Chapter 2
680 Words
By my third year in the basement, I had learned three things.
First—
Yuri Kovalenko wasn't my friend.
But he wasn't planning to kill me anytime soon, either.
Second—
Marina taught me how to read and write.
She taught me Russian.
She taught me English.
And she taught me the most important lesson of all.
Third—
Never, ever mention the name Lawrence in front of anyone from the Kovalenko family.
I was ten when I saw real blood for the first time.
That night, alarms blared throughout the underground compound.
Red emergency lights turned the corridors into something straight out of hell.
Marina shoved me beneath a table while gunfire erupted outside and men barked orders in Russian.
Don't make a sound.
She shielded me with her own body as chunks of concrete flew through the room.
The firefight lasted forty-seven minutes.
When it was over, Yuri walked in covered in blood.
His left arm hung limp.
He'd clearly been shot.
His icy gaze landed on me under the table.
Get out.
I crawled out and stood before him.
Suddenly, he laughed.
The scar on his face looked even more terrifying when he smiled.
Not bad, kid.
At least you didn't piss yourself.
An aide handed him a towel.
Yuri wiped the blood off his face with one hand.
Starting today, you're leaving that basement.
He paused.
But from now on, you work for me.
I nodded.
From age ten to seventeen, I worked every job imaginable inside the underground empire.
Janitor.
Kitchen helper.
Ammo runner.
Eventually...
I became the file clerk in Yuri's private study.
Officially, I organized paperwork.
In reality—
I was his eyes and ears.
He taught me how to read financial statements.
How to track offshore accounts.
How to smell betrayal hidden inside a single punctuation mark.
He never asked why I learned so quickly.
And I never told him that Lawrence blood ran through my veins.
In the spring of my seventeenth year, Yuri summoned me to his study.
That was the first time I saw a living member of the Lawrence family.
Or rather—
what was left of one.
The man had been beaten half to death and dragged inside like a dead dog.
Yuri sat on a leather couch, surrounded by cigar smoke.
Vivian.
Come here.
I stood beside him.
The man on the floor lifted his swollen eyes.
The moment he saw my face, he froze.
You...
You are...
Yuri patted my shoulder.
You know her
The man shook his head frantically.
No!
I don't!
Liar.
Yuri's voice remained flat.
He's one of the Lawrence family's contacts.
He helped blow up our port warehouse last year.
He looked down at the man.
And just now, you said this girl looks like the missing little princess of the Lawrence family.
The man's face went deathly pale.
Yuri reached beneath the armrest and pulled out a silver Beretta.
He placed it in my hand.
Vivian.
Your turn.
I stared at the gun.
Then at the man.
His eyes were filled with terror.
And desperation.
I turned toward Yuri and spoke calmly.
Don Kovalenko.
I don't kill people who can't fight back.
One eyebrow rose.
Oh
Give me a knife, I said.
Or give him a chance to kill me.
Make it fair.
The room fell silent.
Ten full seconds.
Then Yuri burst out laughing.
His shoulders shook.
He took the pistol back and waved toward the door.
Take this piece of trash outside.
Feed him to the dogs.
That night, Marina brought me a glass of warm milk.
She looked at me, as though she wanted to say something.
You did the right thing today.
That was all she said.
What I never told her...
was that I hadn't refused because of some noble principle.
It wasn't mercy.
It wasn't honor.
It was the way that man had looked at me.
He recognized me.
The Lawrence family was still alive.
And they were still looking for me.
And no matter what—
I could never let Yuri find out.
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