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Mikhail groans. “I’ve already got a job…”
“I know,” I say, “and I’m sure this video game you’re working on will be fun. I’m sure people will love it, but this is bigger than that. Our father’s got men loyal to him, not the Sokolov name.”
“I don’t know, brother.” I can almost see Mikhail sitting at his computer, his glasses perched on his nose, stroking his short beard with his long hair flopping over his face. “I’m called the spare for a reason.”
“Hecalls you the spare,” I say. “I’ve never called you that, and I never would.”
Mikhail sighs. “I’ll have to think about it.”
I grind my teeth, but I won’t push him. With a wild spirit like Mikhail, that will make him want to say no even more. He might even leave Vegas and travel again, like when he spent three years touring Europe.
“I’ve always hated that name,” I tell him. “Thespare. Like two years makes all the difference in the world.”
“You’re the first son. In our world, it does.”
“Think about what I said.”
I hang up the phone before I can say something I’ll regret. He’s my brother, my blood. So many times, I protected him from one of our father’s beatings, but I can’t blame him. Without the pressure of being the firstborn son, he’s been able to carve out something like a life for himself.
I try to focus on what I’ve got to do today while driving to Summerlin, where our offices are located, fifteen miles from the Strip. Sokolov Securities has contracts with several major companies and even some government agencies. We’re one of the best cybersecurity outfits in the game, which makes our hacking, fraud, and other enterprises even more questionable.
I’ve just reached the office when my cell rings again. It’s a Facetime video call from my father, the man of the hour. This isone of the strangest things I have ever seen. I can’t remember a single time he has ever Facetimed me. I answer the call, knowing I have to keep him sweet even if it pisses me off.
When I answer, he is sitting in the same chair as when I was there. The curtains are open now. He’s got his eyes closed, and he’s smiling.
“Yes, Father?” I say, finding the smile just as weird as the call itself.
“I don’t want to die in the dark,” he says, his eyes still closed.
“You’ve got time,” I mutter.
He opens his eyes, his smile turning to what most would call sad, but this is my father, the ruthless Bratva man who berated his sons for the smallest thing. “Ah, yes, time for what little hair I have left to fall out, time to become weak and skeletal. No, Dimitri, I can’t have that. I just wanted to tell you that I know I could’ve been better and done better, but anything I did was always for you, my heir. My legacy.” I may have been important to him, but his legacy always took precedence.
He reaches off-camera. When his hand comes back into view, he’s holding a pistol. He brings it to his head.
“A Sokolovalwayschooses his terms.”
I’ve imagined this moment, or one like it, countless times, fueled by the beatings, the bullying, and the control. Yet in all those times, I never thought I’d shout for him to stop.
Bang.
The phone falls, the camera showing spatters of blood on the ceiling.
CHAPTER 2
DAHLIA
“As little as fifteen minutes a day can make a world of difference,” the podcast host says in my ear as I get on my hands and knees and drag the dust cloth across the baseboard I’m working on. “Ten days means one hundred and fifty minutes, which means, in a hundred days, you have done twenty-fivehoursof productive activity. Think how much French, for example, you could learn in twenty-five hours…”
My concentration jolts when somebody runs by me, clipping my foot. I look up to find a tech bro staring down at me in shock. “Sorry,” he mumbles, then keeps running.
In fact, several people are running down the hallway.
“What’s happening?” I ask nobody in general, taking out my earphones.
But just like usual, the cleaner is invisible to them.
Since most of the office seems to be running toward the breakroom, I leave my cleaning supplies tucked against the wall and follow them. Everybody crowds around the TV, where a local Vegas news channel has the giant headline across thebottom of the screen:Tech Mogul Found Dead…A photo of Konstantin Sokolov appears. He’s always seemed dark to me somehow—maybe his lifeless eyes, despite his smile.
