Clubs: Chapter 2

My father’s men flood the door to his bedroom. He can’t have a moment of goddamn peace. There isn’t a single thing that makes them different from one another. Not even their morals.

Even I can understand why a man lying on his death bed might beg for a moment of peace, but they don’t show my father the decency.

They take their turns saying their goodbyes, but I know they’re all full of shit. They don’t care about him. They have no reason to. He’s used them for the entire time they’ve worked for him.

To Pavel, his men are his shield. They protect him from a tragic end. He doesn’t care if they live or die. That’s what makes him capable of doing what he does.

His tragic end: cancer. Fucking cancer.

A strong man like Pavel was meant to die defending his kingdom, to remain strong until his last and final breath, but the devil had other plans. Tumors are spreading through his brain like wildfire, threatening to kill him in less than a month. It’s almost as if they feed off one another.

There are times when he’ll look me in the eye and not recognize me. I know in these moments hope was created as some inspirational bullshit to keep people from facing the harsh reality of life.

Hope rests in the hands of the devil. Every waking hour you think there’s something out there to grant you your wishes, the devil claps his hands and shatters your hopes as if they were nothing.

This is my harsh reality. The man who took me under his wing as his own is leaving me in this world to fend for myself.

He taught me everything I know, and yet I feel as if I only know the tip of the iceberg. I was supposed to have years with him.

I lift my attention away from the ground and watch my father cough into his pale, veiny hands. He’s weak, but he tries to cover his pain with a soulful smile.

“Misha.” He calls my name.

I brush into his men’s shoulders to get them out of my way. These men will never be anything. There’s no doubt in my mind each of them tried to convince him to pass his power over to them. Their faces all lack emotion, which seems disrespectful to my father in a strange way.

“Give us the room,” my father demands.

Turning their hunched backs, they mope out of the room swearing under their breath.

I watch the door until I hear it click closed. Then, pulling up a padded stool, I take a seat next to my father.

He turns his head to me slowly as if it takes every muscle in his body to accomplish such a simple task. I grab his hand and pull it to my chest.

“Still beating strong,” he says.

“Still beating for you.”

“Mikhail,” he starts.

Barely able to keep my emotions under control, I hold his hands to my face, allowing a tear to fall down his wrist.

“You cut that shit off right now.” He uses humor as a coping mechanism.

I laugh through the tears and shake my head. “You’re leaving me soon.”

The machine that beeps to the sound of his heart only continues to slow. It’s a matter of minutes. I can feel an ache in my chest—a kind of pain I’ve never felt before in my life, and that says a lot. It feels as if my heart is rising into my throat.

Life is a fucking joke. Nothing can ever be enjoyed because the second I allow myself to feel joy, nothing but hatred takes over.

I hate this.

I let the hate consume my thoughts as if I’m never supposed to feel anything else, because I don’t want to. I don’t deserve to. I’ve enjoyed many things in my life, but this moment proves to me that I was weak.

I cared for my brother in a way most can’t even begin to understand. I loved him more than I hated him, and look where that got me.

He left me too.

I’m all alone in this world, and there is nothing I can do about it except face the harsh reality.

If I never allow myself to feel love—to feel overwhelmed by the happiness others can give me—nothing will hurt me.

“Mia has an envelope that you need to open. It includes everything I have planned for you.”

“This is wrong,” I tell him.

I know deep in my heart that my father never meant for me to take over. I could see it in his eyes—he never looked at me like I was worth what he is about to give me. He thought I was less than Kirill because I had a softer heart than him. I was the person to take care of Anya. The little girl she once was had my heart on a leash, and I didn’t have a problem with that.

I hold my breath in a weak attempt to tell my body to get its shit together. I don’t want Pavel to see me crying while he’s on his death bed, getting ready to hand over his legacy to me with open arms.

“No. It is right. I raised you as my own from the moment I saw you. All these years I’ve known it’s you who will take over. I trust you will do exactly what needs to be done. Take back, Mikhail. Do not give. Be ruthless if you must, and never—”

“Never let a man beat you when you’re already down.”

“Take back New York,” he mutters, his voice so clumsy I can hardly understand him.

I listen to every beat of his words as if each one is about to be his last. He tells me that he always knew it would be me, but I know he’s just saying that so I have faith in myself.

His eyes flutter with each word I say. His body is failing him, and I can do nothing but watch the strongest man I know become the weakest. Become nothing.

The monitor that was once beeping to the sound of his weak heart becomes flat. Lifting my eyes, I watch the line on the screen run to the edge, not once rising to his regular heartbeat. I stare at it as if it’s going to change, but it won’t. It just sings the devil’s wrath. That one tone over and over again, screaming to me that he is gone.

I let go of his hand gently and place it beside his body, wiping the tears from my eyes. I lift myself off the chair and bring my ear to his mouth.

I hear no snarky remark fall from his lips. I don’t hear his breath. I don’t hear the sound of his laughter, a signal he’s about to rise from the bed and tell me it was all just a joke.

I yank the cord out of the wall and listen to the room fall silent. I never knew silence could be a fucking joke.

A cruel laugh escapes me, and I force my eyes shut, pressing down on them as hard as I can. I’ll only give myself a moment to grieve; after that I won’t allow myself to feel anything else. No love, no remorse . . . nothing.

I walk to the door and swing it open.

Leaning against the wall with one of his legs crossed over the other and his arms folded across his chest, he looks at me as if he already knows what I’m thinking.

Lev has been one of my right-hand men for a long time now. He’ll stay by my side no matter what I do.

“I want a moment with him,” a man says, walking up to me until his face is only inches from mine. His attitude makes up for something I’m sure he lacks. He has no reason to be challenging me right now.

My father never hired ignorant men, only men with the urge to fight for a power they’ll never have.

“You can have your moment at his funeral.” I walk past him to Lev. “I want it arranged for today. I don’t care who can make it—I want him buried properly, and I will not wait for the convenience of others.”

“Yes, boss.”

I feel the man’s eyes drilling a hole in the back of my head. He’s envious of the power I hold. He speaks up to challenge me, but I quickly shut him down.

“I buried my brother, and now I will bury my father. It would be an inconvenience to have to bury you as well.” I gulp down my frustration and realize I don’t want these blood-sucking vultures in my house any longer.

Reaching for my gun in the waistband of my pants, I try to think about what my father would want. Would he sacrifice his mental being for the feeling of security, or would he place a bullet in the center of his skull for the bother he’s causing? I guess I’ll never know.

Before I can stop myself from speaking my irrational thoughts aloud, I say, “I want everyone out of this fucking house besides Lev, Adrian, and Dimitri. Until the rest of you can prove to me that you will respect me, you are dead to me.”

Men who aren’t on my side don’t benefit me in any way. The ones who live in this house will continue to get in the way of my business. With Father gone, I can finally avenge my brother. I don’t care whose blood I have to spill in the process.

They swallow the little pride they have left and walk down the dark hallway with their heads bobbing between their hunched shoulders. If their steps were any heavier, I’d call them out for acting like children who didn’t get their way. They’re adults and shouldn’t act as if my father’s death is inconvenient for them. Hell, if it weren’t for Pavel, they’d be sitting in some alleyway holding out a metal can asking for spare change.

Once they disappear around the sharp corner, I stop and look at Lev. “I don’t need to talk to Mia to understand Pavel already started his plans in New York. Tell the man to pack their shit—we are leaving tonight.” With my hands held by my side, I brush past him and swear under my breath. “And don’t forget to gather everything Kirill had on Koldunya. I’m sure Ludis is hiding her out in New York.”

With a final glance at the wooden door keeping my father hidden from the world, I realize I’ll never be able to set foot in this house without feeling like the good memories are now tainted. Anya’s loud, high-pitched snickers echo through the halls as if they were always a dream and nothing more.

These walls will never hold another happy memory now that both Kirill and Pavel are gone. They made this house a home. Without them, it’s just four concrete slabs holding up a roof. Nothing here will ever be enjoyed again. The sheets will never be slept in. The coffee machine won’t run at an ungodly hour anymore. The piano keys will never sound again.

Nature might as well take over this land because I want nothing more to do with it. A part of me died with this house and my family members. A part of me I don’t wish to ever get back.