baby boy.

Artyom

"Signed 'Vlad'," Lukyan says hollowly, his top lip pulled back in a snarl. "Like he doesn't want to consider himself my father anymore. Can you believe it?"

Truthfully, I can. Though I won't tell Lukyan that.

Our father has always preferred Lukyan. He has a soft spot in his hard heart for his eldest son, for the man who will one day take over his business. However, that spot has been firming up with each new indiscretion. For years, Lukyan's vices were relegated to his personal life. He spent his free time in clubs and bars and drug dens, having his fill of whatever sin was offered to him, but it didn't affect his day-to-day duties as the second-in-line to the Paplov crime family crown.

That has changed in the last few years, though. His nights out have turned into weekend benders that leave him unconscious and impossible to reach. No one can find him, and when they do, he is too sick to be of any use. Father has done his best to impress upon Lukyan the importance of his role in our family, but Lukyan can't see beyond the haze of drugs and women long enough to get a clear picture of his future. It appears that, now, Father has finally had enough of his games.

"I mean..." Lukyan says, standing up and fisting his hands at his sides. His fingers are trembling, and I wonder how long it has been since he's taken something. His blue eyes are the clearest I've seen them in the last few months. It won't be long before he'll give in again to the pull of the drugs, though. It never takes long. "It is bullshit. He can't kick me out of the family. We are blood. Flesh and blood. Doesn't that mean anything to him?"

"You know it does," I say gently, knowing my brother well enough to recognize that he isn't ready for a harsh reality yet. If he feels backed into a corner, he'll crawl into some hole, shoot up, and disappear for a week. "Father loves you, but he is worried. That's all this is. Just him trying to let you know he is worried."

"Worried about what? I'm fine." He reaches out to run a finger along a book on my shelf, but when he realizes how badly it is shaking, he tucks the finger back against his palm and lowers his hand.

"Your hands are shaking," I say. "And this is the first time I've seen you in four days. I'm not sure I'd classify that as being fine."

He spins around, and his face is red. I can't tell whether it is heated with shame or anger. "You are in your office past midnight. Again. Are you fine, Artyom?"

"If you're trying to prove you are better than me, I'd suggest you find a higher bar to jump over," I say. "Just because I'm fucked up doesn't mean you have free license to be, too."

"Sure it does," Lukyan says, his shoulders relaxing. Exhaustion seems to come over him all at once, and he moves back to the chair and flops down, the legs groaning under his sudden weight. "We're twins, after all."

"But you're older." He shouldn't need the reminder. God knows he hears it enough. And yet, the reality still doesn't seem to have sunk in. "You are the one who will inherit everything, Lukyan. That is why Father sent that letter."

He nods and runs a nervous hand through his blonde hair. It is cropped close to his head, a couple inches shorter than mine now, but his fingers still grab at his head like he expects to find hair there. "What if he does kick me out?"

I want to tell Lukyan that won't happen. Not only for his sake, but for mine. I've always had a desire to please my father and be a dutiful son, but I have no interest in Lukyan's inheritance. I don't want to be second-in-command. My entire life has been spent in the background of my family, and I've come to enjoy the shadows. If our father follows through on his threat, I'll be the new recipient of all of his attention. The hopes and dreams and expectations he had for Lukyan will be transferred to me, and I don't want them. Not one bit. Especially if that comes with Lukyan's banishment.

I hold up the letter. "Then it means you fucked up again. The threat isn't a mystery. There is a clear action and consequence. If you don't want the consequence, don't mess up."

My twin shakes his head and looks down at the floor. "You say that like it is easy."

"It can be," I say. "You have to want it, Lukyan. You have to fight for it."

"You think I'm not fighting?" The chair he was sitting in is across the room and on its side before I can even jerk back in surprise. He leaned forward, his palms flat on my desk, and I met him head on, refusing to turn away. "You think I like being this way?"

"Yeah, I do." I stand up so we are the same height, my eyes looking straight into his. To anyone walking by, it would look like I was looking in a mirror. "Because if you didn't like it, you'd change it."

Lukyan's eyes go hard, and he leans forward until his nose is only an inch from mine.

"Fuck. You."