right, Sevastyan?” He felt selfish, thinking only of himself and the way the painful memories hurt. He hadn’t considered that his cousin also had memories, none of which could be very good. “I should have thought about how telling you this would affect you.”
Sevastyan shook his head. “I need to know. More, Gorya needs to know. We all thought his father killed his mother and he was too young, so he was sent to Fyodor and Timur’s mother to be raised.”
Mitya shrugged. “That was the story Lazar decreed everyone tell. He didn’t want Rolan or Patva to know he had anything to do with Filipp’s death. Dima and Grisha agreed only because they wanted to take over the territory, and if they didn’t do as Lazar said, he threatened to expose them to the world as the killers of their own father. After that, he would allow his leopard loose on them. They didn’t want that. No one ever wanted to face Lazar’s leopard.”
Mitya had faced the vicious cat daily. When his father didn’t like something he did, toddler or not, boy or not, teen or not, he was subject to the wrath of the animal. He had the scars all over his body to prove it, as did his cat. Now his own leopard was a vicious monster. His father had succeeded in that. He was equally as good a fighter. He was fierce and bloodthirsty. Difficult to control. Wild. Feral, even. His father had seen to that. His father had made absolutely certain that Mitya would forever live in hell.
He shoved his fingers through his hair several times, betraying his agitation. “He claimed Uncle Filipp was killed in a fight to take on neighboring territory, and Dima and Grisha backed up the story. I was a little kid, and no one was going to listen to me, but just in case I thought to tell someone the truth, Lazar beat the shit out of me. By the time I was eight, I didn’t even feel him hitting me anymore. It became my normal.”
Sevastyan sighed. “I know my father worried Uncle Lazar beat you too much. I would hear him talk to his men, cautioning them that they could do too much damage to a child beating their sons the way you were beaten.”
“Lazar didn’t beat loyalty into me,” Mitya said. “He taught me how to hate. He taught my leopard how to hate. How to feel that terrible burning need for vengeance.” He looked down at his open hands and then closed his fingers into tight fists. “I want him to come after me, Sevastyan. This time, I’m not a little boy. This time, I’m prepared to die just to take him with me.”
Sevastyan sat up straighter as the vehicle pulled up to the tall gates with the beautiful scrollwork. The code was punched in and the gates swung open, allowing them to continue up the long drive to Mitya’s estate. Behind them, after the two other cars with members of the security force—essentially the number of men Sevastyan insisted guard him when he went out—followed through, the gates closed.
“Mitya, you don’t throw your life away to kill Lazar.”
Mitya didn’t respond. He didn’t consider that it was throwing his life away. Lazar was evil, a terrible, malevolent presence on the earth. Anything he touched was tainted with a foul, vile energy. He had to go. The problem was—and it was the reason he had followed his cousins to the United States—he didn’t fear going up against his father. He knew his every move. Dymka knew his father’s leopard’s every move. He didn’t doubt that they could win in a fight. He had a problem with the morality of killing one’s own parent.
He didn’t want to say that aloud. Not to Fyodor and Timur, who had killed their father. He didn’t judge them. He knew Fyodor had saved both Timur and Gorya from certain death. He didn’t want to get into a moral discussion with Sevastyan either. He honestly didn’t know where he stood. He had left the country and had joined with Drake Donovan and the others in their plan to rid the world of the worst of the leopards choosing criminal activities in the States. It was the best he could do to make up for the life he’d led before he had gotten out of Russia. There was a price tag on his head. There always would be. There would be no forgiveness from the bratya,