“You were wondering if I’m aware that Stefan murdered Vasily. Is that about right?”
I wince and nod. “I’m sorry, Elena. I don’t mean to be indelicate. I know this must be sensitive?—”
“He had it coming.”
I nearly choke. “Excuse me?”
“Pardon me for being so crude.” She presses her back against the cushion and the journal disappears. “But I believe in speaking the truth. Even if it’s ugly.”
“You don’t hold it against Stefan?”
“I saw what he went through with that woman.” There’s no mistaking how she feels about Natalia. “And I knew my son. Vasily always wanted what he couldn’t have. Particularly if his brother had it.” She catches my expression. “That must sound very cruel to you.”
“I wasn’t there. I don’t understand the dynamics in your family.”
“I don’t want you to think I didn’t care about Vasily. I did. I tried to be there for both my sons equally. But it didn’t matter how many times I spoke to him, advised him, tried to caution his worst impulses—he always let his bitterness and jealousy win. You may ask why I forgave Stefan for killing Vasily. That’s because, after Vasily and Natalia killed Matvey, Vasily stopped being my son.”
I’m on the verge of telling Elena that Natalia denies killing anyone, but I hold my tongue. Her story has no place here.
Not for Stefan.
And certainly not for Elena.
They talk about generational trauma. I wonder what kind of trauma my child will inherit from a family history this bleak, this tragic. Will my child grow up thinking that murdering family members in the name of revenge is acceptable? Should I accept it, too, the way Elena has?
“You’re scared.” Elena’s cool voice interrupts my spiral. “For yourself and your child.”
“This is a very different world from the one I live in.” I press my hands together. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll learn to. For your child.” Elena pats my hand. “You have no choice.”
Is that advice, I wonder? Or a threat?
“Can I ask about Matvey? What was he like?”
Elena’s smile is laced with sadness. “He was a lot like Stefan when he was younger. But he changed as he got older.”
I almost want to tell her about the journal. About the fact that Matvey recognized the same thing about himself. But for now, I keep this secret. In a weird way, it feels like I’m keeping Matvey’s confidence.
“I think he got tired of Bratva life toward the end.” Elena traces the lines in the wood. “He preferred to be by himself. He was always a writer, but as he got older, he wrote constantly. I think it helped him see things clearly. His journals were his therapists. Especially toward the end, when he was diagnosed with the tumor.”
“Tumor?” I gape at her.
Elena nods. “A few of hisvorsfelt that his change in temperament had to do with the tumor. His reclusiveness, his mood swings. Who knows? Maybe they were right. The reason he went to the doctor at all was because he started having migraines so bad he would black out. They did a brain scan and that’s when they found it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Not many people were told. Matvey didn’t want that. He didn’t even tell Stefan until just before the surgery.”
“So he had it removed?”
“He had the best team of neurosurgeons money could buy. Two lead surgeons and six assisting surgeons. The surgery took sixteen hours.”
I push myself to the edge of my seat. “And they got it all?”
“They said they did. But they also said that with a tumor that size, recurrence was possible. Matvey had to get monthly scans and stay on a rigorous course of pills his entire life to prevent more tumors.”
Forgetting momentarily that I’m not supposed to know anything about Matvey, I murmur to myself, “He would have hated that.”