Page 3 of Beautiful Trauma

The distinctive sound of my father’s boots on the hardwood floor sent a shudder of fear echoing through me. When heappeared in the kitchen doorway, Dima stepped in front of me and Kira.

Cocking his brows, Father asked, “Going somewhere?”

Without replying, my mother tucked her head to her chest. Father closed the distance between the two of them. Shaking his head at Mama, Father said, “Irina, I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Placing his finger under her chin, Father tipped her gaze to his. “Have I not been good to you?”

“Yes, Danill.”

“Have I not given you more than you could have ever hoped for?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

A surprisingly defiant look flashed on my mother’s face. “You know why.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You should be proud that your son will lead the family one day.”

“You know I don’t want that for him. I never have, and I never will.”

He tsked. “How ungrateful you are. The world that so evidently disgusts you has provided well for you and your children.”

Mama reached out to grab Father’s arm. “Please, Danill. Don’t do this. I already live in fear of losing you. Don’t make me fear losing my son.”

With a sneer, he slung her away. “Once I would’ve believed you. But not now. Not when you were trying to sneak away and take my heir.”

Dima stepped up. “Father, it isn’t right to choose me. It should be Maksim.”

When the back of Father’s hand cracked against Dima’s cheek, Kira and I both jumped. Jabbing his finger at Dima, Father said, “Don’teverspeak against my choices!”

Dima swiped the blood from his lip before obediently nodding his head. “Sorry, Father.”

Jerking his chin at him, Father commanded, “Get your things. You’re coming with me.”

A wail of agony erupted from Mama’s lips. “No, please, no!”

Father’s expression sent icy cold fear shooting down my spine. “You have betrayed me, and there is no coming back from betrayal!”

None of us had time to react before a gleaming silver gun was pressed against her forehead. The deafening crack of the gun echoed through the room, assaulting my ears. The expression of terror frozen on my mother’s face would haunt me for years to come.

The world around me slowed to a crawl. There was no noise. Just muffled horror enveloping me as Mama’s body dropped to the floor. Abandoning Kira, I dove over to collapse beside her.

“No, no, no!” I cried as I cradled my mother in my arms. Blood gushed like a geyser from the gaping wound in her forehead, soaking me in the warm, sticky rush.

Lev and Kira dropped down beside me. Each of them held one of Mama’s hands. As they wailed beside me, I pleaded, “Don’t leave us, Mama!”

But even as the plea left my lips, I knew she was gone. She’d been gone since the instant the bullet hit her. It was the only merciful thing in this entire situation.

When I glanced up, Dima stood toe to toe with my father. “How could you?” he choked out.

Sneering, Father replied, “She betrayed me. But worst of all, she betrayed the Bratva.”

His words twisted the knife of agony in my chest. But in that moment, it turned from mourning to loathing.

After easing Mama’s head out of my lap, I shot to my feet. One glance at the kitchen table showed me a leftover steak knife from dinner. I snatched it up before I could think twice.