Read Online Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) by Danielle Girard - Free Book Online
Authors: Danielle Girard
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went the wrong way. There were words for it. Goluboy in Russian, and American words—gay, homo. None of them made it better or worse. Feliks wasn't manly. How had this happened to him? He was a strong father, not the type to have a goluboy. It was his mother's fault. She had been slabi, weak.
Feliks, at least, had his intelligence. He did the numbers for the business, reported them weekly. Oskar had never had the patience for numbers. He always checked Feliks's, though. One could never be too careful, and Oskar wanted it to be very clear that he was in charge. There had always been someone else to do the grunt work. That was how it should be. It had been Oskar's brother before he had died. Then Viktor, now Feliks.
Dmitri, on the other hand, had his mother's brain. He was better at the people side. People trusted him, confided in him. He couldn't add two and two, but he was good with people and he obeyed the rules. He kept the family name clean. Smarts wasn't something everyone could have. But right versus wrong, at least Dmitri knew that.
Only Viktor had had both; only he had been worthy of the empire Oskar had created. And Viktor was gone.
"We should go over the books," he told Feliks.
Feliks glanced up at him. "Of course. Whenever you'd like."
Oskar nodded. "Not tonight." He was too tired. He was always too damn tired. He watched them eat and felt even worse.
"Menya goshnit," he snapped at them. They made him sick.
His sons sat up and dropped their forks. "Papa?" Feliks said.
"You eat like a woman." He looked from Feliks to Dmitri. "And you like a pig."
The two boys exchanged insolent glances and shrugged. "Gdye tei," he called to their houseboy, Andrei. "Take these plates off the table."
The houseboy removed the boys' plates and then stood there. Oskar waved him away.
Feliks was still, his shoulders slouched, his head dropped. He picked at a piece of skin on one finger.
Dmitri stood up, his chair scraping against the tile floor.
"I didn't tell you to get up," Oskar thundered. Porcelain and silverware rattled as his fist slammed onto the table.
Dmitri walked away. Walked away from him.
He deserved better than this. Viktor had been his true son, the firstborn. Dmitri was weaker, more like his mother, Sophya, had been. And Feliks. He shook his head and carved the pork in a long, smooth motion. Feliks was Sophya.
At least she wasn't there to further influence them. She hadn't been strong enough. Her heart, was what the autopsy had said. It hadn't been her heart he'd broken, but it was good enough. Good enough to tell her sons. Only Viktor had handled the news with the appropriate male response. Dmitri and Feliks had wailed like babies. And Viktor was the one he lost. He paused and chewed his food with a low growl, stuffing in another bite and chewing harder.
He felt the burn in his gut again. He kept himself from rubbing it. He wasn't about to show his sons any sign of weakness. It had been difficult to do. He'd been ill in front of them on a few occasions, unable to hold off the nausea. But he'd told them it was food poisoning, and while he sensed they knew something was wrong, they certainly didn't discuss it. He would not share his problems with them. He had to be strong, in charge.
And he was even more careful in public. He'd told his business associates that he'd lost the weight on his doctor's recommendation. They had no idea that he was simply wasting away. Or if they did, he didn't know about it. Business was going to hell, and any sign of weakness would let others step in. He wasn't going to have that. He longed for a Zantac to ease the ache. The doctor was always warning him about salt. Goddamn doctors. He liked salt. He'd earned it, and he'd eat as much of it as he pleased.
Andrei returned and filled his glass with Grey Goose, straight from the freezer.
Feliks nodded the boy over, but Oskar shook his head. "None for him," he snapped in Russian.
Feliks made no move to stand up for himself. Oskar
Feliks, at least, had his intelligence. He did the numbers for the business, reported them weekly. Oskar had never had the patience for numbers. He always checked Feliks's, though. One could never be too careful, and Oskar wanted it to be very clear that he was in charge. There had always been someone else to do the grunt work. That was how it should be. It had been Oskar's brother before he had died. Then Viktor, now Feliks.
Dmitri, on the other hand, had his mother's brain. He was better at the people side. People trusted him, confided in him. He couldn't add two and two, but he was good with people and he obeyed the rules. He kept the family name clean. Smarts wasn't something everyone could have. But right versus wrong, at least Dmitri knew that.
Only Viktor had had both; only he had been worthy of the empire Oskar had created. And Viktor was gone.
"We should go over the books," he told Feliks.
Feliks glanced up at him. "Of course. Whenever you'd like."
Oskar nodded. "Not tonight." He was too tired. He was always too damn tired. He watched them eat and felt even worse.
"Menya goshnit," he snapped at them. They made him sick.
His sons sat up and dropped their forks. "Papa?" Feliks said.
"You eat like a woman." He looked from Feliks to Dmitri. "And you like a pig."
The two boys exchanged insolent glances and shrugged. "Gdye tei," he called to their houseboy, Andrei. "Take these plates off the table."
The houseboy removed the boys' plates and then stood there. Oskar waved him away.
Feliks was still, his shoulders slouched, his head dropped. He picked at a piece of skin on one finger.
Dmitri stood up, his chair scraping against the tile floor.
"I didn't tell you to get up," Oskar thundered. Porcelain and silverware rattled as his fist slammed onto the table.
Dmitri walked away. Walked away from him.
He deserved better than this. Viktor had been his true son, the firstborn. Dmitri was weaker, more like his mother, Sophya, had been. And Feliks. He shook his head and carved the pork in a long, smooth motion. Feliks was Sophya.
At least she wasn't there to further influence them. She hadn't been strong enough. Her heart, was what the autopsy had said. It hadn't been her heart he'd broken, but it was good enough. Good enough to tell her sons. Only Viktor had handled the news with the appropriate male response. Dmitri and Feliks had wailed like babies. And Viktor was the one he lost. He paused and chewed his food with a low growl, stuffing in another bite and chewing harder.
He felt the burn in his gut again. He kept himself from rubbing it. He wasn't about to show his sons any sign of weakness. It had been difficult to do. He'd been ill in front of them on a few occasions, unable to hold off the nausea. But he'd told them it was food poisoning, and while he sensed they knew something was wrong, they certainly didn't discuss it. He would not share his problems with them. He had to be strong, in charge.
And he was even more careful in public. He'd told his business associates that he'd lost the weight on his doctor's recommendation. They had no idea that he was simply wasting away. Or if they did, he didn't know about it. Business was going to hell, and any sign of weakness would let others step in. He wasn't going to have that. He longed for a Zantac to ease the ache. The doctor was always warning him about salt. Goddamn doctors. He liked salt. He'd earned it, and he'd eat as much of it as he pleased.
Andrei returned and filled his glass with Grey Goose, straight from the freezer.
Feliks nodded the boy over, but Oskar shook his head. "None for him," he snapped in Russian.
Feliks made no move to stand up for himself. Oskar
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