On Yona’s tenth birthday, she did not get a party. She had not had one for her eighth or ninth birthdays either. Not since her mother was killed.

  Her father was not the only one who had changed after that incident. Yona herself was not the same. How could she be? Even after three years, she still had nightmares about that day, and often woke up crying.

  Dinner that night was bland, boiled chicken. The chef that Yona’s mother had worked so hard to find was let go more than a year prior. He was “an unnecessary expense,” in her father’s words. They did not have a chef anymore, and their food was all made by the maids, none of whom were expert cooks. Her father didn’t seem to mind. He had never been one with fine tastes. He preferred function over form, and as long as he and his children were getting the necessary nutrients, he did not see any reason to go further.

  There was something slightly different about him on this particular day though. His face was the same as ever, but Yona could sense something different about him. It wasn’t quite excitement, but something similar. Anticipation? She didn’t know, and he didn’t say anything, so she just ate in silence, waiting for him to bring it up. And he did, as soon as he finished.

  “It’s your birthday,” he said.

  Yona blinked in shock. She didn’t know that he remembered.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “I got you a gift.”

  “You did?”

  “Wash your hands and meet me near the basement.”

  “Okay!”

  “You join us as well, Vitaly.”

  On the opposite side of the table, Yona’s elder brother nodded silently and stood up. He was three years older than Yona, and much more similar to their father than Yona was. She had even heard some people calling him “Little Zima.” Unlike the true Zima, though, he had not yet lost his humanity.

  The basement? wondered Yona.

  She had never been allowed in the basement before, and had always been curious. Even finding out what her father really did for a living didn’t deter her. But she had not been able to make it down. The door was locked, and she did not know where the key was, nor had she learned how to pick locks yet. But now, she was being allowed down? And on top of that, her father had gotten her a birthday present? Foolishly, she allowed herself to grow excited.

  The underground parts of the house were not very different from the aboveground parts. It was built in the same style, and its decor was similar, though sparser. Yona’s father led her down a long hallway lined by closed doors, and with each step, her curiosity and excitement grew. Then, when her father opened the door at the end of the hall, her excitement faded in an instant.

  What awaited them inside was not a birthday present. It was a man. He was bound to a chair, dressed in clothes that clearly had not been washed in days, or possibly weeks. His fingertips and toes were covered in blood, and his ears were little more than bloody holes on the side of his head. The entire room smelled foul, like someone had died in a sewer. And the worst part was that Yona recognized the man.

  Uncle Anatoly? she thought.

  “F– father?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “This is one of the men responsible for your mother’s death,” he said.

  Yona’s eyes widened, and her gaze whipped back to Anatoly. The man was gagged, so he couldn’t speak, but he was staring straight at Yona with tears running down his cheeks. Yona recalled all the times she had played with the man. He always used to let her ride on his shoulders, galloping through the house like a horse. For her seventh birthday, he had bought her the expensive doll that made all her friends jealous. Even after her mother’s death, he would sneak her sweets and other snacks after hearing what kind of food she had been eating since the chef was let go.

  “Wh– what?”

  “He was a spy,” her father explained. “He was selling information on our house. Its layout, its occupants, our daily schedules… It was his information that allowed those men to ambush you so perfectly.”

  Yona continued looking at Anatoly, asking a silent question and praying that her uncle would deny it. The only response she got was more tears.

  “I first met Anatoly fifteen years ago, back when my father was still in charge. We caught him robbing our runners on orders from a rival group. We showed him mercy. He gave us information on his employers. We let him live, and even hired him. We let him join us. We let him rise through the ranks. And do you know how long he has been betraying us?”

  Yona hesitantly shook her head.

  “The entire time. From the very beginning, he was selling our information. There was never a time when he wasn’t. And that information was what got Irina killed.”

  Her father calmly reached to his waist and pulled a gun from a holster.

  “Your mother was killed by a .22. The bullet entered her skull and bounced around inside, destroying her brain and killing her almost instantly. She likely didn’t even feel any pain.” He pointed the gun at Anatoly. “This is not a .22. This man does not deserve that mercy.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  He pulled the trigger, hitting Anatoly in the shoulder. Anatoly screamed through the gag, and struggled to break free of his restraints. A second bullet hit his opposite shoulder, then a third hit his leg, and a fourth hit the other. His screams got louder with each shot, and continued for a full minute after the last shot. Yona tried to avert her gaze, but her father placed a firm hand on her head, turning it back toward the dying man.

  “Don’t look away,” he said. “Watch closely. This is how things work in our world.” He fired one final bullet, hitting Anatoly square in the stomach. “Once a rat, always a rat. Mercy is wasted on men like him. This is how they should be dealt with instead.

  “Don’t look away. If you want to survive in this world, you need to be used to things like this. Betrayal. Death. For people like us, these things are inevitable. And this is how you handle them.”

  Tears ran down Yona’s face, but she did not make a sound, and she did not look away. She watched the light fade from the eyes of the man she once called “uncle.” On the opposite side of her father from her, Vitaly, who had been silent the whole time, doubled over and vomited. Their father looked down at him with an air of disappointment, but gently ruffled Yona’s hair.

  When Anatoly finally died, he turned to Yona, reaching into his pocket.

  “Hold out your hand,” he said.

  Yona did so, and he took something from his pocket and gave it to her. It was three pieces of Yona’s favorite hard candy. It was even in her favorite flavor.

  “You did well today,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

  At age fifteen, Yona had somewhat escaped her father’s thumb. She had done well enough in her self defense and weapons training, and it had been long enough that after months of presenting her case, he finally let her go to upper secondary school in Moscow. He had been reluctant, saying that it was outside his territory, and that his influence did not reach her, and every time he said that, Yona struggled not to say that was exactly why she wanted to go.

  Ultimately, when he agreed, he had a few conditions. First, she had to go under a false name. She could be called Yona, but her family name would be different, and her background would be false. That was fine by her. The less connection she had to him, the better.

  Second was that she had to send a letter once every three days. It did not have to be detailed, but it had to confirm that she was alright, and he gave her a set of code words and phrases in case she needed to subtly let him know she was in danger. That was also fine. A brief letter every few days was nothing.

  Finally, she had to agree that if anything at all happened to her that put her in serious danger, she would come back. Even if it was seemingly unrelated to her father’s business. She had tried to argue against this, but he was uncompromising, and she was ultimately forced to relent. Still, conditional freedom was better than nothing, so she resolved herself to simply not get into any dangerous situations.

  Living in Moscow, she finally was able to be herself. Her fathers’ training never truly faded, and she was perhaps a bit more paranoid about shadowy alleys and mysterious figures than a girl her age would otherwise have been, and maybe had a little less aversion to things that would make others vomit than she should have had, but overall, she was mostly normal.

  For about three months.

  Then, almost as though fate was playing a cruel prank on her, her normal life ended just as quickly as it had all those years ago on the day her mother died. One moment, she was walking home with a friend, and the next, she had a bag over her head and was being tossed into a van.

  Physically, the kidnapping was actually not so bad for her. Aside from a cut on her cheek from her initial struggles, she was unharmed. Her false background was one of a rich heiress, and she had been kidnapped for a ransom, so they did not want to damage her. Her friend was not a rich heiress and had no such protections. Yona did not see what they did to her, but the room they kept her in was not at all soundproofed, and by the time her father was able to pay the ransom and get her out, what she heard had left her shellshocked.

  She did not return to school in Moscow after that. She did not find out what became of her friend until years later. She just retreated into her room, and for a week, she did nothing. She barely even ate or drank. At the end of that week, her father summoned her down to the basement.

  After the first time on her tenth birthday, Yona had spent a lot of time in the basement. That was where her father conducted most of his “business” and where he trained Yona herself in self defense. When he called her down, she knew it would be for nothing good, but she went anyway. What he showed her did not surprise her.

  In the same room where her “uncle” Anatoly had died, two more men had been chained up. Unlike Anatoly, they were not gagged, and as soon as Yona and her father entered, they started talking and begging for their lives. Unfortunately for them, Yona recognized them. They had been smart enough not to let her see their faces, but she knew their voices. They were her kidnappers, and the tormenters of her friend.

  Wordlessly, her father handed her his pistol, and she accepted without hesitation. When she fired the first shot, her arms were trembling, but she quickly steadied herself. She shot each man in the left shoulder, then the right, then the left leg, then the right leg, and only when their screams stopped did she shoot them in the stomach and watch them die.

  “Good girl,” said her father, ruffling her hair. “I think you’re ready. What would you say to taking on a role in the family business?”

  Still mute, Yona nodded, and for the first time in years, she saw her father smile. It was a cold smile, and it didn’t reach his eyes, but it was still a smile, and that was enough to give Yona hope that perhaps in some cruel, twisted way, her father might one day return to how he was.

  Two years later, whatever respect Yona still had for her father vanished. Her life had been relatively peaceful at his side until then. She worked more or less as his secretary whenever she wasn’t receiving private tutoring to wrap up her education. It was not pleasant, but it was safe, she had plenty of free time to enjoy her hobbies, and while their “business” had taken some time to get used to, she had adjusted.

  Then, one day, there was a new face at dinner. Usually, it was just her, her father, and her brother Vitaly, but now there was another young man. He was a year older than Yona, and the spitting image of her father.

  “This is your half-brother Aleksandr," Zima had said. “He’ll be living here from now on.”

  Both Yona and Vitaly gave their new half-brother, Aleksandr, a polite greeting, then locked eyes with each other. Both of their gazes were filled with rage. Just one glance at Aleksandr’s face was all they needed to confirm the blood relation to their father, and the timeline…

  Until that point, Yona had some sympathy for her father. After all, her mother’s death had traumatized her too. She could understand how he felt, and even if his methods were extreme, he was clearly trying to cope with it. But now, she was learning that after everything he had done—after everything he had made her do—he hadn’t even been a faithful husband? And now he was bringing the proof of his infidelity into the family as if it was nothing?

  Without a word spoken between them, Yona and Vitaly began imagining Zima’s downfall.

  And the invisible spirit watched on.