Page 31 of Baby for the Bratva King

“And you’re the one who’s making it unprecedented by stealing from the rich, disturbing the peace. This village has been living harmoniously for centuries. And now my younger brother is dead.”

Saying those words aloud makes me choke up.

“Exactly. Talk about peace.” My father rolls his eyes, shooting up from the couch. His eyes are as cold as this winter, his skin rough like bark on a tree, dry and peeling. “I stole money to put food on the table, to give you boys a fighting chance. Times are rough, and the struggle never disappears unless you can make your own money on your own terms. That is what I’m trying to do.” My father watches me closely. “Wake up, son, and take a look at this place. We live twenty meters from a forest, and we’re forbidden from chopping down the pine.”

“They say it’s for our own safety,” I counter. “Walking into a forest full of bears is a death sentence.”

My father’s face turns angry. He drags me back into the kitchen, forcing me to look at Yusen. His skin is pallid, extremely cold to touch. “Take a look at your dead brother and tell me this is about the bears.” He grabs my shoulder, forcing me to look. “Tell me, Felix. Is this about the bears? Or is this about control?”

“C-control.”

“Correct,” says my father, spinning me around.

I release a shaky breath, tears streaming down my face again. “The glava doesn’t care who lives and dies, but he does care about us needing him.”

“What do you mean?”

“We must purchase their wood if we want to light a fire and stay warm. They bump up the prices in the winter, making double. Our basic human needs become products. They prevent us from living on our own terms, Felix. This is not peace. This is war.”

“People die in wars.”

“Yes,” says my father, finally acknowledging something I have to say. “Which is why we have to leave.”

“What?”

“The glava wants me to pay up. If I refuse, you will be next. Perhaps he will even take a shot at me.” My father disappears into the living area, grabbing a cobweb-invested bag from the cabinet. “We need to make tracks. I have more than enough rubles to buy two plane tickets for us.”

“What?”

“We can go to America, start over and use the leftover money to build a life on our own terms.”

“And what about Yusen?” I remain firmly at his side, clutching his frozen hand, trying to squeeze some warmth into it. “You want to leave him here to perish?”

“A man who spends his time thinking about the deceased is a fool.”

I grind my jaw, holding onto Yusen.

“We’ll bury him out in the garden,” he says.

But from my father’s point of view, this is not about respect. It’s about cleaning up and disappearing without a trace.

I trail my finger over Yusen’s cool skin, not ready to let go. I’ll never be able to let go and say goodbye.

“Felix!” hisses my father from the living area. “Grab your things and let’s go. I want us gone by dusk.”

And just like that, an era is ending.

I was born in this village. At two years old, I apparently sat on my mother’s bed and watched her pass away. I was too young to understand death and the finality of it, but as I kneel beside my innocent brother, I understand everything perfectly.

My mother was sick, and we were too poor to afford the medication. While we were rationing firewood, trying to keep her warm, the glava and his family were hosting dinners, throwing food down their throat, washing it down with expensive wine.

Anger kills the cold ache in my bones. I release Yusen’s hand, standing up.

“Ysya vlast’ v moikh rukah (all power is in my hands).” I make an oath while standing over Yusen.

I’ll bury him in peace and fly far away from this place.

I’ll live in the Land of the Free, under a council who actually care about their people.