Chapter 8 Nikolai
I took a step back from Anya like her hair had burned my fingers.
What was I doing? Why had I touched her? Why had I tried to comfort her?
I looked down at her small form on my floor. She was staring up at me with those huge dark eyes.
And I hated how she made me feel things I had buried twenty years ago. I hated how she reminded me of my mother crying in the dark while my father hurt her.
I can’t afford to let myself care about Marco Koslov's daughter.
"Get up," I said coldly. My voice was ice again. The brief moment of softness was gone like it never existed.
Anya wiped her eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. She stood slowly on shaking legs.
"I am sorry," she whispered. "I should not have cried. I should not have spoken about my father. I will not do it again."
"You are right. You will not." I moved to my desk and poured vodka. I drank it in one swallow. "You are here to serve me. Not to cry about your dead father. Not to make me feel guilty about doing what had to be done. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it louder. I want to hear you accept your place!" I yelled.
She flinched. "Yes," she said, her voice stronger now.
"Good." I poured another vodka. "From now on, you will not speak unless I ask you a question. Your old life is dead. You belong to me now. That is all that matters."
Anya nodded.
"Tonight you will sleep on the floor as usual," I continued. "But do not hum your lullabies. I do not want to hear them anymore. The sound irritates me."
That was a lie. Her humming helped me sleep. But I could not let her know that.
"Understood?" I asked sharply.
"Yes."
"Then get down on the floor and stay there until morning. Do not move. Do not make a sound. If you disturb my work, there will be consequences."
Anya moved to the spot beside my desk. She curled up on the carpet, making herself as small as possible. She did not look at me.
I sat at my desk and pretended to work. But I could not focus. I could not stop thinking about how her hair had felt soft and delicate under my fingers.
Like my mother's hair had been.
I poured more vodka. Then more. Trying to drown the thoughts.
Hours passed. The lamp burned slowly. Anya lay still on the floor. I thought she had fallen asleep.
Then I heard a sound. It was so soft I almost missed it.
She was humming very quietly. Almost under her breath. That same lullaby. Bayu Bayushki Bayu.
Rage exploded in my chest.
"I told you not to hum," I snapped.
Anya went silent immediately. "I am sorry. I did not mean to. I was half asleep. It just happened."
"It just happened?" I stood and moved to where she lay. "Nothing just happens, Anya. You chose to disobey me. You chose to do exactly what I told you not to do!"
She sat up immediately. "Please. I am sorry. It will not happen again."
"You are right. It will not." I reached down and grabbed her arm. Pulled her to her feet roughly. "Because I am going to teach you what happens when you disobey me."
Fear filled her eyes. "Please. I am sorry."
"Sorry is not good enough."
I dragged her to the corner of my bedroom. The darkest corner. Far from the lamp.
"You will stand here for the rest of the night," I ordered. "In the dark. You will not move. You will not sit. You will not make a sound. And if you disobey me again, I will lock you in the cellar for three days. Do you understand?"
Anya was shaking so badly she could barely stand. "Please. Please do not make me stand in the dark. I will do anything else. I will scrub every floor in this house. I will work twenty hours a day. Just please not the dark."
So she was afraid of the dark too.
Good. That made this easier.
"The dark is exactly where you belong," I said coldly. "Now stay there until dawn. And remember this feeling the next time you think about disobeying me."
I returned to my desk.
I worked tirelessly, trying to ignore how Anya stood frozen in that dark corner, how her breathing came fast and panicked. I could feel her fear. She was terrified. Just like I had been terrified at twelve years old in that cellar.
I pushed the thought away. This was necessary. She needed to learn and understand that I was not soft. That her tears and her fear meant nothing to me.
An hour passed. Then two. Anya never moved. She never made a sound. But I could see her silhouette in the darkness. I could see how her whole body trembled.
My mother used to tremble like that. When my father locked her in closets. When he made her stand in dark rooms as punishment.
I poured more vodka and drank it on one gulp. But it did not help. The memories kept coming.
My mother's face. Her tears. Her quiet begging. Her final scream as she fell down those stairs.
I stood up abruptly and moved to the dark corner where Anya stood.
She flinched when she saw me coming. Probably thought I was going to hurt her more.
"Go back to the floor by my desk," I said.
She stared at me. "What?"
"I said go back to the floor. Now!"
She moved quickly. Practically ran from that dark corner back to the spot beside my desk. She curled up there and I saw tears sliding down her face again. The silent tears she tried to hide.
I returned to my chair and tried to work. But my hands were shaking.
I had become my father. For just a moment, standing there watching Anya tremble in the dark, I had been exactly like him.
The thought made me sick.
Dawn came slowly. Gray light filled the room and the lamp finally stopped being necessary.
Anya had fallen asleep on the floor. She looked so small and breakable. I stood and moved to where she slept. I looked down at her pale face. At the dark circles under her eyes. At how she clutched my shirt like it was armor.
I found my hands reaching for her again but I stopped myself before I could reach it.
Shit!
"Anya," I said quietly.
She woke immediately, scrambling to sit up.
"Go to your room," I ordered. "Clean yourself up, eat breakfast and come back here. You will clean my study today. And you will do it silently."
"Yes," she whispered.
She stood and moved to the door. Opened it gently and left, closing the door gently behind her.
I watched her leave and the room suddenly became empty.
I stood alone in my bedroom, watching the sun rise. And I realized something terrible.
Anya Koslov was dangerous. Not because she was Marco Koslov's daughter. Not because she could be used against me by my enemies. But because she had seen me. She now knows my weakness.
She had seen the twelve year old boy who had been locked in darkness. And now was afraid of it.
And that made her the most dangerous person in my world.
Because if she could see me, she could hurt me. She could destroy me.
I needed to stop this. I needed to push her aaway and make her hate me completely so she would stop looking at me with those eyes that saw too much.
Mikhail entered without knocking. He took one look at my face and sighed.
"You look worse than yesterday. Did you sleep at all?"
"No."
"The Koslov girl again?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
I told him. About how she had cried. About how I had touched her hair. About how I had tried to punish her by making her stand in the dark. About how I had stopped after only two hours because I could not bear it.
Mikhail was quiet for a long moment. Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"You care about her."