My EX's Mafia Twin

2. The greater evil.

2. The greater evil.

Katarina.

My steps are steady as my heels strike the tiled floor of my childhood home.

So much elegance.

So much luxury.

So much money.

And so much pain.

All the lights are on. It’s past three in the morning, but my father has more than half the staff working.

Despite the drinks I’ve had, over time I’ve unfortunately developed a certain immunity to alcohol. And the conversation with Albern sobered me up enough, which is a damn shame.

I wish I were drunk to face him.

“Come in,” I hear my father’s voice when the new butler tells him we’ve arrived.

His staff never lasts more than six months. They always quit, or my father fires them; he’s convinced that keeping someone for years would only lead to abuse of trust or a blurred line between boss and employee. The only person who’s always remained close to the family is Albern: watching my steps on my father’s orders and managing my money.

“Sir,” Albern greets him submissively when we enter his office.

“Father,” I say, just as submissively, watching him there in his expensive leather chair as he drinks his expensive whisky.

“Albern, Katarina,” he says in his imposing voice, “how were the awards?”

“They left… quite a lot to talk about,” obedient Albern answers, loyal to his master.

“Is that so?”

“A few drinks too many, and grimaces that won’t serve us well right now.”

I hold back an eye roll; I just stand there, firm, while Albern gives my father a report on my behavior. Maybe I’m out of my mind and I’m eight years old instead of twenty-eight.

“Thank you, Albern. You may leave.”

He nods and exits the office. The door hasn’t even finished closing when my father is already coming straight toward me.

The hit doesn’t surprise me; what surprises me is that it’s to my face.

I blink and look at him, meeting his eyes.

“What are you doing with your life, Katarina?”

I don’t answer, I just stare back at him, unmoving.

“You’re worth less and less as an actress. You’re not earning even half of what you earned six years ago.”

I don’t try to justify myself; it would be pointless.

So I do what I was taught since I was little.

I stand in the warzone and act like no grenades are being thrown at me. And my father gave me the best acting lessons: painful, cruel ones that many would call torture… but effective. So effective he taught me not only to act in front of a camera, but at every moment of my life.

Another blow hits my face, this time on the other cheek.

I taste blood on my tongue as pain slices my lip.

He cut me with his ring.

I’m only a little surprised by his action. After my career took off, when I was eighteen, he began being careful about where he hit me. Even fearful, one could say. But three years ago, it was as if the dam burst, and every time he saw me he found a reason to strike me. Still, he remained careful about which part of my body he hit.

Now he doesn’t care.

I wonder why.

I watch him in silence as he walks to his elegant wooden desk and hands me some receipts, which I obediently take.

I read them.

“Your mother’s food, her clothes, her little spa trips… who’s going to pay for this if not you?”

You, I want to answer. Her husband.

Instead, I say, “Albern already got me a new role.”

He shakes his head, his face tight with anger.

“You’re not generating any profit for me anymore, Katarina.”

For a renowned, veteran Hollywood actor who swims in money, I never understood his obsession with making me repay everything he gave me. As if I had a debt to him that had to be settled, as if every little thing he provided my mother and me had to be reimbursed like a favor.

I also don’t understand why my mother allowed it.

But understanding their decisions would never lead me anywhere good, so long ago I gave up on searching for the truth behind their marriage—behind us as a family, if we can even call ourselves that.

My mother was an actress when she was young, until she married my father, and soon after, I was born.

They say babies are a blessing, but maybe I was her curse.

“You forced my hand in this, Katarina,” my father says, and a shiver goes down my spine as he calls someone on the phone to come in. “Your foolish, beloved mother has avoided this for years… but they found you. And if you’re not useful to me as an actress, then you’re useless for anything else.”

“What are you talking about?” Every molecule in my body goes on alert, even more so when two large men enter through the door. “Who are they? What are you doing?”

“I’m sending you where you belong.”

I watch in slow motion as one of the men hands my father a check.

What is this?

What’s happening?

I take a step back, only to collide with a strong chest, and immediately firm hands clamp onto my forearms like shackles, hurting me.

I look from side to side, my tongue stuck in my throat, when I hear the man with the check speaking in another language to the man holding me.

And I instantly understand what he’s saying.

It’s my mother’s native language.

Russian.

Don’t let her go, he said.

And the man doesn’t let me go, gripping my forearms even harder. But the physical pain doesn’t stop me, so I bend forward and drive my heel into his groin. He releases me, and I run to grab the doorknob, but as soon as I touch it, my hair is yanked back. It should hurt, but I don’t notice, not when my only focus is getting out of here.

“You’ve run from your destiny long enough, Katarina,” my father whispers in my ear. “It’s time you face your reality.”

A cloth is pressed against my nose, and little by little, I feel myself fading.

The last thing I’m aware of is my mother entering through the door. There are tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t lift a finger for me.

She lets them take me.

Like flashbacks, memories rush back… memories of her and me.

“Katarina, believe it or not, I’m choosing the lesser evil over the greater one,” was always her answer when I demanded she divorce my father.

And now I understand her words a little, because I feel it in my blood.

They’re sending me into the greater evil.