36

If Yulia Morozova were an actual ruler, I would’ve been sentenced to death the moment I was born. The second malicious stare that could get someone accidentally killed belongs to my brother, Konstantin, who’s two years my junior. He has lighter hair than me, a more angular facial structure that could never look friendly, and my mother’s eyes. Which is the first reason to put him at the very top of my hit list. “Look who’s done playing soldier and came back.” The second thing that would land him on my hit list is the aggravating way he speaks. It’s like he’s begging to be shot, just so that he can be silenced forever. “Missed you, too, little bro.” I smile, matching his provocative tone with my own, then nod at Yulia. “Mother.” She rises, her posture stiff, and walks in my direction. When she stops in front of me, I’m gutted by the smell of her strong perfume that could be used like a weapon. “Why are you back, Kirill?” “Yes, brother.” Konstantin stands beside Yulia like a good little m