Page 28 of Black Ledger

“Say something, or I will kill you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. “I am a Morozova.”

It was the only thing I could think to say. Clearly, my father was important. Big men like Aleksandr were always saying nice things to him and trying to get on his good side. Maybe if I brought it up now, it would save me.

Luckily, something did happen. His throat bobbed, and he placed me back on the counter. “That won’t save you forever.”

Save me?

“But if you want to act like a boy and punch my son, you will train like a boy… In every way.” I swallowed, not understanding. “You will join the boys your age every day after school.”

He slapped me across the face. “Do you hear me?”

My nostrils flared. “Yes, Pakhan.”

“Good.” He wrapped his hand around my throat and pressed. All my breath whooshed out of me, and my fingers came up to try to stop him. “I own you, girl. Never forget it. You punch my son, and he will hit you back tenfold.” He turned to his son, his mouth in a hard line. “And my son will punch you back next time.”

Aleksandr raised an eyebrow, daring Severin to contradict him. But Severin didn’t. He simply stood there, his face draining of color, his hands curled into fists.

“She wants to act like a boy? Then she will be like a boy.”

And that was how a delicate mafia princess who loved grass and dandelions became an unofficial foot soldier in the Russian mafia—forced to train with the boys and learn how to take a punch.

But I wasn’t done getting in trouble that day. I also got a long, scary lecture from my sickly mother about punching Severin and how horrible it was that her daughter had to train with the boys. But honestly, I didn’t see what the big deal was. Ilya, my twin brother, trained with the boys. And while I’d much prefer to wear a dress and play in nature, I was not a wussy. I could take a punch and kick some butt.

The lecture didn’t stop at the punch, though. Apparently, my little sister—who liked to tell everyone she wasn’t little at all because she was only one year younger than us—saw me kiss Severin and told my parents.

So, yeah, I was grounded for about fifteen years. Or something equally dramatic.

Sisters were such nuisances.

Chapter Fourteen

Severin Volkov

Age 8

Twenty-Eight Years Ago

Xeniya Morozova was my obsession. I wasn’t really sure what obsession meant, but Mommy told me I was obsessed.

I talked about her all the time, and I thought about her even more ever since she punched me in the face. Well, maybe before then, but definitely now.

She was my little bunny, although she hated that nickname.

Now Xeniya was forced to train with the boys. We had to hit and kick each other. Father made me kick her all the time. I learned to make it look like it hurt. We all did. Xeniya had to hit us, too. She never complained, but she had gotten quieter and grumpier. She barely smiled now, but I could still get her to. She barely spoke, either. I had to pull sentences out of her when Dad and the older boys weren’t looking. Dad hated her voice. He said girls weren’t meant to speak back. He said all girls were good for was looking nice, behaving, and when they’re older fucking.

He told me when I was older, I could fuck her if I wanted, but that I could never keep her. She was too dangerous to keep.

I had no idea what any of that meant. But I did want to keep her forever.

My favorite times with Xeniya happened at her house. She was freer there with her beautiful, mesmerizing voice—a word Mommy had taught me to say about her—and her smiles.

Also, Ilya and Nika—Xen’s siblings—were really fun to play with, too.

Xeniya’s house felt safe. Both her parents were nice. They smiled, and they never hit me or yelled at me.

Xeniya was lucky.