I know what I said was unfair..but… he’s pushing me away. I don’t know why, but he does. It hurts when he treats me like that. You should understand, aunt Liza/
So you think speaking to him as though he is dirt is going to solve anything? You need to communicate in a positive way if anything is going to be resolved. If he is truly pushing you away I will deal with him, because he does not get to do that, no matter what is going on in that head of his. But you need to sit down and speak with him about how you feel without ramming insults down his throat.
I cannot not, Лиза. It truly hurts a lot and I wonder, what did I do wrong for them to…despise me as much as they seem to do?
Your children have a lot of feelings. They don’t always have a handle on them. They need a little reinforcement from time to time, I think. They need to feel loved. Sometimes that’s all it takes. However, there is no excuse for them to speak to their father in that manner. If she were any younger I’d have washed her mouth out with soap.
Like I said, Nina: He hurts you, I hurt him.
he hurts me, I hurt him myself.
You can go back to work, you’ve done enough perfect dad pretending for today. You are a father of the year.
Can you hear yourself? Watch your tongue, young lady. You should be ashamed of yourself. Talking to your father in such a manner! It’s vulgar. He raised you better than that.
“Do you understand what I just told you, Dmitri?”
“Y-yes. Yes. I do. I understand.”
“Good. Then I need you to hurry back to the mansion and inform Elizabeth. Keep Sparrow around. Now is not the time for sloppiness; it shall not be tolerated.”
“Y-yes, Aleksandr. Yes. I under- I understand.”
The heavy pain was pressing onto his pumping heart, the feeling of loss cocooning it with burning ice. The ugly words still rang in his ears, haunting his sanity like a never dying, bloodshirsty ghost longing to feast on his inner demise. Wounds had been sliced into his very being, oozing with life’s juice, the flow of chrimson unstoppable as he rushed up the Vorshevsky’s driveway the fastest he could. It seemed as if his feet weighed a ton though and refused to carry him along in the speed he commanded them to. Mocking him. Giggling at him. Making him look like nothing more than a mere joke. Dmitri, however, refused to listen, refused to give in and cope and with one shaky hand on his forehead, he kept on walking. Walking. An impossible task, it seemed, but one he had to accomplish the best he could. He had to.
Everything was going just fine, God damn it. There he was, sitting next to his brother, and the talks were going just fine. At one point, he even thought they could actually reason with the O’Reillys and agree on a peace treaty they would all be happy with. Content and satisfied, no harsh words, no strong complaints, nothing. For the split of a second, everything was going just fine, and then a trigger was pulled. Dmitri could not tell who opened the fire, neither did he genuinely care since the significant damage was done — but from one blink of an eye to the next, the little café they had met up in turned into a raging pandomenium, screams, bang bangs and blood filling the atmosphere and sickening the man to his stomach.
But if he had thought that was a terrible sight which presented itself in front of his in terror widened eyes, then he had been a downright fool to believe it could not get worse. Because it did. And it made him want to tug at his hair violently and scream in rage, scream so loud until his lungs burst.
His brother. His brother Anatoly had been shot, his now lifeless boody drained.
And his nephew Mikhail was in a critical state.
And as the new second in command of the Russian mob, it was now his duty to break down the fatal news to his beloved sister.
Dima pushed the door open with all of his might — or what was left of it — and found himself standing in the kitchen. The cold night’s air whipped into the room and mixed with its warmth, and death seemed to seep silently into the Vorshevsky’s home with it.
It was such a scary feeling. The smell rotten.
It did not take long until his blue orbs found his sister’s, the ones which reflected the very same colour and always meant shelter for him but tonight, the roles were switched. The sheer terror the man was feeling was painted in them, pulsing with the fear it was fueled with, and he struggled with his tongue. He stuggled as to how on Earth he was supposed to voice another tragedy which had struck this family like a lightning.
Somehow, though, Dmitri made it work. A miracle, it must have been a miracle as he opened his mouth, voice steady, not betraying him and keeping the inner thunderstorm a secret.
“It’s Anatoly, Lizka.” The door fell shut behind him. “They kil—…he — he is gone. And Mikha, he is stable, but it’s critical.”
The single word resounded within the woman’s mind as her eyes clamped shut. No.
"Sparrow, why don’t you take your homework upstairs? Someone will be up to talk to you soon," the woman spoke firmly to her confused niece. Despite her questions, and pleas to understand what was going on and where her father was, Elizabeth pressed for her to leave the room. Her face drained of all its color once the child had left and her back met the side of the kitchen work top. With her breathing becoming shallow, her head shook in disdain, in disbelief, in sheer and utter refusal. "No" she uttered with a painful breath. "No."
She tried desperately to move but her form was seemingly cemented to the spot. But her eyes, those she could command. Her lids fluttered upwards and her blues fixated upon her brother. “NO!” she burst out, anger flooding her senses. “What do you mean gone?! And critical?! Dima what the hell is going on? It was PEACE TALK for crying out loud! What the hell happened?!” She found herself screaming at him. Absolutely bellowing out her words in infuriation. Once finished, she held a hand up to her heart and continued to try to breathe. She had woken up and gone about the morning as if it were any other day. Just minutes ago, it had been any other day. It had not been one of the worst days of their lives. It had not been the day their brother had died and their son and nephew had fought for his life. His words still hung in the air like wisps of smoke refusing to fade - suffocating her.
"They were here two hours ago. You’re telling me… you’re telling me Tolya is.. is dead and Mikha might not… Oh God…" not able to finish her sentence, the tears came. They came in tremendous sobs that wracked her body so furiously she could barely breathe. Turmoil engulfed her small frame and its tentacles wrapped around her throat. Tears strained her cheeks continuously, falling as fast as new ones were created.
Timeframe: Eleven years ago. The night of Anatoly’s death after peace talks with the O’Reilly’s.
Location: Aleksandr and Elizabeth’s mansion.
Elizabeth crossed the length of the kitchen with haste. Once Tolya and the boys were home from their peace talk there was to be a grand dinner. Hosted, of course, by none other than herself. Helping the maids and the mansion chefs prepare, she glided to the marble surface beside the fridge and placed down her mother’s cookbook. As her eyes fled across the page in search for the appropriate measurement she was looking for, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. “What are you doing there, Sparrow?” she asked as a smile crept out onto her features. The sight of her soon to be eleven year old niece and an abundance of glitter and glue caused her interest to pique, despite her busy schedule. “Homework?” As the little girl nodded, she turned back to her recipe with her heart warmed as it always was after spending the smallest amount of time with the girl.
Suddenly a cold breeze rushed inside, polluting the warmth of the room. A shiver passed down her spine as she pursed her lips in annoyance. Men and guards were always coming and going through the mansion, and leaving doors open! Putting the feeling of ice down to a guard opening a door, allowing the chilly weather to seep in through the home, she quickly went about closing the kitchen door. Locking the heat inside once again she turned her attention back to the creme dessert she was attempting to create.
"One teaspoon vanilla," she muttered to herself quietly as she heard the door open. Frustration seeped in as she sighed deeply, "I just closed that door! What is it?" Turning around in a flurry expecting to see a guard or a maid, the sight of her younger brother caused the breath to catch in her throat. "Dima, sorry, I… what are you doing back so soon?" The look in his eyes alarmed her. "Where are the others?" She could see not the image of her youngest son behind him nor the sound of her husband’s deep thunderous voice.
I adore your bossy streak, as always.
[Smiling softly at his beloved sister, Dmitri gently put his arms around her and hugged her close to his chest.]
You look fantastic tonight.
[Wrapping her arms around her brother, she rest her head against his shoulder for a few moments and closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath. His return was just what she needed.]
In that case, don’t you dare leave again!
Thank you, Dima, and you’re looking rather smashing. I’m sure Kora is glad to have you back.
I am indeed. Couldn’t miss out on the big night now, could I?
What do you want me to get you?
Just a hug.
[She snaps her fingers at a Russian loyalist]
You, yes you, with the god awful suit. Get me a vodka and tonic. Make it quick.
I am on it, sister dearest.
Dima. You… you’re here!
It’s good.. I’m happy, more than I’ve ever been. I hope you liked the gift we got for you.
I’m glad. Marriage is sometimes hard but it’s worth the struggle. Yes, dear, it’s lovely. Thank you. [Elizabeth squeezes his hand] What was it like… you know… the wedding? I don’t have a clue…
Mama… I, uhm… You sound exhausted. Here, let me help you… [she motions into the kitchen, tapping the marble kitchen table.] What can I do?
Hello, sweetheart. You could preheat the oven for me to 375°F, thank you, dear.
[Elizabeth tries to crack an egg on the side of the bowl Sofia provided, but ends up hitting it too hard causing the yoke and shell to mix and leak out over the side. She sighs deeply, trying to clear it all up through her tears.]
You know… after everything that happened to me last year, when I was in the hospital… Lara was with me all the time. She came in drunk once, brought a bottle of vodka and drank right there in the room… and she hid from him when he came looking for her. Hid in the closet!
… he found her, finally, and threw her over his shoulder and carried her out. She always did know how to have a good time. The two of them… they’re having a good time, I think.
Those two. [Elizabeth smiles through a fresh wave of tears.] Those two.
I think you’re right.
I was always so jealous of her… she ate whatever she wanted and she never seemed to gain a pound.
She and Vlad did go to the gym quite often, though.
Yes they… they did. They always ate those god awful take out meals, too. So much beer…