The Darkness Within

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Eight

Being good with numbers lends to being good with codes and programs. Like Kira, I have degree's in my area of expertise—a masters in mathematics, and a PhD in computer science. Unlike Kira, I received them by eighteen, just in time for my takeover. It was the last piece of an elaborate puzzle to kill my father and take over his empire in the same breath. Naturally, it took a lot of killing, it took loyal employees, and it took staying ten steps ahead at all times, if I had an interest in keeping my head on my shoulders.

The schooling process was by no means easy; I did a mixture of online school coupled with prestigious tutors I never had use for, with the occasional mandatory class appearance of university. My father preferred to avoid me going to somewhere I'd be vulnerable, but he still shipped be off to boarding schools in my youth, and later universities for stints of time. Still, I learned valuable skills that allowed me to spy on my enemies from the inside.

I cracked into computers, public cameras, phones—everything I needed to in order to understand the defenses of enemies, their strengths and weaknesses, the sort of manpower they have. With this finishing touch on top of years of planning, the takeover went as seamlessly as it could, with only minor complications. Afterwards, I no longer had time to spend on hacking, so I passed it on to a genius pupil of mine who was even better.

Bettina, who was six years old when Gregor—the fellow Pakhan who attends the biannual meetings, and the one man I might consider a trusted friend—took her as his ward after the death of her parents. They'd been cousins to Gregor, so he felt responsible for the child. It helped that he and his wife had been trying to conceive for years, but no amount of natural efforts or stronger measures such as IVF seemed to get her pregnant. Having Bettina presented to them struck both of them—even Gregor, hardened fuck that he is—as a miracle. Unfortunately, it never truly struck her as a miracle. For quite some time after she arrived, Bett barely spoke; she'd never quite learned how to communicate her needs and desires, and had some serious baggage around speaking itself.

Bett, presently 19, was quickly identified a genius at the age of seven, when she could solve complex equations and compute numbers like she was a calculator, preforming tasks that took the masters of our time far longer to complete. Coupled with her predilection for silence, math became the one way she could express herself and communicate. I was the only person around who spoke the same language. We created a code when she was seven and I was seventeen as a means to communicate. She latched onto me like a younger sister, and with Gregor's urging, I allowed it. I think I was the first person for her to ever truly connect with outside of my mother, so we grew close. She brought out the same protective instinct my mother did.

Bett chews on the end of her black pencil as she types furiously on her laptop keyboard. I called on her about an hour ago, and she came, albeit with some reluctance and apologies on my end. In truth, other than Kira, Bett is probably the one person I'd ever apologize to.

She reclines on the sitting room sofa, booted feet kicked up on the velvet cushion and back to the arm of the couch. Without slowing the blurring speed of her fingers, she says, "You know, Sergei, the only reason I came after you fucking ghosted me for almost a year is because papa told me you have a genius as a fiancé. I've yet to meet a female specimen on the same wavelength as me, and you're dreadfully dull company most of the time—save for when there's blood involved—so I'm here for her. Just wanted to clarify. You're still a jackass, I'm still pissed at you, and you will be getting billed for my services. This tab will run you upwards of seven figures, by the way." She reaches for the glass of vodka beside her, takes a swig, and grimaces. "What is this horse-piss? Did a child DIY it?" Shaking her head, she mutters, "Should've stayed home. I'll give this to my father; he stocks the good stuff."