Page 13 of Depraved Royals

I want out. I don’t want to be a queen, married off to a Bratva king. I don’t want to be tethered to this dangerous life where life is cheap and women’s lives are cheaper still.

What a hypocrite I am.

So what if I liked Kal? So what if he only had to set eyes on me to nearly kill a man for daring to hurt me?

Kal is Bratva too. Our world produces only cold, brutal assholes, and he’s the worst of them all. There’s no love to be had within the mafia, and I’d have to lose my mind entirely to fall for a psycho like him.

So it’s just as well I’ll never see him again. Or at least, I hope not because if I do, he would probably be here to kill us all.

5

Kal

My mother is stirring her peppermint tea. She’s been doing it for ages because she knows it drives me crazy.

Simeon and Vera sit in silence, as though they’re trying to fade away and not attract her ire. I’m not so easily cowed.

My mother wants me to call hermat’, the formal word for ‘mother,’ but I refuse. ‘Mama’ is out of the question now that we’re all adults, so we use her first name.

“Idina, I told you,” I say. “I didn’t know who she was.”

I’m sticking with this lie for now. My mother doesn’t need to know that I saw the youngest daughter of the despised Fyodor Pushkin, took a shine to her, and manipulated her straight onto my cock.

“Besides,” I continue, “why the fuck do you think I’m even telling you this?”

Vera laughs.

“You aresucha piece of shit,” she says.

Idina’s eyes shift from Vera to me and back again. A narrow smile stretches across her face.

“So you thought you’d get the Pushkin girl’s panties in a bunch, so you can waltz in there and do the job?”

I shake my head. “No, it’ll take more than that. She knows who I am, remember? She ran out on me when she found out. That’s the only explanation for me waking to find her gone.”

“Maybe you are just shit in bed, Kal,” Simeon says.

“It’s possible. But you should keep your mouth shut until you’ve had positive feedback on your sexual prowess from someone who doesn’t ask for your credit card number beforehand.”

Idina grins. She loves it when we fight. She’s always worked hard to ensure that the three of us don’t get close enough to gang up on her. We scrabble for scraps of her affection like starving dogs.

“Whoremongers have no opinion here, Simeon, so stop giving your brother shit over nothing. When did you last do anything useful?”

Simeon glares at her. “You mean other than being here and spying on the Pushkins instead of gallivanting around Switzerland and going balls-deep into our enemies?” He points at me. “Andheisnotmy brother.”

Vera stifles a snort of laughter and stands up, heading for the drinks cabinet. “You aresucha loser, Simeon,” she says. “Stop whining.” She looks at me over her shoulder and grins. “So spill it, half-brother. What’s the plan?”

Glad you asked, little sis.

“Simeon said Danica Pushkin is using the exhibition space at The Refinery to show her art in a few weeks.” I raise my eyebrows at Simeon. “Correct?”

Simeon grunts in assent.

“Fine. So that’s our play.”

Idina pats the chair beside her. “Come and sit here, my son,” she says. Simeon is closest to her and moves towards the seat.

“Not you,” she says, waving him away. “Mikhail. Come and be beside me.”