3. DANYA

A black Mercedes screeched beside me. The back tinted window opened, cigar fumes escaped, and my father's aging face appeared, glaring.

Nobody knew I was coming here tonight.

"I almost had him," I said through a snarl.

"Get in. Idiot. You don't think. You never think. Your brother told me where you were."

Gritting my teeth for words of weakness to stay inside. "I tried."

The door opened, ramming my legs.

"Trying and failing is still failing," he snapped, slipping across to the other seat. My father's signature look was a pinstripe suit; navy and gray. My mother once told him stripes were slimming, and now in his age, he'd stopped exercising and started relying on those stripes.

"I'm sorry," I grumbled as I slipped into the back of the car. "I almost had him."

"Danya, sweet boy." He smacked my knees with his cane. "Why are you like this?"

Sinking into the seat, I rubbed my eyes. "I'll find him again."

"It's fine," he muttered. "Seems to have worked in our favor. You know better than to play hero. Your brother—" he scoffed. "Grigory would never do something as stupid. He's a team player."

"Maybe if you didn't bench me," I grumbled back.

He tutted, tapping at my knee with his cane again. "Stop it with your American shit."

There was no winning with my father. Compared to my older brother and sister, I was the disappointment, and having my name attached to losing the money didn't help. It was my responsibility to make it right, and that started with finding the guy who'd taken the trash chute rather than the stairs. I'd keep that detail to myself. I didn't want to look more like an idiot in front of my family.

"I'll get the money back," I said.

"We got a call already," he said, turning to me with a menacing smile. "He's being collected."

"Who called you?"

"Not your concern."

"You know I got a good look at him," I said. "He—he's this skinny thing, cocky, short hair, a little sassy."

He scoffed. "Danya, Danya, please. You talk about him like you want to fuck him. It's embarrassing."

"Oh. Really. Because I'm gay."

He tssked, rambling something off in Russian. "Enough of the dramatics," he groaned.

My Russian was rusty at best. I had a small accent, but only from proximity to my family. They figured if I immersed myself in American culture from birth, our family wealth would multiply. And it had.

"You can drop me off near my apartment," I said.

He smacked his cane at my knee again. "You're coming back to the house. I want to keep an eye on you." He shook his head. "So, what did he say?"

"He admitted to stealing the money."

"Good. Arkady will handle it from here."

"Who told you?" I asked again.

He pressed a finger to his mouth, hushing me. "You've done enough."

My uncle, Arkady, headed security for the family. He also had his hand in the treasury. At first when the money went missing, Arkady almost lost a finger for refusing to admit fault. He was my father's brother, and clearly, he didn't have an issue disfiguring family.

"Where are they taking him?"

"Why?" he snickered. "You want to save the day? It's your fault. We're in shame. Your fault we were hacked. You're lucky I'm not throwing you in the pit."

I knew he hadn't meant to tell me where, but he told me. The pit was a secure base in the back of the house. It's where they took people accused of crimes against the family.

"We're almost home," the driver said.

"What will you do?" I asked in a whisper. "He could be an asset."

"He stole from us. Don't you understand?" he raised his brows at me. "I'm ready to have his fingers pulled off. One by one. Well, once he pays back the money. With interest, of course."

Seeing where he lived, it didn't make sense. He could've moved country. If I'd stolen four million, I would've been on the first flight out. "Who told you who it was?" I asked.

"I got a call," he said. "How did you get to his apartment?" He asked. "If you tell me he's an ex, and he got into our account using you, then maybe I'll go easy on him. Or maybe I'll make you watch."

"He's not an ex," I snarled. Although there was no certainty to that. He was my type.

"I wish I believed you." He clipped the back of my head with an open palm. "What happened to the Danya I trained? Since when would you let anyone escape?" He scoffed. "You see, this is why I can't be sure he's one of your boys. They scrambled your brain and made you soft like egg yolk."

"Oh, of course, because I leave important information around," I said. "You don't trust me."

"America made you soft."

"I was born here," I snapped back.

"Watch your tone, boy!"

Folding my arms, I hugged them against my chest. I was the youngest child, and the only one born in America. At first, they wanted to go back to Russia to give birth, and then they realized the worth of citizenship. My older brother, Grigory, and my older sister, Evelina, were both born in Russia.

We arrived at the family home. It was a big house surrounded by land. In Russia, my father had been successful in different industries, which I found out were mostly arms dealing, and the natural progression of that in America meant the head of a criminal organization. It was only right, it was a business, the business of people paying for protection.

"Listen," my father grumbled before I could leave the car. "Don't disturb your uncle. He'll get the information. And I'll stop blaming you soon."

It was my fault. I was the reason the account was four million short.

I'd disobeyed my father many times, but this time, I couldn't do that. No matter how much I wanted to question him myself, I knew not to interfere. But I also knew that sometimes disobeying a direct order could be good.

At the front door, Lev stood, stuffing his hands into his overcoat. He nodded at my father and grinned at me. He had a gnarly scar at the corner of his mouth that traveled across his cheek to his ear.

"What's he doing here?" I asked.

"I'm not letting Arkady and Grigory be alone with the boy," he snickered, climbing out of the car. He held onto his cane, keeping himself upright. "Plus, your sister is worried, so she's staying over with the children."

Lev was my father's head of operations. He was also married to my sister.

Everyone in the family had a role. But my role changed. I'd gone from being groomed to take over security, to the forgotten one, until the money went missing, and my name was all over the paper trail.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," he grumbled.

I walked inside and inhaled. Home always had a bleach smell warm inside my nostrils. Everything was white marble against dark wood. My mother designed this place.

Grigory poured drinks in the kitchen. Vodka. No ice. The bottles were kept in the freezer. He handed me a glass. "Sometimes, I wonder if you get yourself in trouble on purpose," he said. Clinking his glass against mine.

I shotted the vodka. Ice cold against my teeth. "I tried to prove I could handle it." I sat at the table, thudding the glass against the wood. "Another."

He snickered, pouring me another shot. "He thinks you're weak."

"I know," I said through clenched teeth. "I don't know how to prove otherwise." I sucked back the second shot. "Another."

"Evelina's putting her kids to bed, but I'm sure she'll have an answer." He sipped his vodka. "If you want my input, I'd say mom was soft on you."

"Fuck off." I was sick of hearing it, every time I did something a little emotional, it was always an issue of me being coddled. "You piss me off."

"You know, Arkady is bringing that boy here, the one you failed to get," he snickered. "I'll pull his fingernails off, then after he transfers the money, we'll see what he can do for us. Maybe we'll chop him up."

"I suggested he could work for us."

"To dad?" he chuckled. "Oof. Maybe he'll think it's a good idea if it comes from someone else."

There was truth in that. It wasn't a secret our father would take an idea suggested by someone else. "Fuck off, Grigor." I threw the glass against the floor. It shattered across the marble tile.

"Ooo. Take a joke, will you. Mom will be pissed if you don't clean it."

I couldn't deal with him now. I let the boy slip between my fingers, almost literally. I went to my room upstairs. I wasn't allowed to leave. Passing my sister on the stairs, she shared the same look of humor as our brother.

It wasn't funny. There was nothing to laugh about. I'd show them what was funny eventually.

In my room, I had a view of the yard out back. I watched for almost an hour before there was any movement. Arkady and Grigory dragged a boy with a sack over his head through the grass as Lev followed behind.

The bedroom door creaked open. My father's cane stomped at the wood. "Your mother said you should come watch," he grumbled. "It might help you to see what we do. In case you forgot."

"What do you want me to do to him?" I asked. "Shoot him?"

"You had no problem unloading your gun in his computer," he snipped. "I thought I taught you better. You know how to slow someone down."

He had taught me. Go for the foot. Feet are sensitive, and if they're shot, it makes escape difficult. "I won't let you down next time."

"Don't make empty promises," he grumbled. "Show me. Words are useless. Action is everything." He waved his cane. "Go. You might get to extract something."

This was a moment for me to be a hero. I'd get the information. I'd figure out how he stole the money, and then I'd get him to steal money for us. It was less barbaric, but the idea wasn't who could get away with killing the most, the idea was who could make the most money for the family. We were creating a legacy, and our legacy couldn't be all murder and death. That was a cliché.

In the yard, there was a shed, and beneath the shed, there was a bunker. That's where the fun took place.

Crying screams came as I opened the hatch. Nobody heard when the hatch was shut. It was the perfect place. Lev and Grigory stood behind him, strapped to a metal chair, and Arkady stood in front.

There was something off about his voice.

"Wait," I said.

"Fuck, Danya," Grigory growled, turning to me. "What now?"

They parted to reveal the bloody lips and eyes of the boy.

"That's not him," I said.

He sobbed. "I'm—I'm—"

It wasn't the same person I'd met at the apartment. "This isn't him."

"It is," Arkady snapped. "The Winch family handed him over. They said it was him."

"No, this isn't—"

"I—I didn't take your money," he continued sobbing on the chair, blood pooling in the corner of his mouth. "Please."

Grigory grabbed me by the collar and pinned me against a wall. "Don't fuck this."

Grinning, I held my hands above my head. "I haven't fucked it. This isn't your guy. Do what you want. But I've seen the boy."

He let go of me. "The Winch family?" he asked Arkady.

Arkady nodded. "They owed us."

"Wait," Lev grumbled. "The Winch family uncovered a mole."

I tutted my tongue. "Look at you. Doing their dirty work. They want you to kill him for them. He doesn't know shit."

He shook his head. "I—I haven't—haven't taken money. I—I'm an informant. Please, I won't say anything about you. Let me go."

"Fuck!" Lev roared, smashing his fist into the wall. "Fucking idiots!"

"Me?" Grigory shouted back. "Arkady didn't verify the information. He's the idiot."

Arkady punched Grigory in the jaw. "Show me respect, boy."

Grigory turned away, massaging his face. "Apologies."

"Who will tell Konstantin?" Lev asked.

Arkady raised a hand. "It'll be me."

"He's gonna be pissed," I snickered. "Let me know when you tell him so I can watch."

"Asshole."

The guy in the chair sobbed.

"God, shut it!" Arkady snapped. He held his gun to the man's head and shot without a second thought. "Danya. You've met the boy. What happened?"

They all stared, expecting an answer.

Great. Another area I'd failed. But I wasn't about to admit he's slipped out of my arms.

"He—he—"

"Durak," Arkady scoffed. Russian for stupid.

I might've been insulted, but I was the only one who'd seen his face. And I wouldn't forget that anytime soon.