Chapter 25

Lydia

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I stare at my mother, unsure of what she’s going to tell me. For all I know, she could divulge that I’m not her real daughter, that my father had an affair, and the reason why she spent more time and focused attention on Vera than me was because my father forbade it.

It could be anything, but I’m distracted by my need to claw at my skin. I want this fucking tracker out of me.

I want to build a fire so big, so hot, so powerful that it melts everything around me to dust. I want to sit and watch the flames consume my past so I can walk scot-free into my future.

First, this fucking tracker.

But I’ll have to wait. Bide my time.

Viktor looks at me, concern etched on his face. I turn away, and Vera’s eyes meet mine. We’re both concerned about Mom.

“What is it?” I ask my mother. “Can you tell us the truth now?”

She opens her mouth to speak, her hands clasped in front of her, when she’s seized with a coughing fit. She tries to be delicate about it, but her entire body is wracked with the fit. After a full minute of this, Vera is on her feet.

“Mom, I think you need to see someone,” she says, shaking her head. “This isn’t alright. You’re not well.” Her face is lined with worry as she holds Mom and helps her sit down.

“I’ll be fine, Vera,” Mom says weakly. “All that travel did a number on me.” She gives me a wan smile. “I’m not as young as you two anymore.” Waving her hand, she shakes her head. “But that’s of no importance. It’s vital that we have this discussion.” She sits up straighter and clears her throat. “It is time. Lydia… you were our firstborn. And you are due the inheritance upon your marriage. Because of the nature of your inheritance, the rules stipulated that you were to marry Bratva. At the time, we were not on friendly terms with the Romanov family. The only possibility was your marriage to the Ledyanoye Bratstvo. However, when I agreed to your marriage to the Ledyanoye Bratstvo, I thought you’d be marrying the oldest brother, a man I’d met on many occasions and deemed appropriate. I had no idea who you’d be marrying.”

She folds her hand on her knee.

“Enter the Romanov family. Through Vera and Nikko’s marriage, we became friendly. I shared my concerns with Viktor and Nikko’s mother, and Ekaterina and I decided it would behoove both of our families if you were to marry into the Romanov family. We perhaps thought you could marry Lev or Ollie, as…” She gives Viktor an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Viktor, but you terrified me.”

“You’re not the only one,” I mutter. Vera giggles, and Nikko coughs into his hand. Viktor remains stoic, listening to my mother.

“No harm, no foul,” he says calmly. “Go on, Zofia.”

“Timur Yudin didn’t take kindly to this news. I didn’t realize at the time that his lawyer was privy to the inheritance due to you, Lydia. When I told him the marriage was dissolved, he had a fit. My guards had to escort him off our property.” She leans forward and holds my gaze. “That evening, he met you for dinner. He already knew you wouldn’t marry him. His intent was to hurt you. If he couldn’t have you, no one could.”

She looks over at Viktor. “You must find him.”

Viktor nods. “I know, Zofia.”

“You might even orchestrate a public break-up. Something bad. If he thinks he can take advantage, he will.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry you even have to think about this.”

My mother releases a shuddering breath. “He is going to make his move. He’s likely planning it already. Do not let your guard down for a moment. He will attack, and soon.”

She coughs again, her entire body shaking. Vera gets on her feet and walks over to her, frowning. She waits until Mom stops coughing. “Who are you seeing? What do they say about this?”

“I saw a doctor at the local clinic. You know I don’t like to go to the doctor for these silly things.”

Vera frowns. “Did they give you any medication?”

“They did. It’s in the kitchen. But I swear, Vera, when I take it, the coughing only gets worse, and I feel terrible. It doesn’t help at all.”

“I’ll be right back,” she says, heading toward the kitchen.

“I’ll go with you.”

Viktor’s shadow looms behind me.

“I’m fine, Viktor.”

“I know you are.”

I turn and glare at him. “I want a moment of privacy with my sister, dammit.”

“This isn’t about limiting your privacy. You know that,” he scoffs. “I’ll stand behind to make sure you’re safe.”

We make it to the kitchen. I remember what it was like as a child. We had staff when my father was home, but when he traveled, my mother paid them all and gave them leave while the three of us took care of ourselves. We baked cookies and cakes. My mother’s Wuzetka, a layered chocolate cake with whipped cream and a chocolate glaze, was my absolute favorite, one of the few links to her Polish upbringing that remained.

“This is not normal, Lydia,” Vera says in a low voice. “This is not medication you give to someone with a cold or even bronchitis. It’s a drug you give someone with cancer.”

My blood runs cold. “What?” I whisper. “Are you sure?”

But this is her strength, her talent. Vera knows medical science front and back.

“I’m positive,” she says, shaking her head. “Lydia…”

“Why would she lie to us, though?”

“She doesn’t want us to know, I would guess. Maybe she wants to get you through the wedding.” She leans in and hugs me. I don’t even know what to say or what to do. Viktor stands nearby, but I don’t think he can hear what we’re saying. He’s staring out the window at our backyard, seemingly lost in thought.

“Alright, listen, we can’t make this right, not today. For now, we’re heading back in there, and we’re going to plan this wedding.”

But I don’t feel right about this anymore. I don’t feel right about anything.

I shake my head and raise my voice.

“No. I don’t want to talk about the wedding. I want to find Timur and be rid of him. I don’t want this hanging over my head any longer. I want this behind us.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Vera. I need a minute. Stay with Mom, and I’ll be back in soon.”

I shove open the back door and march into the yard. I can see Viktor behind me, following me.

I couldn’t stop him if I tried, so I let him. But I don’t make it easy on him.

We need to stage a public break-up.

Done.

How public do we need? If Timur is nearby or watching my mother’s home in any way, this should do just fine.

I walk with purpose back to the place I went as a child. If I close my eyes and remember, I can still see where I snuck between the pickets of the fence and got into the campground. I can still smell the campfires, the roasted marshmallows, sizzling hot dogs, and burgers.

I stare at the fence. It’s still dilapidated like it always was, only now it doesn’t seem I could fit through them. I walk up to one of the fence posts.

“Don’t even think about it, Lydia.”

Orchestrate a break-up. Orchestrate a break-up. I pour all my anger, my frustration, and my fear into my voice.

“Fuck off, Viktor. You can’t stop me. I want to be alone for a little while.” I turn around and face him, my fueled emotions real. “I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but I want you to fucking leave me alone.”

“Lydia,” he growls, but I can tell he’s wondering if I’m faking or if I’m serious. His brows snap together in concern, and he takes another step toward me. “I know we have to hash shit out, but this isn’t the time or place.”

I scoff. “So my mother’s place is? Yeah, let’s have a fight in front of her. Great idea.” I turn away and take another step toward the hole in the fence. Just beyond it, there’s a shadow of pine trees. It doesn’t look like there are many people there.

“I’m sick of you following me,” I say, loud enough for anyone who’s listening to hear. “I’m sick of you controlling me.”

A part of me believes this, and a part of me knows… I crave this. I do. It’s sick and twisted and fucked up beyond recognition, so far from anything healthy that I wouldn’t even know where normal began at this point, but… but it’s a part of us. It’s a part of who we are.

“Lydia,” he growls again. He’s only a step away from me when I turn and shove myself through the hole in the fence. He reaches for me, grasping at me, but he can’t reach me.

“Give me space,” I say, my voice wobbling. Why is my voice wobbling? “I just need a little time.”

“I can’t fit through here,” he growls. “You did this on purpose.”

Of course I did. I can’t remind him now that we needed to fake a fight. Someone could be listening.

“I need time,” I repeat.

He reaches toward me, his eyes flooded with panic. “Lydia!” he shouts, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake, listen to me. You’re not safe. Hey!” he screams.

I swear it’s a part of the entire game. He’s playing it this way so that I can come back to him.

I will, just not yet.

I hear the snap of a tree branch behind me—the skin on the back of my neck prickles in awareness. I turn to see if there’s anyone behind me, but it’s just me. Just me in the forest and no one there. I shake my head and take a look around.

I remember lighting a fire by those fire pits. I wish I had something with me now to do it again, just for old times’ sake.

“Lydia!” Viktor screams, but his voice is getting fainter as I’m walking away from him. Did he completely forget we were supposed to be mimicking this? That we’re supposed to break up?

We need to bring the Ledyanoye Bratstvo out of hiding.

I walk over to a fire pit and lift a stick from the ground. I draw in the ashes, and it feels weirdly symbolic.

I shouldn’t be here alone; I know that. It isn’t safe. I tell myself I’ll just stay here a few minutes and reminisce.. I remember what it was like being away from everyone else. Untouchable. How the whole world outside these fences seemed high paced and loud, but here, I stepped back in time and reconnected with a part of me that was waiting.

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I turn to pick up another branch when black covers my face, and my world is plunged into darkness. I scream, but it’s muffled. I try to remember everything I learned about self-defense, but my brain won’t cooperate. It feels sluggish and confused as I try my best to muddle through. Without oxygen, I feel half drugged.

I try to remember what Viktor taught me, but I can hardly think.

Always stay calm. If you lose your shit, you can’t fix a damn thing.

Do I have my knife? Do I have the strength to hold it?

What the hell is going on?

I’ve got this. I can do this.

I elbow whoever’s holding me, but my eyes are growing hazy. I scream and try to thrash, but someone’s got their arms around me, holding me in place. I need to escape.

I can’t breathe!

“Let me go!” I try to scream, but my voice is muffled, and I’m losing consciousness. “Let me go!” I say, softer this time, my voice barely audible. “Let me go,” I whisper.