Russian Doll

Preview

I really should start wearing gloves. Blood runs through my fingers, leaving a slimy trail. The body is warm, but the eyes show no sign of life. Things could have been much simpler if this man hadn't decided to be a smart-ass.

- Miss Petrov, can we clean the bodies?

- Three of you load the drug back to the truck, the rest stay here. Make sure we don't leave a trace – I head towards the car, but before getting in, I have something to say – Gentlemen, the dinner is on me.

I see smiles of satisfaction and I know right away that a little fortune is going to come out of my bank account tonight. I don't do this cause I'm a good boss, much less because I'm a good person. In fact, if hell exists it is too good for me.

The driver looks at me through the rearview mirror.

- Home - I don't dare ask for a towel to clean myself, I have an image to preserve, but as soon as I get home I'm going to shower and scrub myself until my skin becomes red. Killing doesn't particularly bother me, but I hate blood and I hate even more the fact that it sticks to the skin. I prefer "clean" deaths, but this time, the wretch and his henchmen put up a fight.

From the window, I can see the magic gardens and the castle I grew up in. My family may lack a lot of things, but money is not one of them. Cars, houses, museums, hotels, boats, anything imaginable my family has or can buy it. To the common world, the Petrov is an old-money family that has several companies in their possession. A mere facade. The elite world knows we are a big drug cartel with much power.

As soon as we reach the entrance, the majestic gates automatically open. I take a deep breath because the real battle will begin inside these doors. A castle sometimes can resemble a cage. I take some dried blood from my fingernails and I tell myself that I'm not nervous. I've done this before, but showing my dad my accomplishments is a tricky task. The car stops and the driver comes to open the door for me, all for a pay raise. I flash a fake smile and I walk into the house.

A tall and imposing figure is near the fireplace. Blond hair, already escaping to white, with a cigar in his hand. This figure is neither more nor less than Boris Petrov. A cold, calculating, violent man and my father, when he has time.

- Good night – He looks at me with a frown on his face, as if my presence bothers him – The deal is done.

- Report to my office, but clean yourself first. - Cold and distant, but not angry.

I go upstairs, heading to my room. Everything about this house shows ostentation, but to me, it's nothing more than a way of trying to hide the rot that corrodes this diamond-plated house. The corridors are long and spacious, each cand worth enough to feed many families for years or paintings with a very high value. The place where I sleep is worthy of a true princess, in fact, I do not doubt that I live better than most of the global monarchy.

I had a sudden urge to lie on the bed and finally rest, but obligations spoke louder, so I took a long shower to get all the dirt off my skin. From the wardrobe, I took an outfit not too simple, but not too exuberant either, just enough to feel like I'll be able to escape Boris' clutches.

My father's office is on the other side of the house, more precisely in the back. It's perfect for his slickest business. Dirty money, stolen artifacts, statues that are worth a fortune, drugs, fake documents ... It is possible to find a little bit of everything. At first, we believe that these types of things are normal, but then we grow up and realize that nothing in our life is normal. Our lifestyle causes general repulsion and feelings of hate but then comes acceptance and pride. People can call us murderers or criminals, but what they don't know is that it is the rulers they elect, who contribute the most to the existence of mafias. A tremendous hypocrisy, but that is how political games work. We contribute with money, which will certainly go to schools, hospitals, roads and into the big pockets of the rulers, and they contribute with blind eyes. My brother stayed for acceptance, but I want more. I always wanted. Russian's mafia law dictates that the current boss must choose his successor and introduce him to the other mafias. It usually passes from father to eldest son. It has been this way for generations, but I'm the eldest and I am a woman. It is obvious that I have more capacity than anyone to coordinate everything that belongs to my father, but he, in addition to all his faults, is sexist and misogynist.

I took a deep breath and I knocked on the door, right after I heard a voice authorizing my entry. He's over fifty but still, a heartthrob, blessed with family genes. I have the same blonde, almost, platinum hair, the same tall figure and maybe the same cunning. Our similarities are obvious, but my face is the exact copy of my mother's. Especially my eyes.

- Sit down - he looks me up and down and I try to hide the tremors in my hands - So?

- He thought he was doing business with a child, so I gave him his punishment. Five hundred kilograms of drugs and ten suitcases full of dollar bills. Ten deaths, none of our men.

He nodded without showing a shred of feeling – You're dismissed.

A wave of heat coursed through my body. For twenty-three years I did everything to please him in the hope that one day he would recognize me, but apparently, nothing has helped nor will it. I get up, having a sudden violent confidence.

- Eventually, you will die and I will inherit all that I am entitled to, whether you like it or not.

What a dumb idea. In mere seconds these words popped into my mind and in mere seconds I felt a strong tug on my hair. I can't say I didn't deserve it. He forces me to my knees and comes close to my ear.

- Tell me something child, since when did you get so fucking rude? - I feel the first snap. My right cheek burns in such a way that tears begin to accumulate in my eyes – That was not the education I gave you. If you think you can disobey me, you are very wrong. Do I need to lock you up again? - his voice was so calm. I feel the second snap, on the same cheek. I want to say "You didn't educate me at all", but enough craziness for today. I force myself to look him in the eyes to somehow show that I still have strength, but he returns the look with greater disgust and contempt.

He let go of me and I heard the door slam. I hate it. I hate the abuse, I hate the control he has in my life, I hate his presence and I especially hate my need for his approval. I hate him and I hate myself for being weak.

I have about ten minutes until dinner is served. Being late or even missing would be asking to be spanked, so that is exactly how much time I must compose myself. The redness won't go away soon but I fixed my hair to try to cover it up.

When I get to the dining room only two seats are empty.

- I was looking for you - I feel some hands wrapping around my waist and I immediately feel relief. Here's my excuse to the rest of the family who are unaware of the latest events.

- Same - a blatant lie. I know, my father knows and Yuri knows too. He momentarily tries to brush my hair away but quickly stops. I'm sure enough he saw the marks.