“You understand what he needs from you,” the widow of my father began softly.
“And what?” I say defensively, letting out my hiss.
My uncle. The closest person. The only one I trusted.
“Verochka,” she continues in the same tone, “as soon as you get the inheritance, Bagrov won’t need you anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“He will remove you, you fool. He will kill you,” she smiles, twisting that sharply outlined crimson mouth. “After you, it’s your turn next in line for the inheritance.”