“Again?” Dad yells. “I told that idiot that he’s retired! Who let him in? I’m going to kill him, along with everyone else working in that kitchen.”
He rushes out of my room, and he takes my laptop with him. The bedroom door slams closed, making both me and my sister shriek.
“What was that about?” Yulia asks as she sprawls out on my bed.
“He confiscated my laptop.”
“I could see that. He found out about you hacking that company yesterday? What did you do this time?”
“Sent a donation to a church choir.” My shoulders sag. “From the cybercafé near the library, but it looks like Felix told Dad about me poking around NASA’s firewalls.”
“God, Vasilisa. Why do you keep doing this crap?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s my way of getting back at Dad for not letting me help him with anything.” I shift in my seat. “Or because I don’t know what to do with my free time now.”
“You should go out more. What happened with that guy you were seeing?”
“Oliver?”
“Yeah. The underwear model. He’s so hot.” Yulia rolls over on the bed, fanning herself.
I tilt my head up, staring at the ceiling, and swivel side to side on my chair. Yes, Oliver is unbelievably handsome. We met in a coffee shop downtown when he sat at the table next to mine. I didn’t pay any attention to him at first, too absorbed in the coding exercises Grandpa Felix created for me, but then Oliver moved over to sit beside me and started asking questions about what I was doing.
“I broke up with him last week,” I mumble. “He ended up being the same as every other guy who wants to date me.”
“You mean, he fell to his knees, begging for permission to adore you?” Yulia giggles. “Vasilisa the Fair. Making men trip over their feet since you turned fifteen.”
“Not funny. And I hate it when you call me that. It made me despise that fairytale.”
“You, my darling sister, might be the only woman on earth who hates being beautiful.”
“I don’t hate it. But just once, I’d like to have a guy be attracted to me for something more. Not simply because I’m pretty.”
“You’re more than pretty, Vasya. Even in the dreadful rags you wear.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”
“That top is awful. And what the hell do you call that color? Vomit yellow?” She nods toward me. “And don’t get me started on the two-sizes-too-large jeans.”
“They’re comfortable.” I shrug.
“Yeah, sure.” Yulia puts her hands under her chin and rolls her eyes. “So, what did ‘Oliver the Hot’ do wrong?”
“He insisted on restarting my phone for me. Apparently, I don’t look like a girl who could do that myself. And I quote: ‘Why would you trouble yourself with something like that, beautiful? You have me now, and I’ll take care of the hard tech stuff for you.’” I barely keep the snarl out of my voice while trying to imitate the imbecile’s tone. “Then, he took my phone out of my hand and did it for me. I earned my undergrad in computer science and graduated summa cum laude, and the asshat actually restarted my phone for me.”
“That’s so rich.” Yulia laughs. “Did he offer to flip the light switches for you, as well? In case you got confused about how they work?”
“Not funny!” I grumble.
“Sorry, but yes. Yes, it is. He just wanted to be your knight in shining armor.”
I snort. “We were at the park when it happened. I was still gaping at Oliver fumbling with my phone when a dog got loose off his leash and ran right toward us, barking. My knight in shitty armor squeaked like a four-year-old girl and hightailed it out of there without even looking over his shoulder to check on me.”
“What a bastard! And the dog?”
“He just wanted to play. Licked my hands and face, then ran off.” I shake my head and spin a full circle on my gaming chair. “Dad mentioned wanting a normal guy for me. Some accountant, he said. Well, probably when I turn fifty, but . . . I don’t think I can make it work with any normal guy, Yulia.”
“Why not?”
I arch an eyebrow at my baby sister. “Because a normal guy would piss himself the moment he meets our family. Can you imagine an accountant lounging in our living room and BS-ing with Dad, Alexei, and Uncle Sergei?”
“I think Uncle Sergei is awesome. He wouldn’t do anything to your accountant.”
“He brought a grenade launcher to dinner last week.”
“Well, there’s that.” She shrugs. “Maybe you should try dating someone from Bratva. Whoever it is, he’ll know what he’s getting into.”
“Yeah, sure. How long do you think the poor guy would live after Dad finds out we’re going out?”
“A week?”
“Forty-eight hours, tops. Dad would never let either of us date one of his men. Or anyone from our social circle.”
I understand our father’s need to keep his daughters away from the seedy part of Roman Petrov’s world—don’t get me started on the patriarchial shit that my younger brother never even has to think about—but the thing Dad doesn’t fully get is that we’re already a part of it. Around-the-clock armed security. Wounded, bleeding men brought into our house to be patched up right on our kitchen island. Constant vigilance against random skirmishes with other criminal organizations. Bodyguards no further than an arm’s length away until a potential threat is resolved. Business meetings and even family gatherings often ending with guns drawn. My sister and I were both born into this madness. That’s our “normal.” Anything else will never feel remotely as such.
“Do you think Dad will make me marry an accountant, as well?” Yulia chirps from the bed.
“Nah. He’ll probably find you a dentist. Or a museum curator.” I grin, looking at her and picturing a dude with glasses and a bow tie coming to pick her up for their date. “Dad would never let the baby of the family go anywhere near a big bad accountant. Those guys can get involved in frauds.”
