Page 69 of Brutal Reign

We start with the common areas: a formal living room with rich leather furniture and oil paintings, a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a music room with a grand piano. There’s a game room with an actual pool table and vintage arcade games from the eighties that make Kin lose his mind with excitement. The gym features a full boxing ring, an indoor pool with an attached spa, and a home theater that makes Kin beg me to promise we can watch a movie there later.

“Come,” Yarik says, gesturing toward the doors leading outside. “Let me show you something special.”

We follow him through the gardens to a corner I hadn’t noticed before. Here we find an impressive vegetable patch with raised beds bursting with life. Tomato plants climb wooden stakes, their fruit ranging from green globes to deep-red spheres. Pepper plants heavy with colorful pods stand beside neat rows of leafy greens.

“This is my escape,” Yarik explains, his hands gentle as he checks the plants. “When the world gets too complicated, I come here.”

Kin walks between the rows like he’s exploring a jungle.

“Did you plant all these?” I ask.

“Every single one. Started them from seeds in the greenhouse.” Yarik points to a small glass structure at the far end of the garden. Then he asks my son, “Would you like to helpme water them tomorrow morning? I do rounds every day after breakfast.”

“Yes! Can I help pick the tomatoes too?”

“When they’re ready,” Yarik promises with a wink. “Another week or two.”

I watch the exchange with mixed emotions. Everyone here has been kind to Kin, almost suspiciously so. I’m not sure whether I should trust this generosity or if I’m being paranoid. But even fake kindness is better than the alternative.

Whatever Pavel’s true intentions for bringing us here, he’s made an effort to make this pleasant for Kin. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here against my will, as his wife.

During our stroll back to the house, I keep an eye on the security situation. I won’t worry about the logistics of leaving yet. First, I need to reach Chen. But it’s smart to pay attention to the rhythm of this place.

Men in casual clothes patrol the grounds at regular intervals, positioned strategically near the house and along the compound’s perimeter. Just because I can’t see their weapons doesn’t mean they’re unarmed. I’m sure they are.

“Come. I want to show you my model airplane collection,” Yarik says, leading us back inside. “Built them all myself.”

We pass a room off the main floor, with its door slightly open, and Kin runs toward it.

“Kin, wait—” Yarik starts, reaching for him.

But he’s already darted inside. I follow, ready to apologize for the intrusion.

What I find stops me cold. Canvases are everywhere in the room, some finished, others half-completed. The paintings are abstract but emotional, full of dark colors and violent slashes of paint that speak of rage and anguish.

“Whose paintings are these?” I ask, taken aback.

“Pavel’s,” Yarik explains, clearly uncomfortable. “Art helps him...process things.”

I stare at a canvas that looks like a storm at sea, all grays and blacks with tiny touches of gold. This is Pavel’s soul on display, raw and unguarded.

“The red one looks like fire.” Kin points to a canvas dominated by streaks of crimson and orange.

“We need to go,” I say quickly, suddenly feeling like we shouldn’t be here, seeing this. It’s too personal.

Yarik nods gratefully as we retreat, closing the door firmly behind us. But the images linger in my mind. What ghosts haunt him? I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

“Higher, Mama! Higher!” Kin shrieks with delight as I push him on the swing, his little legs pumping frantically in the air. The playground tucked into the corner of the expansive garden is pristine, like everything else on this property. I don’t want to know what their monthly landscaping bill runs.

“Use your legs,” I tell him, giving him another solid push anyway because I love hearing that infectious giggle as he soars toward the sky.

“I can do it by myself!” His voice bursts with pride as he pumps his legs back and forth, creating his own momentum.

“You’re doing great,” I call back.

It’s been three days since we arrived, and we’re slowly finding our rhythm here. Pavel’s been mostly absent—buried in work, according to Yarik—which suits me fine. Kin and I are slowly adjusting to this bizarre new normal, though I’m not sure what normal even means anymore.

“Looks like someone’s having fun.”