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Louis Messina.
That day broke my life into before and after. Before I lost Mom to Louis’s petty spite, Misha and I had been loved and protected from my Father’s temper. After, we were left on our own with this violent and cold-blooded parody of a man.
Of course, I’ve been doing everything possible to keep Misha safe since then, but I can’t stay at home all the time, and I can’t predict what mood Father will wake up in tomorrow. Every day feels like I’m walking on the edge, not knowing what to expect from the closest person in my life. I don’t care about the scars and bruises I get—but I want to burn a hole in Father every single time he touches my son.
I’d been living like this for years, nurturing my plans to get revenge on Louis, and when Yuriy and Riccardo finally struck a deal I knew it was my time to act. The truce gave me a perfect cover to sneak back into the Italians’ territory without being afraid of getting shot on the spot.
Of course, I still kept it secret—allies or not, the Messinas wouldn’t want to have a Russian spy around. So for the first few months I was extra careful, only exploring the territories that had changed and evolved since the last time I was there. Then, the thing with the Mexicans happened, and it distracted me for a good while until last month, I caught sight of Louis in neutral territory.
The bastard was just walking around as if nothing!
For some reason, it made me so furious that I forgot about my task and followed him all the way to the border. I didn’t risk sneaking after him as there was a whole damn patrol around, so I decided to wait for a chance to catch him off guard. But when I finally got it—not one, but two perfect chances to shoot Louis—I blew it all!
I growl under my breath, unconsciously pushing the accelerator harder. Why did I even go to meet with him today?
I wanted to be generous and give him a chance to admit his mistake like a man—but instead, Louis only blabbered something about the breakup as if I fucking cared about his broken heart. He was right in front of me, and I listened to him instead of focusing on my own task. God, if only I hadn’t gotten so emotional and had focused on my aim instead, I’d have gotten him. Damn it!
I curse out loud and only then realize that I’m two inches from hitting the car in front of me. Ah, shit. I force myself to slow down and breathe out, releasing some of the tension from my shoulders. I try to cool down my anger, and the images of Louis holding me close and murmuring softly into my lips flash through my mind.
God, I hate how well he knows my body. He turned me on in a matter of seconds, and I was so close to giving in. If he hadn’t called me Alex, I probably wouldn’t have come back to my senses in time to stop myself—but it was also a good lesson. I can’t let him close again. I can’t let him waste my time.
The next time I see Louis, I have to kill him at first sight.
I get back home late enough for Father to be asleep with the record player singing old Russian songs in his room. Without his order, the security guards don’t touch me, and I go to Misha’s room to check that his door is locked before going to my own bedroom. I wish I could see him and make sure he’s alright, but it’s safer for him to stay in his room and away from Father’s eyes.
“I heard you last night,” Misha tells me the next morning, munching on a piece of waffle with a smear of whipped cream on his cheek.
It’s Sunday, which means no school for Misha and a lazy morning for me, so I’ve made some homemade Belgian waffles to share with him in the kitchen. Of course, we have a dining room for that, but Father likes to stop there for a snack, so we prefer to stay away from any place he might visit. It’s better to enjoy the warmth and vanilla scents of the kitchen anyway.
“Oh, did you?” I smile at him, reaching out to wipe the cream off his face, and Misha scrunches his nose and swats my hand away.
“Mom!”
“What?” I exclaim in an innocent tone, raising my eyebrows with a teasing grin and showing him the remnants of cream on my thumb. “I’m just trying to clean you up, baby.”
Of course, that makes Misha grimace even harder, and he purses his lips and glares at me through his round glasses. “I’m not a baby.”
Ah, it’s so tempting to keep teasing him. He’s always so cute when he tries to look mature, but I can see that he’s actually mad at me, so I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, my bad. So you said you heard me last night. Weren’t you asleep by then?”
Misha pretends to be offended for a few more minutes, but eventually he turns back to me, grabs another spoonful of pineapples with maple syrup, and mumbles, “No, I was reading.”
“The lights were off, though.” I purse my lips, tilting my head with a frown. “I’ve told you, it’s bad for your eyes to read in the darkness.”
He shrugs, cutting a piece of his waffle. “I know, but it’s safer like that. On Friday, Grandpa knocked on the door and said I shouldn’t stay up all night.”
My scolding expression immediately softens, and I watch Misha for a moment before sighing and digging into my own waffle. Yes, he knows better than to disobey Father’s orders, and I have to admit that it is safer that way. I still don’t like that he’s reading in the darkness, but right now, I can’t take away his favorite hobby.
We sit there for a bit more, talking about Misha’s school friends and upcoming math test while the servants start to get ready for lunch. It looks like it’s time for us to leave, so I invite Misha to spend some time outside before starting on his homework. He nods, carefully placing his plate in the dishwasher, and we go into the hallway—where one of the guards suddenly stops me.
“Nikolai Sergeyevich wants you to come to his cabinet.” The guard glances between me and Misha and adds, “Now.”
I can feel Misha grip my hand tighter, and when I look at him, I see fear in his gray eyes. He knows Father doesn’t call me for nothing, but I try to smile at him with as much reassurance as I can.
“It’s alright. Wait for me in your room.”
Misha nods and, after a hesitant glance at the guard, runs away. He’s been trying to rebel lately and go against my orders, but he knows when it’s better to keep quiet and do what I say. I wait for him to leave before turning to the stairs and going into Father’s part of the house.
With every step, my heart starts to beat faster, and I can feel sweat gathering in my clenched fists. Why would Father want to talk to me now? He probably has another task for me, that’s all.
