ChapterNineteen
Lev
The library feels cozy and simple, with spiral wooden columns separating rows of books and an upper-level loft that boasts more texts than the presidential library. Armless leather sofas upholstered in cream and tan colors mark the expansive tile space along with German oak curio cabinets situated between teeming shelves. A Japanese lacquer cabinet sits upstairs at the far end of the loft area, flanked by authentic martial arts swords.
Though my mother is typically the one to do the interior decorating, I can tell my father had a hand in the library. The antique finish, the period-specific collector items, the harsh lines and cold artistic additions—that’s all him. But the plush fur blankets draped over the leather chairs, the soft cream wallpaper, the flowers that are refreshed every day—that’s my mother.
What a weird couple they make.
Dad paces the space in front of me. Every so often, he glances at the leather armchair near the fireplace, eyes flicking expectantly toward me. I make no effort to move.
“I was told by Bertie today that Tomas and Alexandra have been spending far too much time together,” he points out, his voice stiff with disappointment. “Have you no honor, boy?”
“I can’t control what Alex does in her spare time.”
He growls while gripping the back of the armchair nearest him. I see the divots he makes with his fingers in the leather, the shiny material bending to his will. “You’re supposed to be wooing her.”
I grind my teeth. I know talking back won’t help, but goddamn it if I don’t want to give him a piece of my mind. He’s been relentless about Alex, about what she means to me.
The fact that he presumes to know my feelings irritates the shit out of me.
“Your brother can claim her easily,” he continues despite the growl of warning that vibrates my throat. “Mikhail serves the family.” He glares down his nose at me. “Unlike you.”
When he releases the chair, the leather puffs up slowly, resuming its usual shape as my father chooses to pace toward the glass curio cabinet, revealing an odd assortment of freak show items. He inspects them while saying, “One of our prostitutes was harmed by a selfish prick who thought he could treat my property however he wanted. Mikhail corrected the man. And being thankful for his strong authority, the man paid Mikhail what he had in his pocket.”
He nods as though he’s just delivered a spectacular message to the world. “That’s how things are done around here.” He focuses intently on me. “That’s how you’re supposed to get things done, Lev.”
“That’s not my style.”
“You better adopt it soon, boy, or I’ll disinherit you.”
I snarl bitterly. “Good. You should fucking do it, then.”
He launches across the tile and smacks me so hard that it pulses through my arms. “Get the hell out of my sight.”
The regret that would surely follow a slap in return is what encourages me to leave the library. My phone vibrates as I make my way through the St. Petersburg–style mansion, passing rows of tall windows that allow plenty of light into the substantial space.
I don’t look at my phone until I reach my bedroom door.
“We need to talk,” reads a text from Tomas. “Now.”
Before I can click on his name, a call comes through, revealing his name. I answer the call, holding the phone to my ear as I wander into my room. “About what?”
“It’s about Alex.”
“I don’t want to talk about Alex right now.”
He sighs. “You’ll want to talk about her when I tell you what happened this week.”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be import—”
“She tried to kill herself.”
The news takes out my legs, causing me to drop into my bed. “When?”
“On Wednesday night.”
“How?”