Torment | 18+ ✓

01

The birthday cake churns in my stomach, a burning reminder that Ana had only just turned eighteen. “This can’t be real.”

And I don’t have to speak the words for him to understand them. He stays silent.

“Papa.” My voice grows anxious. “Tell me this isn’t real. Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

But he only sighs, running a tired hand over his face. “You will understand when you are older, lisenok.”

Ana might be two years older than me, but she’s naïve. Soft. The Costas will devour her whole. The thought is a violent blow to the chest. I picture his bloody fingerprints all over my sister’s body — my worst nightmares given flesh.

No.

I swallow. “Let me take her place.”

His eyes flash with anger. “You are still a child.”

I hold back a scoff. Despite the fact that the very core of their business was rooted in crime and broke countless laws, they wanted to keep things legal.

I should’ve known he would never allow me to take Ana’s place. I’m Freya — Papa’s favorite, cherished, protected, and allowed all the freedom in the world.

Papa had gifted me a normal life. I was allowed to attend high school and college. But no one outside could know the truth. To the public, Yuri Morozov only had one daughter — Ana.

Who’s already behind Mama, gliding down the staircase in a champagne silk dress, her blonde curls pinned back into a low bun at the nape of her neck.

Some curled strands are loose, framing her face. Just a smidge of mascara, lip butter and blush, like she was instructed to retain her glowing youthfulness.

There’s no way this is happening. I have to do something to stop it — but I need time…

My sister passes me a small, reassuring smile, and the warning bubbles up my throat. “Don’t do it, Ana.”

“Freya,” Papa warns.

Mama flashes her icy eyes at me. “You will stay far away from the office. Swear it, Freya, or so help me God.”

I stay silent.

Mama rolls her eyes, turning to my sister.

“Don’t listen to her,” she whispers. “They will give you everything you want.”

“Everything except for freedom,” I spit.

“Freya!” Papa shouts, heated anger echoing off the house walls. I flinch. Apparently that was his breaking point. “Dostatochno! Komnata. Seychas.”

I would’ve fought him on it. Should’ve fought him on it. But Sergei rounds the corner, alerted from the sound of Papa’s raised voice, gun in holster to check on trouble.

Trouble is me, and I know that no matter how much I choose to fight, they will always win. Sergei might look old, but he can’t deceive me. Under that pristine suit is a cold-blooded killer, loyal to my father and my father alone.

Papa and the men who belonged to him hold the power in this house. And the men who don’t belong to him hold the rest of the power in the world.

In the end, I don’t trust my mouth, so I only nod stiffly.

Another steady knock at the front door breaks the silence in our house. I should’ve known it wasn’t him that was knocking. Most likely one of his soldiers. He would never ask before walking in. Never beg before taking.