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‘Then you should have said something, Eric,’ I think to myself.
“Yeah, well, text me when you want to hang out. I’m going to go back to my place and take a nap,” I say, wrapping up two-thirds of my sandwich and shoving it in my bag.
“Could I come home with you? We could hang out, maybe watch a movie,” he asks with a knowing glance.
I almost recoil at his request. How could he be so fucking selfish and disgusting? First, he chooses to ignore me for three years, and now he’s trying to come to my apartment with me? Before we even have our first date?
It takes me a moment to calm myself internally before responding. “Oh, no. I’m really not feeling well. I didn’t sleep at all last night after everything that happened.”
He looks at me as though he can’t believe I’d turn down an advance from him.
After all this time I’ve spent chasing him, it feels weird for me too.
“We can still have dinner sometime, I just really need to sleep,” I insist. “Text me when you figure out where you want to go.”
I grab my backpack and the rest of my sandwich, swiftly rising up out of my seat to avoid any confrontation or response from Eric.
I exit the dining hall, digging for the feeling of satisfaction I thought this moment would bring me.
I’ve finally been asked on a date by Eric! It was something I’d dreamed about many times, but the bright, effervescent spark that I’d always felt within those dreams is missing.
Oh well, at least I can get a glimpse into what it’s like to date a rich asshole. That’s all anyone in this school seems to want.
14
Ruslan
Istare at Yan for what feels like an eternity, waiting for his fixed gaze to break, for his expression to soften.
He’s always been stoic, taking matters of both business and family very seriously. I’ve always seen him as the more reserved type, and that’s made it difficult to read his emotions throughout the time I’ve known him.
But not now.
Right now, sorrow is radiating from the deepened wrinkles in his forehead even if he refuses to show it.
“Yan, you know you’re always welcome here, but I really need you to explain what’s going on,” I say, standing frozen in the doorway.
He takes a short sip of his coffee, glancing down at the table to diffuse some of the tension building in the air between us.
“I need you to sit down first, son,” he replies.
“Why the fuck do I need to sit down? Just tell me what’s going on,” I demand, feeling my forehead grow hot from anger and impatience as my chest tightens with worry.
“Ruslan, you know that I would never, ever tell you to do anything if there wasn’t a good reason for it. I’m telling you to sit down because I have a good reason. If I’ve taught you anything over the last fifteen years, you’ll do as I say.”
He’s never like this with me, at least not since I took over the Bratva. He’s always understood the chain of command after he gave up his position, so his demanding tone spreads unease throughout my body.
This is serious.
I’m convinced to join him at the table, but my feet remain firmly rooted to the floorboards. Now that I understand the full severity of the situation, even without any details, I’m terrified to venture further.
“Sit down, and we’ll talk,” Yan encourages softly.
I take the deepest breath of my life and force myself forward.
I sit at the table across from him, and the first thing I notice is how beautiful the sunlight looks as it streams through the kitchen windows. I’m angry at myself for becoming preoccupied with something so trivial, but I know it’s just one last attempt for my mind to seek comfort.
“Your brother Misha was found dead at a seven-eleven a few blocks from here. He’s assumed to have died sometime around three in the morning, but that’s only speculative until the autopsy is finished. What we do know is that he was shot three times in the chest and once in the abdomen.”
