, I turn into a neanderthal. “It’s good.”
For fuck’s sake, is that all my brain can come up with?
He smiles at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he does. A warm, genuine smile from the cold, hard sovietnik to my father. It’s rare to see him smile, but my heart swells anytime I do-even more so when it is directed at me.
“I’m glad to hear that. What is it you are studying?” I bite my bottom lip. “Literature.”
His eyes light up in a way that makes my tummy flutter. “I always pictured you as a creative type,” he muses.
I wish I could be more confident and out-going like my brother. Instead, I’m shy and reserved. Miron often tries with me, but I fall apart whenever I’m near him. Those eyes are so intense I can’t hold his gaze.
Sometimes, I want him so bad it hurts. I wish I could get over this ridiculous crush. He’s old enough to be my dad, although my father is ten
years older than him.
“Have you given any thought to what you want to do after college?” he asks.
My mouth is dry as I try to think of an answer. “I’m not sure.” I twist my fingers in my lap. “I’d love to work in the theatre, to be honest, behind the scenes.”
He smiles kindly at me. “I think you would be great at whatever you choose.”
I feel the heat spreading up my neck and into my face. “Miron, we have a business to discuss,” Father barks.
I notice a muscle twitch in Miron’s jaw. He smiles at me, but this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Please, excuse me.” He bows his head slightly and walks to join my father.
I watch the way he moves. My heart is pounding hard and fast-it does every time he is near. My father passes him a glass of scotch, which he knocks back in one go.
Yerik punches my shoulder hard enough to hurt. “What the hell, Yerik?”
“You’ve got it bad.” He smirks at me, flopping into the seat Miron had been sitting in.
I glare at him. “What are you talking about?”
He pulls the large, serrated knife out of his pocket, twisting it between his fingers. “You’ve got the hots for Miron.”
I can feel the heat blazing in my cheeks. “No, I don’t.”
He tilts his head to the side, pressing his finger to the tip of the knife. “Then, why are you blushing?”
I glare at him, standing up, as I know there’s no use arguing with him. Yerik is an asshole and always has been. The older he gets, the more he acts like our father. I hate how brutal he can be.
Yerik grabs my wrist hard, pulling me back to the table and forcing me down into my seat. He presses the cold metal of the knife against my throat. I’m so shocked, I can hardly process what is happening. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you, little sister.”
I swallow hard, feeling the cold metal cut into the skin at my throat. “Yerik, what are you doing?” I rasp out.
He presses the knife even harder into my skin.
I yelp in pain, and it’s enough to draw Miron’s and my father’s attention.
“Yerik, let go of Sofia,” Miron booms.
I glance at him to see his eyes full of anger as he glares at my brother.
Yerik laughs and keeps the knife at my throat. “I’m only playing about and teaching the bitch a lesson.”
Miron’s eyes flash with anger as he walks toward us. His muscles coil and bunch beneath his tight white shirt. He rips the knife from Yerik’s hand and forces it against my brother’s throat. “I need to teach you a lesson,” he growls.
I heat at the dominant sound of his voice, as he signals for me to move away from the table. He keeps his body between Yerik and me.
My whole body is an inferno as he protects me like no one ever has. I watch as Miron chucks the knife onto the floor and grabs my brother by his throat, squeezing hard. “You don’t treat your flesh and blood like that.” Yerik pales, and I glance at my father, who is watching through narrowed eyes.
He won’t like Miron touching Yerik like that, even if he does treat Miron like family. “Enough,” he shouts. “Let my son go, or we will have problems.” The warning in my father’s tone is impossible to miss.
I would hate for Miron to come to harm, trying to help me. A muscle twitches in his jaw, as he reluctantly lets go of Yerik’s throat. Yerik scuttles away, glaring at me with such hate it makes my insides churn. He will make me pay for that later, I’m sure.
My father walks over to Miron and claps a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Go to my office,” he orders.
Miron glances at me and hesitates, before returning his attention to his pakhan. He bows his head and walks away from us. His back is tense as he leaves me at the mercy of my father and Yerik.
Yerik glares at me. “It’s about time you did as you’re told,” he spits. My brow furrows. “Don’t be an ass, Yerik.”
“Enough,” my father growls. “Go to bed, Sofia.”
I consider arguing, glancing at my brother, who is smirking at me. Although, one glance at my father, and I know he won’t tolerate my disobedience tonight. The danger in his eyes is evident. I know what happens if I push him when he is in this kind of mood.
I nod my head. “Goodnight,” I say, slipping out of the room and shutting the door behind me. I rest my back against the shut door. My heart is pounding hard against my rib cage.
I can’t believe Miron stood up for me against my brother. Yerik went so pale when Miron grabbed him. I would have loved to see Miron give him a piece of his mind.
It’s the first time anyone has stood up for me against them, and it was him. All it has done is make me love him more. I try not to let it make me feel too giddy, although everything he does makes me giddy.
It’s not often that I’m around Miron lately, and I’m not sure how long it will be until I see him again. Every day, I hope he might turn up here. He’s the man of my dreams and has been the star of them ever since I was old enough to look at him in that way.
When I left to study abroad, I thought I’d get over my crush. I was a silly schoolgirl, but instead, it’s become more intense. The day of my eighteenth birthday, when I returned, I fell for him again, even harder.
I remember the way he looked at me when I walked into the dining room. He was surprised how much I’d changed, and I was sure I’d seen the heat in his gaze. He had never looked at me that way before. It was fleeting, as he quickly turned to the cold, stern sovietnik he had always been.
I walk through the halls of our home-a place that has never felt like home. It’s too cold and detached. When I visit my friend, Elaine, I see the differences. Her place is warm and friendly. Often, our home feels more like a prison, especially since I get treated like a prisoner by my brother and father. I know they are upholding the way of the bratva.
It’s not a female-friendly way of life. To them, I’m nothing more than a commodity, but I still try to treat them with love and respect, even if they make it difficult at times.
A lump forms in my throat as I remember how close Yerik and I were as children. Once he was old enough to be poisoned and trained by my father to become a bratva member, everything changed between us.
I’ve got used to the solitude of this world, but I long more than anything to be free.