Instead of being embarrassed, my father demands, “What kind of father chooses not to greet his only son at the door?”
Grandfather ignores him and turns to my mother. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Anya.”
My mother bows her head and smiles. “I feel the same.”
My grandfather glances at each of us five boys, but his eyes return to me and he continues to stare at me for several uncomfortable seconds.
“What is this all about?” my father huffs.
When Grandfather turns to look at him, I see my father shrink under his gaze. “We will be having dinner together,” he states matter-of-factly.
Grandfather then turns to me. “But first, I will speak to Anton—alone.”
“Alone?” my father snarls. “What the hell for?”
Grandfather glares at him. “You will speak to me with respect.”
My father grimaces, having been put in his place in front of all of us.
Grandfather gestures for me to walk to the door and answers my father. “This has nothing to do with you, Vladimir.”
I can feel the weight of my brothers’ jealous gazes as Grandfather escorts me out of the room, but I am uneasy about this private talk.
I have been getting into trouble lately, having far too much fun with Titov as we find new ways to entertain ourselves on the streets of Moscow. It’s all been in harmless fun, but it has been an embarrassment to my father and a source of growing tension between us.
Grandfather leads me to the study and closes the door. He orders me to sit while he walks to the liquor cabinet.
I watch as he quietly pours two glasses of fine cognac and walks back to me, handing me a glass before sitting down.
The expensive alcohol instantly sets my mind at ease. I know now this is not going to be a lecture about my shortcomings.
“I have been watching you closely, Anton,” he states, swirling the liquor in his glass and taking a whiff before sipping.
I fight the urge to down it like vodka and follow his example. The rich aroma enhances the flavor as I take the first sip, enjoying the unique flavor notes of chocolate, caramel, and fig.
I have to hand it to my grandfather. He has exceptional tastes in alcohol.
“Very good,” I compliment him, holding up my glass.
“I thought it appropriate for tonight.”
He has my curiosity piqued, but I don’t want to sound like an overeager child by asking him what he means, so I keep my cool and take another sip to better appreciate the flavor. I am surprised to taste a hint of something unexpected. “Saffron.”
He smiles, obviously pleased that I picked up on the taste. “It is the reason I prefer this cognac above all others.”
“I’m a vodka man myself, but I appreciate a superior drink in any form.”
We sip the drink together in comfortable silence. It appears that my grandfather is not interested in rushing our time together even though my family is waiting.
I follow his lead and sit back in the fine leather chair to savor the moment. Once I’ve finished my drink, I set my glass down on the side table and wait patiently for him to speak.
“You do not take after your father,” he states.
“No, I do not.”
“And you are nothing like your brothers.”
I snort. “If it weren’t for the obvious physical resemblance, I would question whether I am related to them.”
“But, you do take after your mother.”
A smile spreads across my face at the mention of her. “I certainly strive to.”
Grandfather sets his glass down. “I have the utmost respect for Anya.”
“She feels the same about you, Grandfather.”
He presses his fingers together contemplatively and then surprises me by saying, “I owe your mother.”
I look at him questioningly. “How so?”
“You will come to understand in time, Anton.”
I find his answer both dissatisfying and unsettling.
“Have you heard the saying, ‘With great power, comes great responsibility?’”
I shake my head slowly. “No, I have not.”
“It has become the mantra of my life.”
I shrug in sympathy. “You are the family patriarch. I’m sure it’s not an easy position to have.”
His voice is somber when he replies, “It is not. Your father envies my wealth, but it is an overwhelming and thankless obligation.”
“My father is an idiot.”
He frowns. “Normally, I would correct anyone making such a grievous statement about their father, but in Vladimir’s case…” He lets out a long sigh. “…I agree with you. “It pains me greatly that Vladimir is a cruel person. Irina and I did our best to mold him as a child—but we obviously failed to make an impact.”
“My brothers are easily manipulated by him. What does that tell you?”
He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, then abruptly changes the subject. “Has your father explained the significance of the family crest to you?”
I shake my head.
“I thought as much.”
He points to an archaic flag emblazoned with our family crest hanging on the wall. “Your forefathers put great thought into its design. They wanted not only to proclaim our history but to also express the expectations of our future.”
He stares at the flag as he explains, “The band at the top denotes our leadership and the color red speaks to our strength.”
He glances at me. “The Durovs must always remain strong leaders for our country, Anton.”
Looking back at the crest, he continues, “The blue background speaks to our loyalty to the people, while the estoile symbolizes that we understand we are under God’s guidance.”
“Estoile?” I ask. I am unfamiliar with the word.
He points to the star with eight points. “The estoile is gold to signify our willingness to give fully whenever it is required. And the dragon in the center proclaims our vow to be valiant defenders of all that is right and true.”
Realizing that every color has significance, I ask, “Why is the dragon black?”
His expression becomes grave. “It conveys the deepest truth.” Looking up at the flag, he tells me, “True leadership requires great sacrifice.”
I feel a chill at his pronouncement. “Grandfather, I know you say it is a thankless job and I do not know what you have sacrificed. However, I am grateful for what you have done for the family.”
He nods in acknowledgment, but I see the anguished look in his eyes.
“I know everything about you, Anton. My men have been following you for the last three months.”
I suddenly tense, fearful this has all been an elaborate setup to chastise me for my reckless ways.
Rather than defend myself, I simply say, “And?”
“You are foolhardy…” He stands up and gathers the two glasses. As he pours us both another drink, he adds, “But, that is to be expected from someone your age.”
He walks back to me and hands me the glass. “You are extremely intelligent, although irrational at times.”
I hold up my glass. “What can I say? There are times when my passion gets the best of me.”
He smirks. “That passion is your saving grace.”
I tilt my head, not expecting to hear that response.