[TW] Harewood House | cold bodies ~ Lev

Tuesday, 02 January 1923, 9:45am
Oleg’s office at Harewood House

---

Gaze hard, Oleg stood by the window behind his desk, letting his eyes travel over the snow-covered grounds. His hands clasped behind his back tapped a steady rhythm, the only movement and sound of the room, if not the entire house.

A hush that had settled like death itself. Ruslana’s doing.

The circumstances of it couldn’t have been any more inconvenient. An overdose, collapsed at the most important event since their arrival, hosting guests they had been working on for months. The woman had given him more than enough headaches while alive, it only seemed to fit she did so also in death.

He hadn’t disliked her. Ruslana had given him four more children, two of which were sons, and had been the immaculate representation of a Zdravkova woman. Elegant, charming, admired. Her abilities to socialize had provided him with numerous new contacts, creating ways in he might have not managed by himself alone. She had been useful in the way a woman and wife could be.

If only she hadn’t been so damn lax in other regards. Her frivolous dabbling with certain powders had never been a secret, not to him. He had warned her, had tried to force her to stop, but to no avail. The woman had been too sly, too cunning — and yet capable to keep appearances up. He had made the consequences clear, should anyone ever get wind of this, but he supposed that had been a waste of breath.

She had taken herself out all on her own.

In the worst possible fashion imaginable. It was only lucky she had had the decency to collapse out of sight instead of giving the entirety of Wizarding Britain something to talk about. For now, barely anyone knew. Still, rumours were brewing. They needed to handle this, quick and precise.

A knock on the door disrupted the silence and Oleg turned. “Enter.” His gaze cut to Lev, dead on time as usual. “Close the door, we have things to discuss.” Without further ado, Oleg sat behind his desk, waiting for Lev to take a seat opposite.

“Your step-mother’s death will have to be handled carefully,” he said, voice void of emotion, its usual point-blank tone. “The official cause will be heart failure, a fatal and tragic consequence of her decade-long struggle with health problems.” Made up, of course, but that went without saying. Everyone in this house was aware of the woman's doings. She hadn't exactly made an effort to hide it, not even from her own children.

Steepling his fingers, Oleg continued. “We need medical records forged, a few minds altered at St. Mungo’s. Her friends’ too. I don’t want anyone with even an ounce of doubt. Maybe we can find leverage in this as well.”

Grief was an emotion easily utilized as any other.

Where exuberance and exaltations for the new year rang just a day and a half ago, grief and silence had swallowed it whole.

A serpent, coiled and waiting in the shadowed corners for its prey to wander naively into its trap, it had struck without warning. His half-siblings were reeling, the younger ones especially, and while Lev had held no affection for his stepmother, he hated knowing that his sisters and brothers were struggling. At his core, Lev was a family man, and he was fiercely protective of them, even if it presented itself in a quieter way than some would like.

Ruslana was an idiot, and always had been. His father had chosen her as a wife for obvious reasons, but her ability to be a selfless Zdravkova wife and mother had always been lacking. Her propensity for potions and whatever else soured her reputation - and their family’s as far as Lev was concerned - and her consequences had finally caught up to her.

Even in death, she couldn’t be a decent mother and spare her children the embarrassment and sorrow of her actions.

“Enter.”

It was never any different. Father’s voice came cold and rigid behind the door, commanding rather than inviting, but Lev knew the shape of it by now.

It didn’t make it any less intimidating.

If there was anyone that could intimidate Lev or send a chill down the young man’s spine, it was his father. Despite being the man’s favorite of his children, Lev wasn’t spared from the harshness of his father’s approach nor his disapproval if things didn’t measure up to his expectations.

He entered quickly and quietly, shutting the door behind him as ordered.

“Your step-mother’s death will have to be handled carefully. The official cause will be heart failure, a fatal and tragic consequence of her decade-long struggle with health problems.”

Lev almost snorted his disgust at the idea of ‘health problems’, but quickly remembered himself and didn’t dare. If Ruslana had held any real health problems, they all would have been mental, but the son kept quiet as his father continued.

“We need medical records forged, a few minds altered at St. Mungo’s. Her friends’ too. I don’t want anyone with even an ounce of doubt. Maybe we can find leverage in this as well.”

“I can handle it,” he answered quietly, his mind already making a detailed list of who he would need to speak to, and how he would handle everything. He would bring Liliya along. More exposure and observation could only help her in her own practices, and he doubted Nadezda would argue. It would be his father that he would need to convince.

“The hospital will be more difficult and require more finesse, but it will be done.” He paused a moment, sitting up straight in his chair as he studied his father for a moment. “What sort of leverage are you looking for, Father?”

His wife was already dead. Condolences, whether genuine or performative, would already be assured.

“I can handle it. The hospital will be more difficult and require more finesse, but it will be done.”

Oleg grew unnaturally still, gaze cooled and lingering on Lev in quiet warning. He did not need to be reminded of the complexity of the situation by his son, as though he wasn’t quite aware and needed council. The mess Ruslana had ridden them into could hardly be any more intricate, worsened by her own son.

Dragomir had already felt the consequences for acting out of line, making decisions on his own.

Taking his mother to a place like St. Mungo’s, a public hospital they held no influence over, filled with healers they didn’t control had been utterly senseless, driven by rash action rooted in the softness Oleg had never quite managed to squash. When the message had reached him the damage had already been done.

At least the boy had had the wit to demand a private room.

The few healers involved had been paid off when Oleg had arrived, to keep their mouths shut and not immediately run to the press, but Galleons alone could not be trusted to keep this quiet. Not forever. When the family reputation was on the line, easily cracked by a scandal as embarrassing as an overdose, different methods to maintain esteem were necessary.

No. This needed to be handled thoroughly, methodically. There was no room for doubt. No time for delays.

Snapping out of the predatory stillness, Oleg released his gaze from Lev, shifting to reach for a quill and parchment. “It will,” he said, tone a fraction sharper. “Today. Talk to Dragomir, get every face and name from him he interacted with, Nadežda will take a look inside his head. There can be no leaks.”

As much as he detested his cousin’s place amongst the family ranks, Nadežda was their strongest Legilimens and he didn’t trust anyone else with this. “I have already informed her. You will go together.” End of discussion.

“What sort of leverage are you looking for, Father?”

For a moment he remained silent, continuing to write as though he hadn't heard. At last he answered, not looking up.

“Make one of the healers complicit by signing false records, keep their mind intact. Find a weakness, threaten them, I’ll leave it to you. We need someone on the inside.”

Lev swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to remain on that of his father's even as ice ran down his spine. Oleg Zdravkova was not a man for conversation or mulling. Not when his decisions had already been made. Lev had overstepped by voicing his thoughts out loud; not in lamentation, and more for himself than anything.

But it was unwelcome, and he should have known.

A churning in Lev's stomach was the only give-away that his father had made him anxious, his back strong and stiff against the back of the chair, his shoulders loose and heavy. He forced himself to maintain his father's gaze, knowing that if he dropped it or dared to look away, his father would find fault and weakness in it.

Instead, Lev tilted his chin slightly higher; prey silently staring down its predator, waiting for it to to strike.

“It will."

His words were sharp, but not the reprimand that Lev was expecting. A soft exhale through the young man's nose as silent relief filled him. Someday, Lev would better control his ruminations, understanding that his father wanted soldiers, not councilors.

"Today. Talk to Dragomir, get every face and name from him he interacted with, Nadežda will take a look inside his head. There can be no leaks.”

There was no point in bringing up Liliya now. Nadežda would be attending. Lev refrained from rolling his eyes, and gave a simple nod of his head.

“Make one of the healers complicit by signing false records, keep their mind intact. Find a weakness, threaten them, I’ll leave it to you. We need someone on the inside.”

"Yes Father." It was all that was needed. No further questions. No discussions. No requests to take Drago or Liliya along. There was a problem, and he was meant to figure out how to fix it. Immediately.

Lev rose from his chair, dipping his head in respect, waiting to be excused.

Lev acknowledged the order, rising from his chair without further commentary or question — as he was expected to do. Oleg had instilled this militaristic obedience and subordination early on, in all of his children and his sons in particular. Order, discipline, and devotion had built the family into what it was today, generation after generation, and he’d be damned if he was the one to break a perfectly working machine in favour of sentimentality and softness. Those things had no room in a world like theirs. He had done well to smother any sign of weakness the moment he had sensed it.

For those first two years of his oldest son’s life, he had worried, watching with disapproval how Lev's mother had coddled and pampered the boy, countersteering where he could. A soft boy he had been then, but her influence had been cut quite short. Maybe for the better. Oleg could still see streaks of it, here and there, though two decades of strict handling and teaching had prevented the worst.

Lev had proven himself competent since graduating from school and then university. Promising. This task would be useful, a good way for him to put into practice what he continued to claim to be capable of.

Oleg waved his free hand. A wordless dismissal before he returned his attention to the parchment before him.

---

Flashback
Thursday, 28 September 1922
~ 12:43 am ~

Oleg stood with his hands pressed flat against the desk’s surface, gaze hard and unforgiving as it pierced into his oldest son’s eyes, standing across and at attention. The last of their guests could still be heard through the door, saying goodbyes in the entrance hall before disapparating or finding their accommodations provided for them in the house itself, their cheerful chatter a stark contrast to the thickening air of the office.

Anger pressed against his ribs, barely restrained as Oleg continued to stare at his son, letting the weight of silence grow heavier. The party had gone over well aside from one incident, and his son would answer for it now.

Oleg’s voice was cold as steel as it pressed forward, low with barely restrained anger. “Third time," he said through clenched teeth. “Third time Liliya has drawn negative attention in public under your watch; she is behaving like a fool.” His tone sharpened, lips snarling. “After you assured me twice —", unable to contain the rising rage in his blood, Oleg slammed his fist down, sending ink jars clattering and quills rolling, "— that you had her under control.”

His eyes kept boring into Lev, glinting with fury. “What is your fucking excuse this time?”

Lev had learned long ago, that his father expected his hard stares to be met full on. Oleg Zdravkova didn't tolerate anything that he perceived as weakness, especially from his sons. A tremble, a slight hesitation in words, a gaze that faltered and lowered - unacceptable. They only intensified his rage like gasoline to a flame.

No matter how intimidated, no matter how ashamed Lev may or may not have felt, he was meant to handle his father's anger like a man. There were some in the family that called the young man robotic, the perfect soldier or the unyielding, golden son. They saw a man unquestioning, stiff and ready to do everything his father asked without a speck of emotion on his features. He was composed, well-mannered...cold, as some read him.

Sometimes, he even wondered himself if the heart he felt thumping in his chest had to capacity for more than the light spikes and lowers that came with adrenaline. Certainly, at one time it had. Lev had been told he was his mother's child - softer, gentler and happier in the short time he'd her, all of it beaten out of him within a few short years under his father's rule.

Perhaps only his siblings could truly understand him and why he operated in the manner he did. Still, even they had their comments and moments of disparagement. It wasn't that Lev cared, really. They were all welcome to their opinions, and he hardly cared about the way he was perceived if he had his father's favor.

It was when he didn't, that Lev felt alone. Incapable. Angry.

It had been some time since he'd last lost his composure, especially in public. He'd been a boy then - around fifteen - and his father had spent the better part of a weekend 'correcting' him. Liliya had never gotten him to break like that before. She had always been an annoyance, irritating like a fly that wouldn't stop buzzing around his ear. But never enough to get under his skin.

“Third time."

Lev stood still, keeping his eyes cemented on his father's as he felt himself stiffening.

“Third time Liliya has drawn negative attention in public under your watch; she is behaving like a fool.”

His father's fist slammed down hard on the desk. Lev blinked at the clattering of glass against wood, the only tell that his nerve was faltering. Fists clenched, the young man dug his short nails into his palms, willing himself to focus on the physical pain he caused himself than the fear his father was instilling.

“What is your fucking excuse this time?”

There would be no time to think of an answer. Every second that Lev didn't offer up what his father wanted would only exacerbate the man's rage. Oleg believed Liliya's behavior - her inability to control herself - was his fault. In some ways, Lev agreed it was. If he handled her more physically, if he forced compliance in the same way his father would have, Liliya wouldn't be behaving the way she was.

But Lev...didn't know if he had that in him. He supposed, if things got bad enough, he'd have to force it. Otherwise, his father's wrath lay in store. Lev exhaled, feeling his own patience waning. Surely the family could see the problem was bigger than he just not being able to control her? Surely they could see this whole arrangement was a mistake?

"She's not a child," Lev answered evenly. "I can correct her. I can stop her when I see it happening. But I can't control every decision she makes."

His jaw tightened, though his gaze never left his father's.

"I understand what's expected of me. But this arrangement isn't working. Every time I'm made responsible for controlling her, she becomes more determined to resist me."

Lev shifted his weight on his feet, shoulders back, posture straight, his chin tipped up as though he were waiting for an inevitable blow.

"If the purpose is to settle her, perhaps she should marry outside the family."

He paused. He never offered his father his suggestions, only followed orders. But he wasn't going to continue this charade without his father understanding how impossible the entire thing felt.

"At least then her marriage would gain us something besides another fight inside our own house."

For a prolonged moment, Oleg didn’t move. Silence settled once more, thick as carpet, heavy as lead. His anger pressed hard against the restraint he kept around it.

The ‘explanation’ his son was offering was nothing but precisely what he had asked for — excuses. A comfortable way out, avoidance, weakness, disobedience. It had been a long time since Lev had last dared to step out of line like this; Oleg was sure he remembered it well. Who would have thought a girl was what eventually broke him again, a disobedient child?

Oleg felt almost disgusted.

Muscles clenched, he straightened, slowly making his way around the desk until he stood directly before his son, cold eyes boring into Lev’s. A predatory stillness settled over his body, his fist itching to barrel forward, to bury right there into his son’s stomach, to see him double over and sputter and cough. It took every ounce of self-control to hold back.

He stared until his vision tunnelled, periphery blurring. When he finally spoke, his voice was little more than a low snarl, dripping with disappointment and contempt.

“I wasn’t aware I raised a fucking coward,” he said, keeping their gazes locked, pausing again. His voice lowered further. “Do you think I want her in the family? Hm? Do you think I want this petulant orphan girl married to my heir, leading the family one day? Do you think I decided that?” His face had grown hot with restrained rage, blood rushing.

“Huh?!” Spittle flew as Oleg finally burst. “Do you think I'm that fucking dumb?”

As if he hadn’t already tried to get rid of her. As if he couldn’t see that she was misplaced and incompetent, unworthy of such status, a danger to their family name and reputation. As if he were too blind to notice and too incompetent to have her removed.

The implication almost boiled his blood over completely, the fact that he had to explain something so simple insulting to two decades' worth of education.

Breathing heavily, Oleg bored his eyes into Lev’s. “This is your great-uncle Aleksandr’s doing,” he spat, “because of your cousin Nadežda’s request.” Malice dripped with every word — Nadežda had always been Aleksandr’s favourite. Granting wishes no matter how ridiculous, it seemed. Oleg had always despised her for it.

Now he was left to deal with the damage.

Teeth clenched, his words left as barely more than a hiss. “You think I don’t know she’s a problem? I assigned you that problem, and I expect you to deal with it. If a little girl is too much for you, son, I might have to reconsider your position in the family.”

Silence settled, heavy with warning and promise.

“Deal with her. Or I will.”

“I wasn’t aware I raised a fucking coward."

Lev's jaw tightened as shame and fury battled within his chest for supremacy. It wasn't the first time his father had said it, though it had been quite awhile. Oleg Zdravkova wasn't the warm sort of father who led with empathy and compassion for his sons. He ran a tight ship and there was no room for weakness or perceived failure.

Lev hated feeling his father's wrath and disappointment. The young man's entire sense of self hung on the notion that he was the golden son. The one who always got it right and received nods of approval rather than disdain. His self-worth depended on his usefulness and his father's perception of Lev's competence. Anything contrary to that tore him apart from the inside out.

He didn't move.

“Do you think I want her in the family? Hm? Do you think I want this petulant orphan girl married to my heir, leading the family one day? Do you think I decided that? Huh?! Do you think I'm that fucking dumb?

He knew better than to answer. He remained silent, his eyes locked on his father's as Oleg's face turned red with his fury. Whether he believed his father had any input into the arrangement or not, it was irrelevant now, the words he'd lain at his father's feet taken as a grave insult.

Aleksandr's doing, his father said, and with that, it was over. Lev knew better. There was no changing any of this if his great uncle had been the one to set it into motion. He knew his place, and his father's place, both bending the knee to Aleksandr's whims regardless of personal feelings.

He was trapped. If he hadn't realized it before, Lev felt the weight of it bearing down on him. Heir or not, Liliya was his problem now. Not his father's. Not Nadežda’s. His.

“You think I don’t know she’s a problem? I assigned you that problem, and I expect you to deal with it. If a little girl is too much for you, son, I might have to reconsider your position in the family.”

Ice struck him dead in the chest, and for the briefest moment, Lev thought to argue, before reeling himself back in. His own anger flared at the threat, despising his father for it. Two decades of loyal submission. Unquestioning, unwavering. Lev never asked his father for anything. He never made requests, never complained, never so much as challenged his father even when his own morals fought against Oleg's commands.

And this was what it had earned him? Threats? Insults? The implication that he'd be removed as heir and have someone - Drago? - replace him. He could feel his fists tightening, his nails digging deeper into his skin as his gaze took on a new hardness.

The golden son.

“Deal with her. Or I will.”

"Yes Father." His voice was cold and hollow, the words dripping from his lips with his own contempt. He bowed, just enough to be acceptable and turned on his heel for the door.

Heartless. Devoid. Hard. Unfeeling.

Lev would be everything he needed to be to survive.

Wednesday, 15 November 1922
~ 8:34 pm ~
───────────────✧───────────────

His son’s absence from work the day before hadn’t gone unnoticed. Neither had the reason for it: Lev had chosen to forgo his responsibilities and spend the day attending to matters that were not his to prioritise. Oleg wasn’t sure whether the boy was simply too stupid to think he wouldn’t be found out, or if something in him had genuinely begun to grow weak.

Arrogant, perhaps.

Soft.

Too bold.

The briefing Nadežda had provided Monday evening had already been reason enough to set his son straight again. The fact that Lev had then deemed it acceptable to remain absent from his office the following day, compounding one failure with another, only hardened Oleg in his resolve.

The young man needed correcting, and thoroughly.

Whatever that girl he’d been assigned had meddled with in Lev’s mind, Oleg hoped Nadežda’s magic had killed it. And whatever part of Lev had forgotten how to be Zdravkova, Oleg would beat it back into place himself.

The knock at the door came only minutes after Oleg had sent for his son. Lev had returned to work that morning, but Oleg had waited until the day was done. Let the boy believe he hadn’t noticed. Let him believe the absence had gone without consequence.

Better yet, let him sit with the uncertainty for a while.

With a flick of his wand, the wood swung open.

“Lev,” he greeted almost cordially, rising from his chair behind the desk. “Close the door.”

He smiled, the cold one that didn’t reach his eyes, and idly crossed the distance between himself and his son. Coming to stand before him, Oleg folded his hands behind his back.

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then—

“Tell me.” His eyes remained fixed on Lev’s, his lips still subtly uplifted. “When, since coming to Britain, have you forgotten how to be a man?" His gaze sharpened, deepening into something dangerous. "And when exactly did you decide it was appropriate to disobey me?”

♱♱♱

Trigger Warning
This thread will contain strong language and graphic violence. Read at your own discretion.

It had been a long day already.

Meeting after meeting at work, with hardly a break in between, all in an effort to catch up from his previous day's absence. It had been grueling and strenuous on the young man's mind, his jaw aching now from hours of smiling and chats meant to bring in and retain business for the family. His head pounded, wanting sleep and a break from the incessant noise that had plagued him all day.

He'd secured three new deals and managed to retain a fourth, capitalizing on an additional vault the client had previously declined. Overall, it had been a successful day and tomorrow promised to be more of the same, Lev needing to balance what he had missed with what he already had scheduled. He'd planned to work well into the weekend, sorting paperwork and making arrangements for Nadežda to meet with the newly contracted.

Despite how the week had so far played out, no one could accuse Lev of not being dedicated to his role. No one could say that he wasn't working twice as hard as anyone else who had a position within the family business. He wanted Argentum Memoriae to be successful in Britain, and so far it had been. He wasn't humble enough to try and say a great portion of it wasn't because of him.

But his father could. Oleg Zdravkova could say anything he wanted, and it would become truth, even if there wasn't a shred of evidence behind it.

What his father wanted this evening, Lev could only speculate. Liliya had been punished - far beyond what he was willing to tolerate, but it had happened - and she was contained to her room. Unless his father had made some sort of connection that he'd yet to hear about, or perhaps Oleg had heard rumors of something they could twist to their advantage, Lev was at a loss, lacking the brain power needed to try and decipher what called him to his father's rooms at this hour.

He knocked, entering when his father called him in.

“Lev. Close the door.”

He did, softly, like his father preferred and turned, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited to hear whatever it was Oleg wanted now.

His father moved from behind his desk, slow and almost predatory, that disingenuous smile Lev had come to know so well painted across his lips. All at once, the young man stiffened, his heart thudding softly behind his chest as his eyes locked on his father. Something was wrong.

Lev knew when he was prey in his father's web. He could read the signs, mark the tells, taste it in the air. He could feel it in the way the hair rose along his arms and the back of his neck. He could smell the faint iron that would accompany whatever bloodshed his father desired. Senses that his body and mind had learned to read early and quickly.

For all the good it would do him. Lev would never fight back. He wouldn't dare try to escape. He had done something to incur his father's wrath again, and he was meant to stand and take it like a man. That knowledge did nothing to calm the terror that rushed through his veins as his father stopped in front of him.

“Tell me.”

His voice was cold and dangerous, penetrating the suffocating silence of the room.

“When, since coming to Britain, have you forgotten how to be a man?"

A...what? Lev didn't understand. Forgotten to be a man? He...he hadn't. He did everything his father asked of him without question. Lev was Oleg's best and most loyal soldier, always doing everything he could to please his father and show him that he was the man he was meant to be. Confusion flickered behind his eyes, but he knew better than to ask for clarity.

It was never a discussion with Oleg. It was always one-sided, and Lev knew to remain silent and listen as was his place. A small part of him wondered at times, if his father was blinded and had to pick Lev out of a line-up simply by his voice, would he be able to recognize him?

It was how seldom Lev spoke a word in his father's company.

"And when exactly did you decide it was appropriate to disobey me?”

He was meant to answer, but Lev didn't understand. What had he disobeyed? What had he done to disappoint his father?

His lips parted, as his hands shook behind his back, knowing he was meant to keep his gaze locked on his father. To look away, even for a fleeting second, signaled cowardice. "I am sorry, Father, but I don't understand." He braced himself, knowing what was coming next.

There it was. That flicker. Right there in his son’s eyes.

Fear.

Oleg watched it carefully. He knew it well.

He had seen it innumerable times, not only in Lev, but Dragomir and Serik as well. He had seen it in the men that had come face to face with what Zdravkova meant, had been the one to instil it into people’s cores and the one to draw it forth at will. It was one of the more useful tools—a preventative measure and a form of insurance. A way to establish obedience and an instrument to detect lies.

He was reading it now.

Oleg’s smile had faded.

“You don’t understand.”

His eyes bore into Lev’s, unblinking and sharp, all false cordiality gone. Only stony contempt and predatory stillness remained.

He had been gracious enough to offer Lev a chance. To stand up for his failures and face the consequences like a man. Confess, take responsibility, accept the punishment. Instead, he claimed ignorance. Or perhaps Oleg had truly underestimated his oldest son's intellect—he would have thought Lev possessed more sense than needing the answers forced out of him as they had when he was a child. As if he didn’t know better. As if he’d learned nothing.

Oleg’s jaw tightened.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Lev?” His voice came quietly. Heat was beginning to gather between his ribs, pushing into his head and fists, stirring anger and disappointment. Twenty years. And still, the boy's softness remained. It was insulting. “Do you think I cannot see what is happening under my own roof? That your disobedience goes unnoticed simply because it doesn’t happen in front of my eyes, hm?”

His hand came up sharply, fingers closing around Lev’s jaw and forcing his face higher.

“Look at me.”

Oleg’s eyes flashed. His grip tightened as he let a moment pass, staring his son down.

“After everything I have taught you,” he finally continued, quiet danger threaded through every word, “you dare stand there and pretend ignorance. After Nadežda’s report, after yesterday, you still think you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His fingers squeezed tighter, giving Lev’s head a sharp shake.

“Do you?”

There were many ways to describe Oleg Zdravkova. Cold. Aloof. Disciplined. Cruel. Lev knew them all well. Some would compare his father to a snake in the grass, coiled, hidden, ready to strike at the first advantage, but Lev knew far better. His father wasn't some shy creature, easily startled and kept to himself until the timing was right.

His father was a spider, sitting center of his web, measuring every tremor that travelled along his threads. Calculating, hunting, toying with his prey and relishing in the scent of fear they gave off. Never chasing what already belonged to him, merely content to watch it struggle.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Lev?”

The son's eyes held his father's, as every nerve in his body flared into alert. Oleg was the only man that had ever been able to instill real fear in Lev. As long as he'd had memory, Lev could remember the terror that gripped him whenever his father's temper flared. It had molded him from his earliest days in wanting to please, in wanting his father's approval. If he never gave his father a reason to anger, if he anticipated everything his father would want and need, then the punishments remained few and far between.

If he behaved perfectly, if he was obedient, if he never made mistakes, some part of him believed that someday, his father would learn to love him.

“Do you think I cannot see what is happening under my own roof? That your disobedience goes unnoticed simply because it doesn’t happen in front of my eyes, hm?”

Oleg's hand came fast, capturing Lev's jaw in a harsh grasp. A sound rose from Lev's throat at the suddenness, but he kept his mouth shut, swallowing the vibrations back down. His eyes didn't move from his father's, his body's rigidity stiffening further as his breathing came shallow. Lev's pulse pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound of Oleg's voice. He didn't dare grimace, despite the pain that throbbed through his jaw and up into his temples. He wasn't a wilting little boy and could handle pain.

“Look at me.”

His voice growled low while Lev's adrenaline pitched high. When his father's grip tightened, he finally grimaced, unable to control the involuntary expression as his jaw popped and cracked.

“After everything I have taught you, you dare stand there and pretend ignorance. After Nadežda’s report, after yesterday, you still think you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nadežda. He should have known. His father's cousin was a cunt and happily twisted narratives to suit her own agenda. She would have told Oleg that he'd disobeyed; nevermind that she hadn't been forthright in what they were doing in the first place. It didn't matter if it was the truth or not. His father only believed that he'd disobeyed and that meant any other perspective was discarded immediately.

“Do you?”

He flinched again as he felt his jaw crack again, the sound so loud his ears rang against the vibration. "Father..." his voice managed against the pain and the way his father held him in place. The shake only caused more, the boy's hands clenching into fists at his side as he forced himself to endure. "...I didn't...I didn't....disobey..."

He'd have had to know what they were actually doing first in order to make it true.

Anger burned in Oleg’s eyes, in his chest, through every vein. It clenched his hands and twisted his face, raging hot. It fired through his nerves until the last thread of restraint finally snapped.

The hand gripping Lev’s face shoved forward with unchecked force, slamming his son against the door with a crash that thundered through the house beyond, skull striking wood. Immediately after, his free fist drove into Lev’s stomach. Oleg finally let go.

Alive with fury, he took a step back, chest rising sharply as he stared at his son.

“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me,” he spat, voice rising. His hands flexed at his sides, trying to ease the tension in his muscles, but his body refused. He had been tolerant of Lev’s continued missteps. He had been forgiving. Time after time, his son had failed to see to his responsibilities, and yet Oleg had been gracious. A clear instruction. An expectation.

And this was what he got in return.

Insubordination. Dishonesty. Cowardice.

He had thought he’d beaten it out of the boy long ago, but apparently he'd been too lenient. Apparently he had misjudged his heir's devotion and reliability. His backbone.

No more.

Stepping forward, Oleg curled a hand into Lev’s front, shoving him back against the door. His face was so close their noses almost touched, eyes boring into Lev’s. Oleg’s voice dropped to a low rumble.

“Did you not tell Nadežda to stop her punishment?” A beat passed, his grip tightening. “That you didn’t care about my orders? Did you not remain absent from work yesterday and sit by that girl’s bed like a softhearted, simpering wimp?”

His mouth twisted with disappointment and disgust. Soft like his mother, still after all these years. He should have never let that woman coddle him the way she had. He should have intervened much sooner. Or maybe the boy had simply been born with it, an invisible appendage, debilitating and impossible to remove.

It only fuelled his ire further, almost blindingly.

The space between the two men suddenly erupted, wrath spreading outward like an inferno that consumed Lev completely.

His body slammed back into the door with a violence that cracked through him from skull to spine, the back of his head striking hard enough to burst his vision white. Pain detonated behind his eyes. His teeth snapped together, blood flooding his mouth where he caught the inside of his cheek, and for one disorienting second he could hear nothing but the dull, concussive roar inside his own skull.

His father's fist drove into Lev's stomach, burying itself deep beneath his ribs. He folded over on himself as the last air in his lungs burst through his mouth in a mist of red. His throat strangled itself with the bile that rose from his stomach, but he forced it back down as his knees nearly buckled.

When Oleg released him, he fell, catching himself against the door that had nearly splintered against him. He gasped for air as spots danced in front of his eyes, but he forced himself upright. He held his stomach, his eyes landing on his father's again, terror giving way to an anger that would see no justice nor experience any release. Lev knew his place. From infancy, it had been beaten in to him, over and over again until the words he recited sounded like his father's.

Take it like a man. Obey. Don't question.

“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me."

He hadn't lied. Lev couldn't remember a single time in his life where he'd ever lied to his father. The implication enraged him, but he said nothing, focusing on each shallow, painful breath that he could summon. Oleg took hold of his shirt forcing Lev back against the door, their faces so close Lev could see the crimson veins spreading through his father's dulling blue eyes.

“Did you not tell Nadežda to stop her punishment? That you didn’t care about my orders? Did you not remain absent from work yesterday and sit by that girl’s bed like a softhearted, simpering wimp?”

Lev never argued with his father. He never talked back. He never dared tried to explain himself, but the attack on his integrity while his father called him names was becoming too heavy. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't shrink back to his room like a beaten dog while Oleg believed him a coward and a liar.

"I didn't know they were your orders," Lev growled, "She lied about what she was going to do to her." His words came muddled with the blood that swam between his teeth and gurgled in his throat. "I stayed with her to make sure she didn't fucking die." Something his father would never understand, would never find worry for. Lev could be on his deathbed tonight, and his father wouldn't give it a second fucking thought.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lev knew his loyalty was one-sided, but he wasn't in the mindframe for dwelling on it. Even if he did, what would it matter? He wasn't going to fight back. He wasn't going to defy his father. He wasn't going to leave his family and abandon his brothers.

He was trapped, as much as any of them were. All he could do was fight for the place at his father's side that was rightfully his.

"I didn't know they were your orders. She lied about what she was going to do to her."

Oleg pulled on his restraint, jaw clenching. The hand curled into Lev’s shirt remained ironclad, muscles locked with stone-hard rigidity. It wasn’t often that he lost his temper as thoroughly as he was now, usually contained beneath a façade of ice and practiced composure, kept on a tight leash. He only let it loose when all other measures had failed, and pain was the only option left to re-instil obedience.

Lev hadn’t faced it in many years. He hadn’t needed to. And the fact that, at twenty-two years old, as a man, as vice president and heir, the need for it suddenly returned irked Oleg more than he could stand to admit. Hadn’t he done everything to teach and prepare his oldest son for the role he would one day inherit? Hadn’t he been thorough? Rewarding? The youngest vice president the family had ever seen, granted responsibility and trust, but perhaps too much.

Arrogance. That was what he got in return. Assumptions.

Nadežda was a cunt. She manipulated and twisted wherever she could find leverage, but Oleg had thought Lev to be cleverer than to fall for her schemes. Of course Liliya had required the punishment she had received. It had been long overdue. And not only had Lev put his own judgement above his, but he still seemed to believe the girl hadn’t needed the harsh handling she had received. It was pathetic.

"I stayed with her to make sure she didn't fucking die." 

It burned through the last ounce of willpower Oleg could muster. His hand released Lev’s shirt, his fist barreling instead into the side of his son’s head. Eyes alight, Oleg remained where he stood, face contorted with fury.

“So you think you’re a fucking woman now?!”

It left him as a raging scream, all attempts for restraint abandoned. Violence was a tool, and Oleg knew when to use it. Leaving Lev no time to respond, his arm drew back again, fist slamming into the same spot below his son’s left eye.

“Is that what’s become of you?”

His hand caught Lev by the front of his shirt once more, dragging him upright and pushing him hard against the door.

“You see a girl crying, and suddenly you forget what you are?” His voice was hoarse with fury, every word spat between clenched teeth. “You forget your responsibilities. You forget your position. You forget that you are Zdravkova.”

Still gripping Lev’s shirt, Oleg’ shoved him hard in the chest, rattling the wood at his back.

“I did not raise a wet rag that sits by a child’s bedside all day like some distraught mother, coddling and doting on the girl as though she didn’t deserve what she got.” His lip curled. “It is weak. It is repulsive.”

Another shove and Oleg let go, taking a step back. His mouth twisted as he stared at his son in disgust.

“Man up.”

The blow came fast and hard, Oleg's fist slamming across his face with a sickening crack. His head flew to the side, his eyes clenching shut at the hit as the pain ricocheted through his cheekbone, up through his eyes and spread across the entirety of his face. The ringing in his ears grew now, pain meeting pain, blood splattering across the wall from Lev's lips.

“So you think you’re a fucking woman now?!”

Lev couldn't remember the first time Oleg had hit him. He didn't know how young or small he'd been, if he'd cried or screamed. As long as Lev had memory, it had just been a normal part of the relationship with his father. He'd always known if he messed up or stepped out of line, Oleg responded with violence. As he'd grown, he'd learned to hold back his tears until they didn't exist at all. He'd learned how to remain standing through the beatings, how to dissociate in the midst of them, how to take every blow without making a sound, understanding that noise or whimpers only served his father's wrath.

Another hit. Another thrash of his face as his neck popped against the force. He grimaced, willing himself to endure. He wasn't a woman. He wasn't a wimp. He wasn't a coward. His father could try and lay the words on him, but Lev wouldn't wear them. He was strong, despite sitting by that girl's bed. He was brave, able to look the devil in the face without flinching and take whatever he doled out. He was Zdravkova, not easily broken beneath a fist, no matter how hard it tried.

“Is that what’s become of you?”

Lev didn't feel his back connect with the door again, nor the way his head bounced off of it. His gaze caught his father's again, fuzzy and hazed against the white spots that swam in front of his vision. He could feel the side of his face already swelling, spreading from his jaw up to his eye socket, throbbing in a low hum that robbed him of his ability to give his father his complete attention.

“I did not raise a wet rag that sits by a child’s bedside all day like some distraught mother, coddling and doting on the girl as though she didn’t deserve what she got. It is weak. It is repulsive.”

Another shove, but Lev hardened his gaze, clenching his jaw as he stared down the man whose words had become his inner voice.

Be a man. Don't cry. Don't beg. Don't need. Don't love. Don't feel.

Unless it was rage. Unless it was hatred. Unless it served the violence they wielded on their enemies.

Or each other.

“Man up.”

"I am a man." His voice came low, distorted against his injuries, but his ice blue eyes never broke from the pair they mirrored. From somewhere deep within him, Lev pulled for that rage. It was what Oleg wanted wasn't it? He wanted his son to stand tall in the shadow of the bear that ate him from the inside out.

"I'm the man you made me."

The raging wrath that had burned through Oleg’s body like wildfire suddenly grew still. A storm that paused its spinning, hanging keenly in suspense. Eerily motionless, he stared at his son, unblinking.

Bitterness seeped into his blood like ink, tarnishing his insides black with resentment and disappointment. Blue eyes pierced into his son’s, and for the first time in twenty-two years of raising the boy standing before him, Oleg questioned whether he had been mistaken. Wrong about who he thought his heir was. If perhaps there had been something that he had missed cutting away, something that had festered like sickness and had spread like cancer. Slowly eating away at him without Oleg’s notice. Worse, perhaps, than he had first thought.

And he wondered if maybe he had made the wrong choice.

But Lev was his first son, and he had always been most adept of the three. The more intuitive. The one most naturally suited to the work Oleg had spent years preparing him for, as he had done, and still did, with Dragomir and Serik alike. Lev understood people and business almost instinctively. He knew how to speak to clients, how to put potential customers at ease, how to recognise what they wanted before they had fully articulated it themselves. Of the three, he had always been the obvious choice.

The obvious heir.

Neither of his younger brothers had reached the same level of competence at the ages Lev had been when he first entrusted him with responsibility. From the beginning, he had simply been the better one.

He had failed throughout the years. He had stepped out of line. He had been corrected. And Oleg had shaped him. Moulded him. Refined him until the soft little boy had slowly ceased to exist.

Each time, Lev had emerged from the other side worthier. Sharper. Improved. Evolved.

Evidently, not yet perfect.

The man he had made him.

No.

The man who still refused to let go of softness. Who still clung to defiance like a child.

Oleg had every intention of beating the rest of it into pulp.

Moving without warning, Oleg swung again. A sudden eruption of deathly quiet wrath, expression unmoved, stony as a statue as his left fist connected with the still-unmarred side of Lev’s face. The signet ring on his little finger made his own knuckle crack on impact.

Wordlessly, immediately, his right hand seized Lev by the back of his neck, fingers digging into the base of his skull before yanking him forward. He shoved hard, sending Lev crashing to the office floor.

Blinded by rage, Oleg kicked. Again. And again. His shoe hit ribs and muscle alike, each blow delivered with brutal efficiency until, finally, he stopped. His chest heaved, hands curled to fists at his sides as he stared down at the man coughing on the floor.

For a moment, he simply watched him.

Then Oleg rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands before turning towards the chair behind the desk. Sitting, he reached for the paperwork he had abandoned earlier and shuffled the papers into order. “Get out of my sight,” he said, sparing Lev no further glance.

Another hit, his father's ring smashing into the side of his face, leaving its metal imprint red and rough against his skin.

Lev wasn't the type to ruminate on the complexities of his father's ego or methods, trying to put sense to the violence inflicted upon him. Partly, because he already understood and partly because it didn't matter whether he did or didn't. The fists still came, the shouts still echoed, the blood still spattered.

Every son of Oleg knew the dance. Every step. Every sway. Every count that led to the finale, dazzling and mesmerizing in its own way. The rage in his father's expression, the mist of red through the air, the sound of a warm body hitting the floor.

Years. Decades. None of it was new, not even the defiance that gurgled through clenched teeth. When he was younger, defiance was all Oleg knew from Lev, until the boy had learned that obedience won him favor over beatings. In every way, Lev had sought it. Approval from his father's lips, however fleeting, was enough to fuel him for months and increase the pressure to perform perfectly.

Back straight. Chin up. Eyes cold. Charming smile. Nothing else. No personality. No connections. No feeling.

A perfect soldier. A golden son.

Lev hit the ground with his father's shove, his hands flying out in front of him at the last moment to keep his face from hitting the cold floor. He braced, all air leaving his body as his father's kicks came fast and numerous. Ribs cracked and snapped, the younger man gasping to breathe as blood pooled through his mouth and dripped onto his father's floor.

The world hazed around him as the violence finally stopped, a strangled grunt rising from Lev's chest as he struggled, pushing himself up on his arms to force himself to his feet. A man didn't remain lying down. He fought. He stood and endured. Until the very life was beat out of him, Lev would always force himself to endure.

Legs shaking, the young man gripped onto the door handle, using it to leverage himself upwards. His vision faltered, broken by the swelling in his face and the dizziness that gripped him, but he managed to get his feet under him, even as his father's dismissal broke the new silence.

“Get out of my sight."

A bow, broken and stiff, but a bow nonetheless, before Lev turned and stumbled out of his father's office.