Dover estate borders ours. I investigated the family before we bought the property. They have Russian connections and a daughter. My guess, she’s the daughter. I’ll do some checking when we get back to the house.”
“That would make sense, her being on this road. She loves the theater.”
“It has been many years since I’ve been to a theater,” Sevastyan confessed. “Perhaps we need to do a little more than sit around planning out how to stop criminals such as ourselves.” He flashed a small grin at his cousin.
“Once I’m finished with this fucking physical therapy some sadist has planned for me, I think it would be a good idea.” Perhaps going to a theater production would help make him interested in life again. Or maybe he could run into Ania there.
“Tell me how Gorya came to live through the slaughter that night,” Sevastyan insisted.
Mitya took a deep breath. “My father took me with him. He said he wanted me to see what betrayal looked like. He said he wanted me to see the consequences of betrayal as well. We heard the screams when we entered the house. Her screams.” He still woke up with the sound of his aunt’s cries reverberating through his mind.
Sevastyan shook his head. “You had to have been only three or four.”
“It was two days before my fifth birthday. My father told me I’d better not cry or make a single sound, or he would let his leopard tear mine apart. To this day, I keep thinking had I tried to call out, maybe Uncle Filipp would still be alive. Of course, her screams meant they had already weakened him in some way, but logic doesn’t seem to have much to do with the horror of a child’s memories.”
“Unfortunately, no, you’re right about that. I have a few of my own memories of childhood, and there is no logic in the way I think. Our fathers have a lot to answer for.”
Mitya had to agree. “I think all the violence they fed their leopards rotted them from the inside out, Sevastyan. I really do. I think that they began to believe they had the right to choose life or death for others. They came to crave hurting others. Hunting them. They were addicted to killing. What else did they have? Not the love of family. Once Lazar was willing to kill his own brother and Dima and Grisha were willing to kill their own father, there was no such thing as loyalty. Not to family and not to the bratya.”
Sevastyan nodded his head. The car made a series of turns, a maneuver Miron often made to see if they were being followed. Mitya never could understand why they would be followed back to the estate anyone could find out he owned. He never hid the fact that he was there. He used his own name. Mitya Amurov. If Lazar wanted to come for him, he wasn’t going to hide. And there was no doubt that Lazar would come.
“When we entered the room, Filipp lay beside his wife, his head turned toward her. It was easy to see they’d broken his back. He couldn’t move. He could only watch as they beat his woman to death. It was sickening the way they took such joy in it. The more they hit her, the more savage they became. I swear it was like watching a transformation from shifters to demonic murderers.”
Mitya’s stomach lurched at the memories pouring in. His heart pounded alarmingly, acting as a counterpoint to the jackhammer piercing his skull over and over. He wished he could forget, but his leopard couldn’t, and that meant neither could he. Every detail was etched into his brain for all time. For just one moment, it was no longer his aunt they were beating. He was lying there broken, looking into Ania’s violet eyes.
“When they were finished with her, after beating her to death, the boys took equal delight in doing the same to Uncle Filipp. Gorya started to cry. He was there. In a little crib. He also saw the entire thing. His brothers turned toward him. I think it was their intention all along to kill him. They despised that he was born of a mother who loved him when their mother had never loved them. From everything I once overheard Uncle Filipp telling Lazar, their mother despised their existence.”
“I suppose they helped their father kill her.” Sevastyan sounded weary.