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Our father's gaze softens slightly as he speaks again, but this time, his voice cracks a little.
It’s subtle, but I catch it, and so does Mikhail.
We glance over at each other briefly, aware of the emotions that are behind our father’s words.
He’s talking about her.
Our little sister.
“Alessandro showed me a photo of her.” He murmurs softly. “She looks so much like her mother. Pretty. Smart. Strong.” He pauses, steadying himself. “I already know she carries herself like the way her mother did. It’s hard to stop myself from thinking of the woman she could have been if shewas here with us, raised with two protective older brothers, a loving mother, and a proud father.”
The mention ofmothermakes my jaw tighten.
I glance over at Mikhail, noticing the way his face has changed ever so slightly, and I know that even though months have passed since the truth came to light, the wounds are still there.
Our mother; the woman who caused all of us so much pain…
She still haunts us, even from the grave.
I don’t need to say anything to my brother—I canfeelhis discomfort.
That whore of a woman drugged my brother, then dragged his body into a bathtub, hoping to kill him by drowning him.
I didn’t speak to our father for a week straight after he finally revealed all the details, telling me, and only me, how bad Mikhail’s state really was.
My brother has no idea about the effects it had on him, and I’m guessing it’s his brain’s way of protecting himself, because he still hasn’t asked either one of us about his time at the hospital yet.
And every time I think about the things my brother had to endure at the hands of that woman…
I force myself to breathe out, to look at my brother, and to see that he is alive and well.
If I was in New York, she wouldn’t havedared.
But she was cunning, an evil cunt, and not only did she want to ruin us bymurderingmy brother, she wanted to humiliate him in a way that made it look like a suicide.
Like my brother wasn’t able to handle the pressure of being inducted.
Like death was the only way out for him.
Even now, I hate my father for not bringing me home from Russia when it happened.
At that moment, I was sent there as part of my training.
I had no contact with our father, or with Mikhail during my stay there, so I thought that when I returned here, and Mikhail wasn’t in contact with me, he had gone to Russia to complete his training too.
I don’t know why I didn’t question it more.
I should have known better.
The past still lingers, even though we’ve moved on.
I turn back to face our father, changing the subject before things can become any deeper.
“Do you really give him your approval to marry her?”
I ask him, my voice steady.
I’m not sure where I stand on the matter, but I need to know our father’s thoughts.