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“Alex?”
His eyes widen as soon as our eyes meet—and it’s the perfect time to catch him off guard. I gather all my strength and kick his knee. This time Louis doesn’t escape it, and while he groans and doubles over in pain, I use my whole body to shove him away from me and bolt into the darkness.
I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but Louis doesn’t even try to follow me this time.
My body is at its limit by the time I reach my car hidden in the shadow of the bushes, and I slump into the driver’s seat to catch my breath. But as a member of a Mafia family, I’m used to worse, so it takes me just a few seconds to come back to my senses before I drive out of my hiding place and away from the failure of my assault.
God, I can’t believe I messed up so badly! I’d been planning it for weeks, and what now? Now, I have to figure out how to keep it a secret from everyone else.
I curse under my breath and hit the steering wheel in a rush of frustration, accidentally honking and making the car in front of me change lanes to let me pass. Well, thanks for that. I check the rearview mirror once again, but Louis’s car is nowhere to be seen, so I pick up speed and take the road that leads me home—directly into the heart of the Bratva’s territory.
I pass the border without trouble, even waving a hand at one of our patrols. Damn it. I hope they aren’t gonna mention me in their reports. The last thing I need is for Uncle Yuriy or, worse even, Father to get suspicious. Neither of them is particularly forgiving when it comes to breaking the rules.
When I linger in front of the gates to Father’s mansion, I see the windows of his cabinet lit up from the inside. Ah, come on. It’s Saturday, he’s supposed to be dining at his favorite Polish restaurant!Why the hell is he here?
I clench my jaw and walk to the front door. At this point, there’s nothing I can do except be quiet and hope that Father hasn't noticed my absence.
“Alexandra.”
Shit. I freeze at the base of the stairs as soon as I hear his voice from the living room. I’m almost thirty years old, but I feel like a teenager sneaking into her room after a party. Only I’m not gonna get a long lecture about the importance of obedience. My father’s methods have always been more straightforward.
I obediently turn around and see him at the doorstep of the living room, pulling on his cigarette and looking at me with a cold squint. He’s wearing a loose shirt and home pants that make him look even bigger than he already is, so I guess he decided to skip the restaurant today.
Does that mean he knows that I’ve been away for hours? I swallow and hide my nerves under the mask of obedience, crossing my hand behind my back. “Yes, sir.”
“Come here.”
I glance at him, and my body tenses up instinctively, my heart picks up its pace. But it’s better to play a good girl now, so I walk to Father—and he slaps me as soon as I get close enough. The impact makes my head snap to the side, but I bite back the noise of pain, grip my hands tighter, and turn back to him.
“What have you done with your hair?” Father grabs a handful of it and tugs it to the side, making me grit my teeth to stop myself from hissing. “You look like a whore now.”
“It’s to hide from the Mexicans,” I lie without a blink of an eye, keeping my gaze down. “I was spying on them, but I didn’t want them to recognize me. It will go back to blonde soon, I—”
He tightens his grip, and I swallow the rest of the sentence with a hiss. “Have you got permission to do this?”
“No, sir.”
This time, I expect him to tug at my hair again, so I keep my lips sealed and my expression—indifferent. I know how to handle Father’s temper, so I remain quiet and obedient, and eventually, he lets go of my hair only to grab my chin instead. The stink of cigarette smoke fills my nose, and I barely keep myself from wincing in disgust.
Father forces me to look up at him, and I feel a wave of hatred as I meet the look of his pig eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Alexandra, or you’ll have to pay for your disobedience. Do you understand?”
As if your damn word means anything to me.
But I know better than to speak against Father, so I hold his gaze with a neutral expression and nod. “Yes, sir.”
It seems to be good enough, and Father smirks with satisfaction and pats my cheek before blowing a cloud of smoke into my face. “You know how to be a good daughter, Sasha.”
I hold my breath while he turns around and walks back into the living room, probably to watch one of those stupid Russian TV shows he’s obsessed with. A damn boar. I watch him for a moment, clenching my fists despite myself. God, I can’t wait to find him dead from a heart attack someday—and with his lifestyle, I don’t think I have to wait a long time.
Sometimes, I even feel ready to kill him myself—but I never find enough guts in me to take it seriously. Perhaps I pity him, even though he can hardly be called a human. But I also know that if something happens to him, I won’t be the only one to bear the consequences, and that’s the only reason I let him treat me like this.
“Hey, teddy bear.” I quietly knock on the door of Misha’s room, listening to the silence behind it. “It’s Mom.”
As soon as I say it, I hear hurried steps and the click of the lock before the door swings open—and I find myself in the tightest embrace of my son. “You’re back! Where have you…”
Misha’s voice trails off as soon as he looks up at me, and I see his gray eyes darken as his gaze darts over my face. The corner of his lips turns down, and I feel bad for going to him instead of checking how I look first. I don’t like making him worried. My boy has been through too much to give him another rush of anxiety without a reason.
“Have you seen Grandpa?” Misha asks quietly, taking a hold of my hand, and I smile and lay a hand on his cheek, trying to look cheerful.
