Page 75 of Unholy Tsar

“Trust me, it’s not a ghost town. There are people living here.” People who are poor and desperate enough to stay in this crime-filled town because it means a roof over their heads.

“Has it always been like this?”

“Pretty much, but back in the day we at least had electricity. Well, some of us did. Now, though, I don’t see any warmth…”

“What happened?”

“Just the inevitable. This place was always lawless. A filthy haven for the country’s lowly underbelly. We were forgotten by the world, and most people came here exactly for that reason. To be forgotten. To live as ghosts. But then the wrong people came knocking, Bratva goons, and that lawlessness became suffocating. Unbearable.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was. But at least it was stable. After the Bratva moved in, there was no room for dissent or freedom. This place almost became a real town, in its own corrupt way. We were all getting used to it, then something else swept in, something I still don’t understand. It broke apart the Bratva from the inside out, leaving a huge vacuum behind. And all of a sudden, no one wanted to be ghosts anymore. They wanted to be kings. Queens. They wanted to be Bratva. I had to leave after that. There was too much fighting. Too many wannabe criminals vying for small pieces of power. It was chaos.”

A heavy silence fills the car, then Cecilia finally breaks it. “Do you ever think about coming back here? To stabilize it all?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “But my home is in America now. So is my family. We may not be related by blood, but they’re the only loyal family I’ve ever known. This town isn’t worth leaving them behind.”

Her eyes drift past me to the remnants of my old house, a subtle frown drawing down her pretty face.

Forcing a smile, I offer my hand to her. “Want to get a closer look?”

She hesitates, then nods.

There’s my brave little mouse.

We get out of the car and walk together toward the charred remains of the one-story house. Cecilia is quiet as we step under the bent frame of the front door and into what used to be the living room.

My heart aches as I’m immediately confronted by a barrage of painful memories. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to push those memories away. When I open my eyes again, Cecilia is standing there, watching me with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly.

“I’m fine, dushen’ka. It’s just hard being back, especially after what happened here.”

Cecilia’s lips purse, and I can tell she’s holding back a question. I sigh. “It’s okay. Ask me what happened. I hold no secrets from you.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I do. But only with you.”

She takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. “What happened here?”

Sad nostalgia mixes with frustrated rage as I remember everything. “My siblings happened,” I confess. “After the Bratva disbanded, they became hungry for money and power, just like everyone else. That was their downfall, and it destroyed our family.”

“What?” She frowns in confusion.

“From what I’ve been able to piece together, they joined the old Bratva, thinking it was a get-rich scheme. When it started to collapse, they double-crossed their Pakhan, offering sensitive information to a growing rival group in exchange for a big payout.”

She gasps, “What? Why would they—"

“Be so stupid, right? If only that were the end of it. No, the payout wasn’t enough for them, so they schemed to steal from their old Pakhan, too. He found out, of course, and...” I shake my head, remembering that horrible night. “What the hell were they thinking? Couldn’t they see what was going to happen…”

“Maksim,” Cecilia’s gentle voice pulls me back to the present.

“The Pakhan came to our home. He brought his men; there were too many to fight off. We were tied up. Restrained. I had to watch as my brother and sister were tortured. My parents had to watch. Then, we were lined up like cattle and shot. I… I don’t know how I survived. All I remember is waking up in a burning house. I tried to save my family, but it was too late. I barely managed to make it out alive.”

I can still remember my mother’s screams and my father’s quiet sobs. Watching them get gunned down. Staring at the floor as I felt the hard, cold steel of the devil’s gun dig into my back. Then, waking up, choking from the smoke, lightheaded from the loss of blood, surrounded by my dead parents. I tried to pull them out, but the fire was too big, too hot. I couldn’t even make it to my brother and sister.

“Maksim.”