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My father is a high-ranking member of the New York Bratva, the best hitman anyone has had the misfortune to know, and the number one man in my paternal grandfather’s family.
But most importantly, he’s my number one supporter. I love my mom, but she’s a fan of science, of doctors in white coats who love to slap people with labels. She’s also an advocate of the fucking pills. Not my dad. He, like me, believes that I can control it. And I did.
For fucking years.
Doesn’t feel like I’m in control now, though. Fucking far from it.
I’m teetering on the edge of destruction. It pulses beneath my skin and roars in my veins.
“I’m going to snap, Dad. I can feel the pressure gathering and intensifying behind my eyes. Someone will touch or look at me the wrong way and I’ll fucking explode. How do I stop it?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t, Niko. Just fall into it, absorb the shock, and release some steam. You know how to do that the best, no?”
“It’s not fucking working.” I slam my fist against the locker and the sound bangs in the eerie silence like a bomb. “Jeremy gave me the setting I needed this morning and it still didn’t fucking work.”
“What…changed?”
My movements come to a halt as I trace the necklace my dad gave me when I started to need a crutch. Something to touch when I feel my mind spinning, screaming, and turning against me.
“What do you mean?” I ask in a quiet voice.
“Did something happen recently that triggered this? Perhaps a stressful situation? An outcome you don’t approve of, maybe?”
Fuck.
I stroke my fingers over the bullet on my necklace, fast, uncoordinated.
“What is that something, son?” Dad asks cautiously.
“Someone. Maybe.”
“Who is it?”
“Not important,” I lie through my teeth, my movements turning jerkier and more out of control.
“In that case, get rid of them.”
The very foundation of my fucking sanity, or whatever remains of it, revolts against that idea.
“Nikolai. You need to promise me that you’ll get rid of whoever drove you to this state,” Dad says more firmly. “The key to keeping you in control isnotto provoke you. If this person is doing that, they need to be gone.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yeah.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, Dad. I promise.”
“Good.” He releases a breath. “I love you, son, and I’m glad you could confide in me.”
“Love you, too, Dad.” I hang up with a scowl.
He’s right. I should get rid of the provocation. Technically, Bran means nothing. So what if I want to fuck him? I wanted to fuck a lot of people before him and I’m sure I’ll go back to my old ways soon if I give myself time.
The only difference is that I’ve never wanted to make someone mine as much as I want to chain him the fuck up to me.
