Slowly, Kir nods. “I did.”
Lukas smiles sardonically. Playing along, he says, “Well? We’re all ears.”
I could swear Kir’s gaze darts up to the camera for just a second. Then, crossing one knee over the other, he says, “I want you to ask me for help. Just this once, I want you to say those f*****g words, Father.”
It’s quiet. I wonder again if the feed has cut out, because both men are as still as statues. Then Lukas leans forward and props up his elbows on his knees.
“You want me to beg.”
“Beg, ask, what’s the f*****g difference?” spits Kir. “Just admit, for once in your f*****g life, that you need someone. You can’t do everything alone. Even the great Lukas Lazarev makes mistakes.”
“I won’t make this one,” Lukas replies softly.
Kir’s frustration is more than obvious. His hands keep
