It’s another reason why I never considered forcing him to be a slave. We’d both spent more than enough of our lives doing that already.
“No,” I finally answer. “I don’t think my father ever drew a line. He always did whatever it took to get what he wanted.”
A string of curse words from the doorway alert us to Anatoly’s arrival. “And who is responsible for this mess?” He gestures to our father like he’s a glass of spilled milk before he kneels down in the blood and checks his pulse. “This is bullshit. I miss all the fun! First, Trofim. Now this.”
“Your father is dead,” Raoul hisses at him under his breath. “Pretend you have some decorum.”
Anatoly slowly, shamefully lowers his head and stares down at the floor. He folds his hands in front of him and looks solemn.
Then, after a few secon
