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My curiosity gets the better of me, and as soon as I finish cleaning the counter, I sneak down to Akim’s office to listen in on the conversation.
I don’t have a justifiable reason for doing this, at least not something that would hold up if I was caught. I’ve simply been overtaken by my compulsion to know everything.
The door is cracked slightly, so I can hear their voices before I’m right in front of the door. I’m grateful for this, as it gives me a better idea of where everyone is and whether or not they hear me outside.
“I’ve already told you both numerous times that I’m not interested in expanding my territories with you,” Akim says firmly. I’ve noticed that his Russian accent becomes more dominant when he’s agitated or angry, and it turns me on like crazy.
“You haven’t heard us out yet, though, not really,” says a familiar voice, likely Luka’s. “You need to open your mind a little. I didn’t know you were into all that tribalism shit.”
Akim sighs. “I’m not. This has nothing to do with the fact that you’re Italian. If you keep trying to play that weak-ass card, I’ll have my men drag you out by your cock,” he replies.
“Your father would never speak to anybody that way. You have no tact,” says another voice, possibly an older man. “He was a true businessman, not an overindulged child.”
“How exactly is this supposed to make me want to work with you?” Akim asks, growing more impatient as the minutes go by. It’s become clear that Luka and his boys are not friends with Akim at all. So what do they want?
“Because you know that your father would have been man enough to put aside petty differences for the betterment of his family. You don’t seem to have inherited that trait from him, I fear,” the other voice says.
Akim sighs heavily. “I’m not my father. As much as I’m sure you would like your pathetic guilt-tripping to work on me, it won’t. I have just a bit more resolve than that,” he replies curtly.
“Alright, whatever, but you can’t say that we didn’t warn you when you get ambushed and you don’t have enough men to stop another attack,” Luka says.
“You’re right, and when that happens, I’ll be certain to run back into your arms, crying that you were right and I was wrong,” Akim responds, his voice growing harsher.
“Why would you run to me when you can just run toward sweet little Delilah? I’ve seen the way you look at her. She’s your bitch, but you act like she’s your mommy,” Luka replies.
My face flushes, and my heart doubles its tempo. I’m glad I know that they’re talking about me, but I’m also terrified to hear the rest.
Akim laughs. “She’s just another girl I’m keeping around to fuck when I’m bored. Even still, if you try to intimidate her or even speak to her, I’ll fucking kill you.”
What did he mean by that?
I lean closer to the door, eager to hear more, but my foot slips, and I fall. Toppling toward the door, I try to catch myself to no avail. My shoulder slams the partially open door all the way shut, and like a rubber ball, I bounce off and race down the hallway.
I can already hear Akim’s heavy steps thundering toward the door by the time I reach the stairs, and my heart is pounding so hard that I’m afraid it will explode in my chest.
If he never had a reason to kill me before, he does now.
I ride my instinct all the way out the front door of the club, sprinting across the parking lot as fast as I can in high heels. I nearly fall into the driver’s seat of my car, frantically feeling for my keys in my pockets.
At first, I don’t feel them there at all, and I feel the blood drain from my face. After feeling just a bit deeper, I pull them from my back pocket and start the car, driving away as fast as possible.
The whole drive home, I’m sobbing uncontrollably. How could I be such a fucking idiot? Why would I trust somebody like him to treat me like a real person? After my conversation with Rurik and the others, I should have known better than to keep indulging these feelings that I have for him.
But, of course, I chose to continue living in a fantasy, just like I always have.
When I was a teenager, I felt completely invisible to the boys in my school. I wasn’t even fortunate enough to have anybody ask me out as a joke. I was extremely lonely, and any positive interaction with a boy would plant the seeds of obsession in me, eventually dominating my life. I drove away any potential boyfriends by obsessing over them endlessly, which is a trait that I had only recently overcome with Elliot. He could never be worth obsessing over, so I thought I had grown beyond my old ways.
As it turns out, I’m just as clingy as I used to be, and it hurts just as much.
Halfway through my drive, I’m worried that I’ll be too upset to keep driving, so I pull into a grocery store parking lot and cry for about twenty minutes.
I feel like such an idiot, allowing a man to use me like that when he has the entire world at his disposal. I should have known better from the beginning, and now all I feel is shame and embarrassment.
When I arrive back at my apartment, Regan is sitting on the couch binging a show she’s been watching for the past week. She doesn’t even look at me when I walk in, which is probably for the best because my makeup is ruined.
When I’m almost to the kitchen, she calls out over her shoulder, “You have some nerve coming home at all, to be honest.”
I’m still staving off the remaining tears from my drive home. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice wavering.
