Page 40 of Hate to Love You
Thankfully, my father walked in at that exact moment, and saw me frantically bleeding all over the place. He promptly got me medical attention, but then of course, promptly whipped my ass for playing with his shit.
That night, however, he came to my room and told me about the dagger. How it was a gift from a Yupik Shaman to my great-grandfather, a grateful gesture after my great-grandfather had saved his wife from drowning after falling through a patch of thin ice. He told me that my great-grandfather had passed it down to my grandfather, with the hope that it would continue as a family heirloom passed down to each new heir.
But, my grandfather, for whatever reason, had no intention of passing it on to my father, going as far as to explicitly state in his will that the dagger was to be buried with him in the Antonov Family Crypt.
However, in our family we have a unique tradition when it comes to our dead. We call it “????? M?????????,” or the “Rite of Marking.” Before an Antonov corpse is interred, their skull is engraved with our family crest. There is always someone in our family who knows the process. In ours, it’s my father’s cousin Artyom, and although he’s nearing eighty, he still has the steadiest of hands.
But because defacing a corpse’s forehead before the burial could seem gruesome and appalling for those non-family members attending the funeral, the marking was usually done afterwards, just before the body was sealed in the crypt.
This tiny window of time was exactly what my father needed. He waited until the guests had left, and old Arty’s back was turned before swiping the dagger and replacing it with a plastic replica. His final “fuck you,” to his own father.
The ironic part was that when my father kicked the bucket, we learned that his last will and testament had been conveniently amended to express that he too desired the blade buried with him.
Yet my father’s death had been a bit chaotic to say the least. And given that the traitorous fuck was bedridden and senile, I’d already swiped the blade from his safe, and put it in my own. But no one in my family cared about some stupid dagger, and the attorneys in charge of the estate had more important business to settle and no desire to grapple with their new don over it.
Now it sits on my desk. Opening my fucking mail.
Hope you’re smiling up from hell, Dad.
Turning the fine blade over in my hands, I’m not entirely sure of its origin story has any significance, or if that’s just the way of our fucked-up family. My father never explained his reason for stealing it, and I can only assume it’s because he didn’t have one.
Dead men don’t need daggers.And honestly, neither did I.
…But I did need a letter opener.
I reach for the envelope, but just as I do, my sister’s voice echoes throughout the darkened office floor.
“Seriously, Ro?” Anastasia groans walking past the rows of unoccupied desks. “You think you can just summon me twice in a day? What, you think I don’t have a life?”
“No, I just think I am your life,” I snort arrogantly, winking at her. “So yes, I think I can summon you whenever I want. Just consider me doing your eyes a favor, tearing you away from a computer screen.”
“What do you want, Roman?” she snaps irritably.
“A job posting,” I say flatly.
“What?” She scoffs. “You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you did not just drag me all the way down here, at three in the fucking morning, just to tell me you want me to post a job for you, when you have a perfectly capable HR department that—”
“Kristinah is dead,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “And yes, before you ask, I killed her.”
Ana’s jaw drops.
“W…what?” she whispers. “Why?”
“Apparently, Cal discovered that she’d been slipping information to the Irish,” I shrug. “He thinks there’s a chance she’s told them about our plans with the Walston Street deal and now they might be trying to compete for our prize.”
“I mean, wow, that sucks about your assistant,” Ana says, shaking her head. “But I still don’t get why that deal was such a big deal.”
“Because, Little Sister,” I say, leaning forward. “The investor list for that build site has some of the fattest cats in all of New York on it. Well-connected powerhouses of industry, and if I can get them all grouped together on one dossier, with me, I’d ensure that none of them would ever use their power and influence to try and fuck me. I’d have leverage over them. Leverage equals pressure. And I wanted to apply that pressure to expand our territories, while simultaneously covering our asses.”
Ana stares at me before rolling her eyes.
“Wow, Roman,” she says sarcastically. “That all sounds really fucking interesting-oh wait, no, actually it doesn’t.”
“I mean, it’s kind of interesting,” I shrug.
“Not at three in morning, it isn’t. I can assure you, it sounds boring as fuck. And your long-winded explanation still doesn’t explain why the fuck you dragged me down here?”
I snort.