Chapter 1: Stray
Chapter Text
Ronan
Four years later
My head throbbed with migraine. The freezing breeze felt like some kind of paralyzing anesthesia. It was a fucking harsh winter, even for my taste. My thirties did bring me some length of sentimentalism I never thought I'd be sane enough to value, but my late thirties had rudely rubbed in my face I was much closer to a middle aged man with a slowed metabolism, than a twenty year old enforcer who butchered bratva seniors in a Siberian winter like one takes away candy from little kids. I was getting old and sentimental, and the worst part was I couldn't even file personal complaints to my wife, just to hear her say don't be dramatic, baby, you're still looking thirty one, while she threw her arms around my neck.
Fuck. I missed her.
But I had no fucking right to complain, I was the one who sent her away. I was the one to insist she'd go to Paris and stayed there, with no date of return. Paris. A whole nother city, a whole nother country. Away from here. Too far away from here. Too far away for my own peace of mind and yet, still not far enough .
I could still glimpse her trying to fake uncertainty to hide her excitement over the Paris offer, a few months ago.
She took all day long to spit it out. I knew her better than I knew myself at this point, she was hiding something and I was growing anxious and annoyed with the fact I couldn't blame her, or just make her say whatever the fuck she had to throw at me, because I was hiding something too, something much worse than any bad news she was miserably trying to hold to herself. The reason why I hadn't let her step foot in Russia for the past three weeks, always seeking reasons to meet her in whichever city she was staying for the week because of work. I faked well, but her exceptionally busy schedule certainly prevented her from noticing something was wrong.
Well, until now.
Mila had received a millionaire proposal from a big agency in Paris, to spend three seasons there. Exclusive designer label fashion shows and main cover editorials. It was a lifetime opportunity, the type of opportunity any sane woman would give up on their mobster spouse to live the uber model dream in Paris. She told me the news, without looking into my eyes, nervously fiddling with her own hands and with a contempt tone that had my throat tightening.
She was waiting for me to throw a straight no and even though I didn't have any right to deny her that, that was exactly what I wanted to do. How could I not have her around, within arm’s length, for whenever I needed her, for months… years.
I’d rather have my left arm chopped off of my body than let you go live away from me is what I wanted to tell her. Dramatic, but truthful.
Months. One year, or a couple of them. With quick math and an itchy hard-to-swallow truth, this was the time I would probably need to handle the shit that was sorely taking place back in Moscow. Things she didn't need to know. Things I didn't want her to know and wanted to hide her from.
''I think you should take it." And to this day I still don't how I managed to say that with a straight face.
Then Mila looked point-blank at me for the first time that night, with a frown, her lips parted, as if I had grown a third eye on my forehead. I prayed she would assume the best of me, even though I didn't have the background check to deserve so.
''What is this?'' She spat the words in disbelief, shining against Paris’ night sky.
"What is this what, Mila?" Goddammit. Sometimes I hated how well she knew me, at least it showed our marriage went both ways in many terms, including this one.
"No tantrums?" Holding up her suspicious frown, she crossed her arms on the dining table, her beautiful collarbones and cleavage torturing me up. She had a killing silhouette red strap dress on, that went a few inches down her knees, one I had never seen her wear back home. Probably, because of the cold, even though that never fucking stopped her in the last four years from wearing unpractical clothing for the Russian weather.
"I don't throw tantrums." I fired back annoyed, trying to submerge my bitterness so as to not prove her right. Fuck, I was getting more pissed than it was fucking necessary. So pissed, I was now conjecturing she chose that shit to wear only to show off the stuff I'd be missing if I let her go to Paris. "I just feel like saying 'no' sometimes. But today I won't, I think you should go.'' I finished with a flat business tone, disguising the anguish that took place in my chest with the glimpse of us living in different countries for God knows how long.
Mila stared at me for a few seconds, her wheels turning. Her beautiful face, still suspicious at my compliance, was now turning into an annoyed, angry look. Jesus she looked so hot when she-
"Are you just gonna let me go, then?" I didn't quite understand her tone.
"Isn't that what you want?'' I tightened my jaw, my patience starting to run thin. What does this woman want from me for fuck's sake?
"No!" She promptly answered "I mean… yes. I just-"
"You just what, sweetheart? Wanted a little ego stroke by watching me beg for you to stay?" If the circumstances were any different, begging would be exactly what I would do. If there's one thing being married to Mila had taught me was that my pride was worthless compared to the space she had filled in my life. As much as I would rather have her choosing me willingly, I would feel like shit if one day she ever resented me for it, so if I had to, if I could… I would fucking make her- beg her to choose me over her dream.
But instead I decided to piss her off like she did me by lying blatantly to her face "Don't think too much of yourself, wife ." Please do, you are, not ironically, one of the few good things that ever happened to me. "I will survive just fine without you." I won’t, but good acting.
The hurt look on her face almost made me want to take it back, but she quickly got herself together and changed to a menacing expression.
"Well…" She laughed sarcastically, throwing her annoyed grin at her index finger rubbing the edge of the wine glass, then stared back at me, unfaltered. "Then we might as well file for the divorce papers. Since we'll be living separately, what's the point of marriage, right?"
The smirk her sarcasm instantly ignited on my face, intensified. She wanted to play, then game on.
"Took you long enough. You're one hundred percent correct, this is a divorce dinner. I can't wait to get rid of you by having this new gig of yours as an excuse to do so. Obviously.'' My tone was dry and the words felt bitter in my mouth.
My annoyance started to dissipate when I watched her stand up, swiftly, to her full height, her eyes piercing blue with anger. In those heels, she easily beat six feet one.
"Very well. My lawyers will get in touch." She grabbed her purse, holding it under her arm. I couldn't hold my smile, at this point. "See you in court."
She started walking down the restaurant hall, back to our hotel room. A smirk still on my face, because I couldn't fucking believe this woman. The whole room stopped to stare at her sharp walking, her long straighten blonde hair and that dress, God, I'd never let her use that fucking dress in public ever again. I never got used to all the attention she gained with this career of hers, but fuck it, let them stare while they can. All that is only mine to touch anyway.
"I'll give you a head start, kotyonok. " I murmured to myself, taking my time to finish my glass of wine, paying the bill and then standing up calmly.
Back in our presidential suite, I swiped the door card unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I tried to cool down from the turbulent emotions that conversation had ignited in me, including all the blood that went south in my body just by hearing her sardonic and furious stare. I needed to rationalize this for her own sake. As nothing comes easy, as I've always known, but sometimes forgot when it came to her, I saw that deviant red fabric thrown on the leather couch and the shower's din echoing distantly in the extensive living room.
The expensive marble walls in the bathroom were covered in condensed steam from her awfully hot shower. I always told her it was bad for her skin and she replied telling me I should join the x-men if I enjoyed that much inhumane things such as cold showers.
I sat in silence on the edge of the marble bathtub, staring at the water falling through her back, her ass and those long, long legs I'd die for. I was yet to find out how it would be to live apart from her. Living hell, that's how. Tough luck for those who would have to keep up with my constant bad mood throughout those days.
When the shower went off and she turned around to get a towel, she flinched when she saw me standing not far from her holding out the towel for her to wrap herself in.
"Jesus." She gasped, accepting, distrustfully, my peace offer.
"Four years of marriage and still getting my Christian name wrong." She chuckled with the corner of her lips, almost imperceptibly.
Ignoring my stare and my presence, she got herself dry, hung back the towel and walked naked back to the room. I had to collect every single ounce of self-control to not grab that thin waist of hers and toss her on the bed so I could fuck that frown off her face.
"Mila." She continued dressing up her panties and a WWF t-shirt as if nothing happened, as if my tone hadn't been menacing enough.
"Did you see my phone somewhere?" She went around the king sized bed, when she came close to where I stood, I took her phone out of the inner pocket of my suit and handed it to her.
"Thank you" She thanked me in a flat Russian "I gotta stop forgetting my things everywhere." She moved to the minibar near the balcony, grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured up a shot into one of the crystal cups. The bottle had been opened before, and the cup was already used. Bitterness grew into me, she must have drank that alone, before I got here. Since when was she fucking drinking hard liquor all by herself? I couldn't help but feel worry spread through my chest.
I strided to her and took the cup from her hand, drinking it up.
"You know, could’ve just asked me to pour a glass for you too." In any other circumstance her sharp Russian would have melted my annoyance into blood going straight to my groin.
I sat and vigorously pulled her high stool against mine until we were face to face. I kind of regretted it immediately, since I couldn't think straight with her standing so close.
I looked at her bare flushed face, her expression more relaxed and distraught from the alcohol. Her wet hair in a lighter shade of blonde from her natural one, falling onto her white t-shirt and nastily dampening it, barely leaving anything to imagination. Sometimes I couldn't put my mind on what I did to deserve her, since it was actually much easier to list the things I have done to never, in a million years, deserve someone like her willingly attached to me for life.
"What is your problem?" I asked and grabbed her face just because I could, her attention was already on me.
"Problem? I have no problem." Her voice remained flat and calm, irritating the fuck out of me.
"Bullshit” I knew what happened downstairs, or at least…I thought I did. But the thing was, I wanted to hear her say it. "I thought Paris was what you wanted."
''It is."
"Then why bother putting up a show?" My hand fell to her neck, our faces were too close for the sake of this conversation, but I didn't feel like fixing that. I had set up my mind to get everything I wanted from her mouth in the next five minutes, so I could drag her ass to bed and show how much I had missed her in the past three days she'd been enjoying Paris without me.
"Well, I thought you were role playing. I just played along." She said with a growing smirk.
Goddammit.That smart mouth got even worse with alcohol.
"Mila."
She smoothly withdrew from my grip to lean into the bar and pour another glass of bourbon, probably hoping this time I wouldn't take it away from her, and I didn't. She took a large gulp and tried to stop a grimace while I mentally agreed this bourbon, which was probably worth thousands and thousands of dollars, tasted like shit.
"I think-" another gulp, another grimace. "I think you are getting used to not having me around, you know… all the time." She turned back to English and there was something off about her voice now, that tightened the air in my chest.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know, before… most work stuff I had to attend to, were in Moscow, or nearby. Then things started to get far as it gets, the States, South Africa, Buenos Aires, once every three months, for two days, but now once every twenty days, for a week." She finished her glass not making much sense with words, and I was left with the impression that if she was sober she would have been crying by then. "It's stupid, baby… I'm sorry." She chuckled humorlessly. "I just wish you had fought harder before saying yes. I knew you were gonna let me go. I just got a little offended with the initial approach. That’s all.”
There she was, my brutally honest drunk wife. She never failed to amuse me. Where should I start?
There are some weird shit happening back home. Your brother Adrian was brutally murdered, your father is missing, I made sure none of my men were involved, but I still don't have any fucking idea whose signature that is. So I’d rather have you on the other fucking side of the Atlantic with Albert, than risk having someone hurt you. Because the ugly truth is that If I could, I'd never let you out of my sight for more than twenty minutes, but it's easier to let you be your own person sometimes, even if it means physical distance, because I couldn't bear having you resent me for the same reasons you resent your father and Ivan. I’m so terrified of your resentment, that sometimes I feel like rubbing your free reign and your career in Ivan and Alexei’s faces just so I could prove to them, but mostly to myself, that I am better for you than they were.
God, what a fucking emotional cunt you’ve made of me, Mila.
Instead of the pity party speech, I stuck with the script.
''Then again, five years of marriage and you're still clueless" I started, keeping my voice cool. "If everything referring to your life depended exclusively on me, Mila, I would never let you leave Moscow without me." I leaned against her, taking her wet locks out of her face. "Not for work. Not for visiting Estelle. Not for Eurotrips with your supermodel friends. Not even if the world's salvation depended on you being on the other side of the globe. Do I make myself clear or do I have to spell it out for you?”
“That’s so clingy of you.” She said in an unwind voice, although I felt her discreet sigh when I took my face to her neck span.
“I fucking mean it.” I said gently rubbing my lips on the sensitive skin below her ear. She missed me, I could tell. It had been over a week since the last time I had her in my bed and I wasn't the only one losing it over the longing, I could see it driving her up the walls too.
“You do?”
“ Da .”
“Well now it's too late to say no.” She said in a low voice, leaning back onto the bar counter when I took my hand up to her inner thigh. “I already set up a date to sign up the contract.”
“Good.” Great, we were settled then, now we could move on to the-
“Ronan…” Her voice was wary, but something vulnerable came to the surface when she took my hand off her hip bone and looked at me “what is going on?”
Fucking hell.
I could have ignored her, and kept pushing my fingers lower while kissing her neck, she would melt and eventually give in. In my case, I would very much prefer if she thought I was being compliant to the Paris offer, because I was a supportive husband who wanted her to follow her dreams, but that wasn't even partially true.
When I stared back at her pleading Caribbean eyes, my conscience shattered and suddenly I didn't have it in me to just ignore her silent begging for the sake of her obliviousness.
“You can't go back home for a while.”
Her expression fell. I didn’t want her to compare me to the men who had failed her, but I feared it was too late.
“What?” Her slightly panicked countenance made the air constrict into my lungs. “Why?”
“There are a few…” Disappearances, severed heads and too much veiled violence, even for my taste “unsolved businesses I need to take care of and until it's all solved I need you to be away.”
“What unsolved business? Are you in danger?” uneasiness took over her semblant and her voice.
“Nyet.” Lying to her was on the top of my list of least favorite things to do, along with long walks by the sun and eating dessert. “I have unfinished business with an unpleasant group of people and I don’t want you around while they are too.”
“Why not? It has happened before. I know the men you have business with, we have dinner with them and their wives at Matryoshka and I have to pretend I have some interest in middle aged housewives conversations. How is this any different?” She got up from her stool to reach the bourbon bottle I had placed across the table for a reason.
“That is enough.” I growled, grabbing both of her wrists and pulling her to me, so she stood between my legs. I was going to talk to her about this drinking thing later, I didn’t mind her drinking, but the circumstance was worrying the shit out of me.
“This is different.” I tried to lower my voice, I empathize with her agony, more than she could ever know. “Having you wandering around Moscow right now would give people I don’t trust, ideas.” I released one of her wrists from my grip, having the unconscious urge to brush my fingers against the soft skin of her cheekbone. “Ideas on how to punish me really, really bad.”
She remained silent, staring at me with those teary blue eyes and as if she could see everything through my half-truths.
“Who will jump in front of a bullet to save you if I’m not there?” She asked with a jaded, whiny voice, gripping tightly her fingers on my nape hair, real tears flowing down her face. The memory made the air feel thicker into my lungs and her tears even harder to receive.
“Viktor will.”
Mila knew I would never forbid her to come back home, if there wasn't a severe reason for me to do so. She hadn't believed a word I said and she had her reasons not to, but for some reason I didn't quite understand, she had let me win and stopped digging in.
"Well, have you already told Albert he's been promoted to a full time babysitter?” She dried her tears with the top of her hands.
“Nyet . He will ask me for a raise considering the job’s risk.” She chuckled between tears and I gently held her right hand and kissed her palm, desperately hoping for it to soothe her uneasiness.
“Will you come visit often?”
She asked me against my lips and I kissed her like a starved man, because I didn't feel like doing anything else in the world, ever again.
That night in Paris, five months ago, I fucked her against our hotel bed, slowly, as if our time was unbounded, promising her to make Paris my second home at least once a month and huming a silent oath in the back of my head to never lie to her, ever again.
Five months later I was left in blame, dealing with the fact I could keep none of those promises. But that was fine because now, I knew Motherland, being the feminist she is, would never let me get away with lying to my wife again. She found her sardonic way to punish me by sending the cruelest winter Moscow had seen in years, which also made my job of finding Alexei much harder considering the city was under fifty inches of snow, and main roads were closed.
Ever since the day my cherished father-in-law went missing, my men have been looking for him. Even though I didn't give two fucks for Alexei's physical integrity, I simply couldn't exempt myself from the situation. I took Mila out of Moscow so I could take the fucking circus out of town, therefore, I wouldn't half ass it. . Dismantle the counter revolutionaries' looters and hang the bodies, just like we used to do when this country was a real one. So finding Alexei became crucial, first of all, because he probably was the only eye witness to what happened to his oldest son, Adrian, being the closest person we had from the face, or faces, behind this goddamn circus. Second, even though Mila broke off her relationship with him, the fucker was still her father, she'd be crushed if something happened to him and I couldn't let that happen. Third, if I couldn't hurt or kill Alexei, nobody else could either, that was fucking unmistakable.
My men have been looking for that asshole for six months now and each dead end we found ourselves in, were honestly frustrating. I have lost touch with this hunting thing, I even thought about asking for Kristian's help, but he was a father of two now, I didn't want him getting into this mess, which I knew he would if I asked him to.
If Mila was here she would have lectured me on how the universe operates with catalyzed energy, so all I had to do was to make a silent promise and catalyze my energy into it, and the universe would concede my wishes.
"Boss!" Viktor's voice echoed from the front courtyard, ruining my concentration into catalyzing energies and promising the universe I would use every known curse word in three different languages against Alexei if I ever saw him alive again.
Viktor's tone stroke me with deep anxiety, he had either seen Putin fucking a bear or Alexei's body mutilated. It took me a few seconds to go back to Mila's voice lecturing me about some hippie shit, while I threatened the universe it'd better be the first option.
Viktor stopped in front of me, and now I could see his countenance was much closer to someone who had just witnessed a miracle than to a person who witnessed Vladimir Putin and zoophilia.
"My nashli yego."
Well, I better get a curse jar.
We found him.
***
Chapter 2: Repetition
Notes:
I'm committed to this. Truly.
The playlist I threatened you with: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/717myjx84H45ZIsC70hAHH?si=3904dcd541354f3e
I still might add stuff.
Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ronan
Present day
Alexei didn’t look like a walking corpse, like I had expected he would if we were to find him alive. A few pounds lighter, looking twenty years older than the last time I saw him, a busted lip and brow bone, which would probably put Viktor on bad terms with the Senior Citizen Protection Court.
A bit mistreated, the old fucker looked. But more than fine, if you asked me.
Viktor and my men found him within the limits of the property, two miles away from the mansion, alone, no henchmen, no vehicles. Which made things even more… questionable. Did he come to Moscow on foot? From fucking where? Was he being held captive and now released to bait me into some shit? I couldn't let my temper get the best of me and having too many questions for too few answers was turning the job arduous.
But one thing was evident, whoever held him captive for the past six months, fed him vegan food and reserved him a nice bed to rest. I didn't know it became fashionable after I did it.
"He's searched." Said Viktor poking Alexei with his AK-47 barrel so he would walk toward me. A few men from Viktor's watch stood in the courtyard, watching the scene with keyed up faces. Well, with a captive audience like that, the least I could do was to put up a little show at my father-in-law's expense.
"Alexei." His stare finally met mine and I couldn't stop myself from smiling, cynically. "You're late. I've just fed the dogs the leftovers, and I'm afraid I'm out of stale bread."
His stare didn't falter, but he remained quiet, which was very much unlike him. Huh.
"What? Aren’t you going to give your favorite son-in-law a hug?" I said, triggering laughter through the courtyard. His frown remained intact.
"I'd rather cut my dick off." He said dryly.
Ah, there he was, the sore loser I knew.
"Don't let it stop you then, Viktor is very skilled with his switchblade. And it's not like you are still able to use it anymore, is it?" Another round of laughs. What a good deal it was to work for me, a laugh for every business day.
There was something off about the oldman. His hard and aged features now molded a jaded look, the man who once held arrogance and spite in his stare now looked like he carried the world’s weight on his shoulder. Apparently death wasn’t the chosen sentence for Alexei, there could be even more ruthless punishments for tirant and ruthless assholes like him. That made me immediately wonder what mine would be.
Well, I needed to talk in private with the faschist shithead.
I nodded at Viktor who answered promptly, grabbing Alexei by his arm and dragging him inside.
Alexei inspected every corner around the house, as Viktor walked him toward my office and I followed behind. I could see Alexei's instinct to look for traces of her were much stronger than any failed attempt at being subtle, and when his eyes laid on the yellow raincoat hanging on the coat rack, clashing with dark clothing, something vulnerable stood out. God, was he here to try some kind of emotional blackmail with me? Well, it wasn't going to fucking work. Do you miss Mila, Alexei? Now get in the fucking line.
"She’s not here." I said dryly, as soon as we were alone at my office, doing him a favor by nipping his hopes in the bud. The man had really gone senile if he really thought I would let him lay his eyes on her ever again after everything. I didn't fucking care if he was a elderly man grieving his dead sons, whom he never treated with decency and missing his only daughter, the only good thing he ever fucking did in a lifetime.
I reached for a bottle of whiskey, remembering when Mila once mentioned Alexei didn't drink vodka, just like the degenerate Russian he was. I placed the glass in front of him and took a sip of mine sitting back down on my chair, when I saw his stare getting caught by the only portrait standing on my desk. In the picture, Mila sat on the courtyard steps, resting her head on Khaos fur who sat stoically beside her, like he always did. Her blonde curls falling onto her The Smiths t-shirt, and her smile bright enough to trigger an early spring.
The picture was taken in front of our house, but the only thing I could see was how unrecognizable the place looked in her absence.
God, I couldn't wait for this to be goddamn over.
"Start from the beginning." My voice came out in a harsh impatient command and I hoped the old man would cooperate for both of our sakes.
"To What do I owe your courtesy, son?" Said Alexei filling the word with sarcasm.
The word crawled under my skin making my patience run thin. This was a changed Alexei, even more annoying than the one I used to know. This one might have found Jesus, who knows.
"Funny petname to call a man who you tried to murder several times." I was going to tell him to never fucking call me that again, but he needed to know my skin was thicker than his. "Now go straight to the point, before I decide to go back to my old ways of interrogation."
"I can see you are a changed man." He said suggestively, but not quite sarcastically, which is what I would have expected from old Alexei.
I know right, kidnapping your daughter changed my life for good, and I kind of need to thank you for having adoulterous sex with Tatianna, if it wasn't for you psycopaths I wouldn't have Mila.
"Yes, the peace corps intervened, they're on my payroll now." I said using enough sarcasm for the both of us, considering he now lacked.
Alexei finally reached for his cup, drinking the whole whiskey in one gulp, after he saw me sipping mine. I couldn't stop myself from feeling irritated with his mistrust, he should have fucking know if I ever were to kill him I'd never do it in a peaceful and painless way such as poisoning.
His eyes went straight back to Mila's portrait, mourning filling back his features.
Without Mila, most of my days here were dreadful and long, so fucking long. Allegedly, old habits die hard and this was how I had spent years and years of my life, but twenty days of her taking over everything around me was enough for me to grow uneased with being alone with my shit. Alexei was so fucking lucky I was not as moody as most days, even though I would never admit this had something to do with the fact we had found him alive.
"The day she was born Tatianna refused to hold her” He broke the silence, gazing grievously at Mila’s portrait, like he was hypnotized with sorrow. I was one step away from ripping it away from his sight in sheer pettiness, but the weariness and regret in his eyes made me realize all I had left in me for Alexei, was antipathetic pity. I needed something more unsettling to even bother.
"That night, when I got to the hospital, Mila was already there, looking so small and screaming desperately because the woman who gave her life, wouldn't hold her."
"You're not here to talk about Mila." I said through gritted teeth, all of my anger condensed in his words. I knew Tatianna was a psychotic bitch, I wasn't astonished with the story, but I couldn't stop from feeling murderous by thinking of her rejection towards Mila.
"I took her in my arms, because she was mine, and no one else's. I was yet to find out, not even Tatianna's." Mine. Pissing contest? In this economy? This was more like the man I knew, drinking my hard liquor, under my roof, subtly defying me with his perk words. Alexei ignored my scowl and continued his story. I couldn't help myself from feeling irritated with his behavior now he was too certain I wouldn't lay a finger on him because of his blood relation to the woman I loved. An unfortunate truth.
"Tatianna probably thought I’d reject her too, her being born a girl. But she saw how wrong she was that night."
I was calloused with Alexei's bullshit. This wasn't him trying to bond with his son-in-law by telling affectionate stories about his daughter. This little emotional moment was the reason why he was here.
Aware of his probable emotional scamming, I saw myself invested in his words. Suddenly, I wanted to hear everything he had to say about Mila, even though I felt a dose of panic starting to run through my veins with the course the story was heading.
"Tatianna saw in our daughter a way to manipulate me into more of her scams. She gradually changed, in a couple of days she became the affectionate mother Mila deserved, blaming her instanct rejection toward her on the birth stress. I wanted to believe it. So I did."
"I was in awe of Mila. What I felt for her was nothing like I had felt before, not even for any of my older sons. Tatianna knew that when she took Mila with her in her first months of her life." His tone became deeper and yet, quieter, as if he was ashamed of saying out loud whatever was about to come. I clenched my fist around my cup.
"She started to bargain for my time with Mila, in exchange for the things she wanted, things she was never able to rip out from me before. A luxurious flat of her own, where she came to live with Mila, career assurances at the opera and many real estates in her name, she claimed it was to secure Mila's future. I refused some of her conditions. Most. As much as I wanted to keep Tatianna on a short leash, I gave some things away. Otherwise, I knew she would not only keep Mila away to punish me, but she would find a way to punish her too. But I was too blind to see that, or- too much of a coward to admit not even Mila would go unharmed by her mother’s vicious soul.”
I was trying to put myself in his place, I honestly was. But it was hard to believe this man's stupidity knowing he expected the best from a monster he himself created and endorsed. Love did make people blind and imbecil, I was so fucking lucky Mila was the type of person who was most likely to cut her arm off rather than taking advantage of an ill-timed situation.
"One day, when she was a few months old, after we had an ugly argument, she asked me if I thought Mila was going to be like her when she grew up and I answered all she had to do was to look at her. I regret my words to this day, because she did look at her. With inhumane eyes. In a way a mother should not look at her child."
"That day I thought about taking her with me, but I couldn't. Vera wouldn't accept her, nor our sons, so I simply lied to myself until reality came to torment me, on her first birthday. I hadn't seen them in weeks, so I decided to come over unannounced. Tatianna wasn't home, but someone else was.”
“She had always been the type of woman who enjoyed silent threats." Alexei was a few drinks in now, his speech became even more lethargic and darker, as if the words were even more bitter in his mouth than the aged up liquor. "Oleg was the guy we used to send those young girls to. You probably heard of him."
The name sent a shiver through my spine, my fist clenching tightly around my glass, while I fantasized it was a human neck. I knew who Oleg was, Alexei wasn't the only bratva hound I'd kicked out of Moscow, years before, Oleg was my first target.
It has never been personal, not with Alexei, not with the other men I've had to crush under my thumb, so they wouldn’t be left with any other choice but to leave Moscow. It wasn’t personal until they made it be.
But with Oleg, it was personal, before he even knew who I was. Everyone from Moscow’s marked cards game knew who he was and the business he ran. If I ever were to make Moscow mine I couldn't have men, especially those who created an open market for pedophiles, thriving. So that’s what I did. With much less resources than I have now, Albert and I spent months joining some compromising material against Oleg’s most prestigious and loyal customers. Making it look like Oleg’s partner, Erik, was the rat with the material and a failed blackmail attempt, which led to his dead body floating in the Moskva as a warning.
Oleg knew he was soon to be next. When the authorities got involved and the case became public, the public opinion fell enraged into it. Before Oleg could join his imbecil partner in hell, most of the pedos in custody were murdered in prison by other inmates. With no one alive to ask for his head, Oleg ran away like the coward he was, to wherever shithole he was hiding until today.
The scene Alexei described popped up in my head like an intrusive thought I couldn’t keep away. Picturing those filthy hands holding an enfant Mila made me sick to my stomach. My lungs constricted into a physical symptom of repulsion. It felt familiar, only it was even more visceral this time, even more consuming and unsettling. It took all the concentration I had in me to let Alexei finish.
"He paid well for the right girl. She brought that man in, to her place, where she kept my daughter, only to send me a message, of what she would do to Mila, of how easily she would hand our child to men like him as soon as she was old enough to be the right girl. He held her in his arms, looking at her the same way Tatianna did. Back then, I knew what I had done. What I had been doing with Tatianna all those years, the monsters I had been feeding turned against me, against my Mila." Alexei’s voice showed tangible emotions for the first time tonight. Regret, fear, hatred.
I got up in a shot and walked towards the closest window, running thin in control of my body. Leaning my clenched fists on the window rail to open it, I didn’t know I desperately needed the cold air blowing my face, until it did. The freezing breeze blew into the wide open window making my face feel numb and anesthetized. It seemed like the closest thing to a caress I could have now, although nothing could soothe the throe rising inside my chest like a death sentece time bomb.
To imagine the future Mila narrowly escaped from, made me want to burn Moscow down with everything in it. To think she could have had it like me, Kristian, or even worse. I stopped imeddiatly, because I couldn’t let myself go there, I needed stay fucking focused on the things that did happen. She was mine and safe. Away from this fucking mess. Away from her dead psychotic mother.
I felt relieved Alexei had the guts to murder a pregnant woman in cold blood. He could have spared Mila from bearing witness to it, but there you go, not everyone had the courage to do some sketchy shit to gain some peace of mind.
My hands started to tingle and I had everything in me to beat the shit out of Alexei. How the fuck did he let Mila, with Tatianna, for a whole fucking year. It wasn’t reasonable to think Alexei didn’t know that viperous bitch was the only person ahead of him in God’s most hated list and, therefore, not capable of raising a fucking child. The truism of it all enraged me and dragged me back to the beat-the-shit-out-of-Alexei will cicle.
With all of the flaws a human person can carry, I couldn’t tell Alexei wasn’t self-aware of his own rottenness. When I met Mila I knew the man lived twenty years of his life with a breathing and walking moral bar who, without knowing, filled the oldman with guilt and shame over his many sins. I know that because that was how I felt, and sometimes, still do by being around her. Sometimes it felt like even if I spend the rest of my life like Christ, healing leprosies and saving whores from death sentences, I would never be worthy of her.
“I was going to kill him that day. But then I remembered I’d have scum of pedos chasing me and that was that last thing I needed by then.” He rubbed his gray stubble, regret and shame in his face. “I have dreams- nightmares with some of those girls, until this day. With the innocent and scared look they gave me and Tatianna inside black limos. Once, when Mila was around eleven, she got home from school, terrified, sobbing, saying she had seen monsters in the woods behind her school's yard. I saw dozens of terrified faces on hers that day, faces whose lives I had ruined. I couldn’t even console her, no matter what monster she had seen, they weren’t even close to the monster I was.”
“If you came here to victimize yourself in front of me, you’ve wasted your fucking time Alexei. I’m aware that if the world depended on my judge of character we were all fucked. But handing children to sex traffickers is a sin I won’t carry to my grave, let alone feel sorry for those who will.” I said clenching and losing my fists, repeatedly, trying to get the blood to circulate properly through my fingers.
“I have many regrets. I had time to think, to ruminate on my sins and to think… straight, for the first time in my life.” He poured himself more whiskey and gulped all at once, as if he needed the hard liquor numbness to say what he was about to say. “I came to ask for your help.”
Suddenly, the realization came to put a damper on how surreal this scene was. If someone had told me five years ago, Alexei Mikhailov would stand in front of me, sitting in my office, drinking from my forty-thousand rubles whiskey, asking for my help, I would laugh at the absurdity. And yet, here he was.
“It’s Oleg then. Our little… terrorist.” I said already picturing the bullet of my Lebedev blowing up Oleg’s brains. As much as I knew he didn’t deserve the quick death it would grant him, I wasn’t as enthusiastic of the torturing part as I used to be, maybe I’d ask Viktor to take place in that matter, it would depend on my mood.
“Terrorist.” Alexei laughed in a gasp “That’s much more of a compliment, referring to him.”
“Unfortunately, I have wasted all of my offense repertoire on you throughout the years.”
The silence settled in, as if neither of us knew how to address the elephant in the room. I bet Alexei thought this was all about him humiliating himself in front of his nemesis, or whatever. But in reality, this was as embarrassing to me as it was to him. The fact that I had never, not once in my life, given people whom, once I had wanted to murder, a truce, says it all.
My blood ran hotter, burning from inside out, like a fever I could only get rid off if I had Oleg’s impaled head exhibited in my front yard. I knew what was coming, now things were starting to mend into each other, but as clarifying as it gets more clouded by my judgment I felt.
“He thinks I’m the rat who set him and Erik up, all those years ago.” He said, voice stern. “And now he’s getting his own back-"
“It was me.” I spat the words, not quite expecting the astonishment outlined in his face. I always counted on Alexei’s diminished intellect throughout the years, but apparently I had overestimated him on this one. If Albert was here he would grunt under that frown of his, but I knew Alexei wouldn’t weaponize this information against me now, because it didn’t matter who that pig chose to invest his vengeance on, in the end, Alexei and I had grown to have a common weakness, all Oleg had to do now was fire one single shot to hit us both.
“H-how? This was before-”
“What’s the plan?” I cut him off, needing desperately for this conversation to end. I needed a shower, to call my wife and-
He went silent, studying my face and seeking comprehension.
“Where’s Mila, D’yavol? If we are gonna make this work, I need to know.” Pleaded Alexei, senilely, defeated.
I smiled, restraining my will to laugh at this desperate attempt. This fucking circus had to be some tipe of divine probation to test the new limits of my patience and tolerance. Being a changed man had to come with a cost after all.
“I don’t know which god you bribed during your spiritual retreat, orienting this little scene as your penitence, but you should ask for your soul back.” I fired back using sarcasm as a mask to my patience running thin in my veins.
“She’s my daughter, I demand-”
“Beggers are not choosers, Alexei. Do I need to keep reminding you are in no position to demand anything?” A chuckle escaped my lips, my total and utter disbelief with his insolence won over my annoyance. Plus I knew better than to raise my voice, I don’t remember the last time I had to engage in this kind of intimidation method to get what I want. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you to the dogs the moment you stepped foot on Moscow.”
“I need to know where she is. She’s in danger.” He barked through his teeth.
“And whose fault is that?” I pointed out bitterly. If I were to make this truce work, this was the moment to wash all of the dirty linen, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to play dream team with the fucker without wanting to kill him. Men like him needed to be constantly reminded of their humiliation and their overthrow, so they would remain in their goddamn places. Years ago I wouldn't mind doing it as many times as it would be necessary, but now, I need my word to be final.
“Tell me Alexei, whose fault is that?” My voice grew darker. “Did aging make you forget about your parenting resume? You murdered her mother under the same roof she lived in. You abandoned her on the other side of the Atlantic with a bratva butcher as a nanny. You planned to sell her to a dirty politician family who promised to save you and your degenerate sons from bankruptcy…” The moment the words left my mouth he stopped his glass midway to his face. His stare burned and his face mended into something a little closer from the Alexei I used to know. Ten years and he still didn't know better than to underestimate me. “You used her to try to get to me.”
“So these are the lies you poison her ears with.” He spat through his teeth hitting the glass on the table.
“When you found out she had run for Moscow, there wasn't much time to feel worried, you had to find a way to… make the best out of the situation.” I smiled, rejoicing in his growing anger. “As much as I think Ivan’s skills are generally debatable, he is a hunter, he could've reached her sooner. But then, you found out I got… invested. You slowed him down and risked her life thinking you could get to me before I striked. Didn’t you?”
His face went red, his hands trembled.
What I had suspected for years materialized in front of me and fulfillment hit in waves, as I once more confirmed one of Alexei´s life sentences was having to put up with despicable me.
“You condemn me as if your actions towards my daughter could have been forgiven in good reason.” His tone was bitter and ridiculous.
“Well, that’s up to her to decide. And she did, didn’t she?” I stopped myself from lighting up a cigarette. I refused to let Alexei access my stress, but God, if I needed one.
He remained silent. Obviously. Sore loser.
“Do you know the difference between you and I, Alexei?” I inhaled the nicotine, tapping it on the ashtray “I wear my sins out on my sleeve. I own my shit. It was about time for you to start doing the same. It would give that rotten soul of yours some peace in the afterlife.” Not that he deserved it, that's why it had never been in my plans to give him any while we were both alive.
“Who could have predicted my divine punishment would be being lectured over peace of mind by D’yavol himself.” He said between ill-tempered laughter.
“You think this is your divine punishment?” Swallowing the smoking one last time I put out the cigarette on the ashtray, amused with his complete detachment from reality. He put on an arrogant, brave face when I stood up to my full height, my head simmering with ideas, I took a few steps toward my desk, my back to him. “This is how it's gonna go: you'll call Ivan as soon as we finish here and tell Santa’s little helper he has forty eight hours to be back in Moscow. If he refuses you are allowed to mention our truce, tell him you need someone to change you geriatric diapers or whatever fucking excuse that will convice him to come willingly, because if he does not comply I’ll-
“He will. He would never refuse it when it comes to Mila’s safety.” He said, defensively.
Oh, how sweet.
The way they both always sucked each other’s asses, has never failed to nauseate me. I wasn’t sure if I knew what I was doing by ordering Alexei to call upon Ivan to come back, in terms of how quickly we could find Oleg, Ivan's limited brain surely wasn’t going to be of great help. But I had no problems admitting to myself his presence here would serve wonders to my ego. I had to find my ways of having some fun among this chaos.
“As I was saying, both of you will work for me until we find and kill the fascist pedo. I’ll expect full commitment and allegiance, I’ll obviously take into consideration what you and your boyfriend will have to say, but my word will always be final.” I said flatly, unlocking my phone so I could read Albert’s reply text. Got it. We’re home now. She’s on her day off, drinking disgusting green juice. I took a deep breath before turning back to Alexei, the knot in my chest, loosening.
“After we’re done, then we can start with your punishment.” His face didn’t falter and I gestured vaguely to him and my office “I want you to know… this is not your punishment. Losing everything, having to humiliate yourself in front of me, losing your heirs, none of these are proper punishments for scum like you.”
“Then this is why you want both of us here.” His smirk grew in disgust. I knew Mila and I was the one thing he probably would never be at peace with. “To rub your ownership over my daughter in my face.”
“Oh, no.” That too. “Believe me, I’m past that.” I sat in front of him once again so I could properly deliver my change of plans. “When we’re done, Mila will be back from her sabbatical, and you'll be here to welcome her, and to witness, with your own eyes, her contemptuous face when she sees you again after so long.”
My tone was poisonous and Alexei grew resigned as I knew he would. I knew this was where I could hurt him the most. He accepted it as the docile sacrificial lamb he thinks he’s become and I wasn’t quite apologetic for making a elderly person cry. Twice.
“The saddest part of it all, was that I didn’t have to do, or say anything for the past five years. Every ounce of rejection you’ll get from her, it will be entirely hers.”
***
4 years ago
It was a pleasant autumn day for gunshot training. At least that was what I always had to convince Mila of.
We had made a deal a few months ago: she was taking shooting lessons, in exchange I had to promise I was going to genuinely try to address my employees more politely. She made me repeat it. Out loud.
I wasn’t exactly content with the idea of Mila putting her hands on guns, but after everything that’s happened I could not afford to have her clueless on how to defend herself. It took me over a year to ruminate on it, she reluctantly agreed and now it’s been three months, shooting was our sundays program.
I waited for her in the warehouse where I kept my arsenal and some other equipment. Usually I asked Albert to prepare the shooting range in the grove we had within the limits of the property, but today he was gathering some paperwork for me back in Moscow and I needed to be alone with my wife.
Mila had been acting weird throughout the whole weekend. Yesterday, when I got home by noon with Albert, I was approached by an outraged Yulia who promptly told me Mila hadn’t had lunch and was now locked up in our bedroom with that lousy filthy dog. I took the tray Yulia had prepared from the kitchen counter and followed upstairs.
The first thing I saw upon entering the bedroom was Khaos laying on the edge of the bed like an egyptian sphinx, looking straight into my eyes, insolently, like he owned the bed, the house and the girl. I approached the bed, ignoring his presence, thinking about which limb he would try to rip off my body if I did this over a year ago. He still despised me, but he learned how to tolerate me. Well, it was reciprocated.
“Why does this dog always look like he’s plotting a coup?” I said bitterly, placing the tray on the bedside table. Mila chuckled, eyes not leaving the one hundred thirty inch TV, where PSG beat Arsenal 3-1.
I took my black sweater off, threw it on the leather armchair, and sat on my side of the bed to remove my boots. I felt the expensive mattress sinking behind me, a floral scent breaking into my lungs and the soft embrace I’d always return to for the rest of my life.
“Lunch.” I grumbled, while trying to keep my cool with her lips on my neck.
“Not hungry.” The soft material of her sweatshirt rubbed against my back, arms entwining my torso, her chin leaned on my shoulder. “Wanted to watch the game.”
“Yulia is pissed at you.” Yulia knew Mila didn’t eat when she was upset with something and the woman had her ways of manifesting her affection and worry.
“Nonsense. She never gets pissed.” She muttered sarcastically against my neck.
We spent the rest of the day in bed. PSG scored one more goal and then I allowed myself for a quick nap, when Mila caresses in my hair won over my weariness.
I knew something was wrong, but at this point, as much as I had the urge to put the screws on her, I knew she would eventually come around. Our year together has taught me her growing trust was one of the most valuable things she could ever give me. She trusted me with things she had never trusted anyone before, the monumental amount of energy I had to spend on my patient was paying off once I realized she came to me willingly. Most times. It took me a while to adapt to this trusting thing as well, even though it wasn’t exactly hard getting used to having someone who I could commit my life to.
I heard the noise of paws sinking in dry leaves outside the warehouse and a bark, followed by Mila’s voice scolding Khaos saying he shouldn’t be so excited, he would stay in the house since kids were not allowed around guns. I chuckled.
Mila dragged Khaos back to the kennel by his collar. She hated having to lock him up, but otherwise he would just follow us to the groove. When she locked the wire fence, I watched the beast glaring through it, as if all his life problems were related to me.
After a long silent walk to the usual place, I handed her the hearing protection and an unloaded revolver. She stared at me with those feline eyes, her blonde brows raised in defiance and I stared back daring her to complain about the hearing protection. Again.
“Fine. I just still don’t see the point of these if you’re not gonna wear them too.” She said in a testy, loud voice, after putting it on.
She took her time opening the revolver cylinder and load, bullet by bullet. Her hands no longer trembled like they did a couple of months ago. I didn’t tell her, but I was irreducible about the hearing protection not only because of its obvious functionality, but I’ve read somewhere online it had a psychological role in the process, distancing it from the fact she was practicing to potentially kill someone and making it feel more like… sporting.
Her eyes were focused and her breathing was periodic and self aware like I had taught her. She positioned, her arms extended firm in front of her.
Then nothing.
When something changed in her posture, her breath became shallow and her beautiful features hardened. First I thought it was happening again, panicking. My chest constricted and when it became clear her inertia wasn’t just an attempt to aim the head of the wooden target, her hands on the trigger were faster than my reflex to intervene.
Three shots echoed in a row through the groove, while frightened birds took off from the top of the pine trees. The wooden target, which stood twenty meters away, was human shaped and if the piece of demolition wood was in fact an adult man, he would’ve died in sight, two shots for the chest and one for the head.
Before I could overanalyze every ounce of excitement and pride going straight to my groin, I looked at my wife. She held the revolver tightly in her right hand and stared at the target with a frown, frustrated. Well, at least she looked like she was, which was a shame, really. Later, in our room, I’d make sure she knew how proud of herself she should be.
I had to make an effort to keep my mouth shut, when she rolled the revolver cylinder on her forearm, unlocked the trigger and shot again. Shoulder, head, head. Eyes like a hawk, her knuckles, white on the handle. She didn’t hesitate this time. Head. Head. Head.
She took a pregnant pause, eyes glued to the target, her arms relaxing beside her body. There was some growing unease in her posture, the determined fever dissipating from her eyes. I walked to her, gently taking the gun from her hand, and placing it in my waistband.
“Where did you learn that?” I stood blocking her view from the nearly destroyed piece of wood. I took the hearing protector off for her and threw it on the floor. Placing my hands in the loose part of her hair, I pushed her to my chest and immediately felt her arms holding into mine.
“I saw it in a movie.” Her voice was distant, which always bothered the fuck out of me.
“Are you aware you don’t get extra points for style?” She chuckled lightly against my collarbone.
I embraced her tighter above her shoulders and pictured how she would react to the paperwork’s content Albert went to Moscow to collect. Maybe I was going to get really narcissistic today and whatever she had to share with me was going to overshadow it, who knows.
“I brought the rifle too, but I would really appreciate it if you just tell me what is going on so we can move on with our romantic shooting picnic.” I said against the top of her head.
“Carter called me.” She deadpanned against my chest.
My annoyance grew for not being able to foresee that. What did mama’s boy could possibly want with Mila, I wonder. Well, if he wanted his little bride back he should do me a favor and come and get her. I’d make sure Albert would give him a warm welcome back in Moscow.
“And what did he want?” She didn’t move in my embrace, not displaying any signs she wanted me to let go of her, so I didn’t. “Maybe some hand cream brand tip, since he ran out.”
I felt her laughter vibrating through my chest, filling up a place exclusively hers, with something so warm and real, I could almost touch. But suddenly it started to feel a little too wet against my chest and her breathing faltered in tiny sobs. Mila’s hands clinged against the dark fabric of my sweater and her sobs became louder, making me evaluate I might not be that patient to wait for Barbie’s Ken to come to Moscow, maybe I should consider sending Albert to pay him a little visit in Florida. What was the saying? If the Mountain won't go to Mohammed, then Mohammed must beat the shit out of the Mountain, or something like that.
“Sorry.” She said, moving her face from my chest. I dried up her cheeks with the back of my hand, growing uneasy with her tears, which no longer were as common as they used to be back when we met. “I’m sorry, I’m just being dramatic. He- he said nothing I shouldn’t already have suspected.” Her features hardened in annoyance “God-”
By the bonfire I had set up last week next to a fallen sequoia trunk, I lit the fire, grabbed a water bottle packed in the gun handbag, handed it to her and took the place next to hers, elbows resting on my knees.
She stared at the growing flame, comfortable silence displayed our familiarity with each other. I patiently waited for her to speak, thinking of how many times that word had popped into my head in the past twelve months, next to the word love.
“Did you know Dimitri and Adrien owe Carter’s father an outstanding amount of money?” She asked bitterly, in a low voice, her features twitching in contempt.
“Well, if there’s one thing Alexei’s boyband is very skilled at, it is wasting money.” I said, mannering my usual mockery tone whenever I had to talk about Alexei with her, my hand on her back, the material of her red sweater smooth against my fingers. “I’d not be surprised if they owed Putin an outstanding amount of money.”
Mila went silent, her red teary eyes still lost in that place I hated.
“Well, they did owe the Huntington's a lot of money. Do.” She chuckled humorlessly, taking a large gulp from the water bottle and then resting her elbows on her knees. “Because they were never able to pay back the loan.”
My mind ran quickly and I craved for my assumption not to be reassured. I knew what this could be, I always had my suspicions about Alexei’s ill intentions on Mila’s engagement. I was calloused with Alelxei’s shit, but sometimes, he still had the absolute ability to seize my expectations. I knew he spared Mila from most of his vileness, but not entirely. Being an assumption, I had never bothered to dig into it, because I knew how hard it would be to keep my hands from his throat if I found something I didn't like.
But when Mila came back to me, over a year ago, they got desperate. Adrien and his men went back to friendly neighborhood transgressions and Alexei took loan after loan with bratva sharks. Time made it impossible to ignore the obvious: Carter's father became Alexei’s main sponsor after I kicked him out of Moscow, his once main source of income, and the only way Alexei could compensate was promising his only daughter to Huntington’s eldest son, such as people used to do back in the Middle Ages. What can I say, Alexei had never been known for being an avant-garde man.
I tried to keep it away from Mila, obviously, like all the other Alexei’s atrocities. The damage he’s done so far was quite enough, for my taste. Although, just like all of the things she found out from others, I should have foreseen the truth about her engagement would have the same fate.
The moment shattering Mila’s innocence started to taste bitter, I drawed that line to protect her from any further damage. However, exempting myself from that guilt did not soothe the ache I felt in my chest by seeing her like this.
“Carter growled a bunch of shit on the phone, he was drunk so there were a lot of things I didn’t even make an effort to understand, because honestly… I don’t fucking care. I never did.” Her voice grew louder with a raw feeling I could very much relate to. “But I wish I cared even less, because then I would have just- turned off the phone.”
She went silent, the question stuck in her throat. It felt too late now. I refused to lie and I knew I deserved her anger, if it was what she had for me.
“Did you know?” She looked at me inquisitively, her eyes, nose and collarbones, bright red.
“Mila.” I pleaded. I just didn’t know what for.
She turned to me, her cheeks shining bright with her tears and her features aggravated in weariness.
“Did you know?” She pressed in a flat voice.
“I had my suspicions, but I chose not to dig in.” She needed me now, even if it were to be shouted at. I have her laughter, her cherish, brightness all to myself, so I would gladly accept her anger, contempt and deceptions. I caught what I could get. “You needed peace.”
Her eyes became tender in fresh tears and, once again, I took my hand to her face, drying her wet cheeks, which were promptly replaced by new ones. Shattering my expectations, she came closer and leaned her forehead onto my shoulder.
“On a scale of zero to ten how mad would you get if Albert and I paid Carter a little visit? ” I said my lips against her hair, feeling the humming of her chuckle through my torso. I’m glad at least one of us got amused, because I wasn't exactly joking.
I lifted her left leg, placed it above mine, and shoved my hand into the holes of her ripped jeans just to feel the soft skin of her thigh against my fingertips. I always got creative when it came to PDA, just to make my little introvert embarrassed to her bones, or smoothly distract her from something that was upsetting her. Today I might be the one who’s in need of a distraction.
“Seven.” She mumbled against my shoulder, her small sobs becoming more far-between.
“I can live with seven.”
“Can you? I don't think you would handle five.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked in a light playful tone. “That night in New York, you were around seven and a half.”
“Six, tops. And what did you expect? You made me think I was going to spend the weekend alone in New York just to show up at the last minute making a scene in front of your brother, Gianna and the kids.” She said, her voice getting less and less shaken.
“It’s called a surprise, sweetheart. It’s no longer a thing between women of your age?” I said, pinching the skin of her knee.
She chuckled again, rubbing her cheeks with the back of her hands and resting her stare on the dry leafs laying on the ground, in perfect silence, her wheels turned. I could call it a talent if I wanted to, but the truth was I was very good at reading Mila because she was as transparent as the Caribbean sea. All you needed to do was take a good look. That was one of the reasons why no one was allowed to stare at her for too long, except for me.
“I bet he thinks he saved me from my mother, you know.” She broke the silence earnestly, her voice now steady. “He saved me from being raised by a psychopath, then anything he would give me, would be better than a life of trauma.” She laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know, maybe I’m complaining just for the sake of it- it must be ridiculous for you to hear me whine about this.”
“You have reasons to feel the way you do.” I assured her in a firm voice, it bothered me to the bones that she felt she couldn’t talk to me about Alexei without feeling frivolous, considering the abyss between the lives we had growing up. “Anyone can do parenting better than an abuser, Mila. Alexei is even more demented than I thought if he really thought he was doing enough for you by not being Tatianna.” Her cheek pinned on my shoulder, she looked at me with trusting eyes. “Parenthood is about trying to give your children the best version of yourself, not settling for the bare minimum.”
My brother was the living proof of how good parenthood is something to be conquered. Kristian was as fucked up as person could be and yet, Kat and Ben only knew the protective, affectionate and patient father he came to become, not always getting it right, sometimes failing, but always seeking the best for both of them and for Gianna. I’d rip my arm off of my body before admitting it to him, but I’d be content if one day I could be half of the father he was for his kids, to my own.
I caught her gazing at me, a small grin growing in the corner of her mouth.
“Lost something on my face?” I pestered her with a growing smirk.
“Fuck you.” She laughed, sniffing her tears away. “I was going to say you’d be a good father, but I take it back.” She said, still staring at me. Jesus, this woman.
“That’s not what half of Moscow would bet on.” And they had every reason to.
“Maybe. But my opinion is the only one that matters.”
I couldn’t stop the smile that immediatly grew on my face because she was absolutely fucking right.
Dusk painted the sky pink and orange, and Mila’s sweater and jeans became too thin for the moderate autumn breeze running through the groove. She was yet to get used to Russian weather, it was in fact harder for sunny floridian girls to do so. With goosebumps on her exposed knees she said we could try the hunting rifle now. I answered she reached the six months goal in three, so she was done for today.
She decided to kill time by the bonfire while I tasked myself to distract her own contempt and myself, from the fact that the sun was almost down, and Albert wasn’t back from the city. I had Mila running high on emotions today, and I knew anger and contempt still tasted sour and foreign in her mouth. As relieved as I grew she found a way to catalyze it into her aim, I still hadn’t decided if any more potential headache was something she could stand today without hurting any worse.
Maybe ripping out the bandage was for the best, but who fucking knows, if only the assholes who came up with this love thing had left a fucking playbook behind. I didn’t happen often nowadays, but it still bothered the fuck out of me being behind an eight ball when it came to my wife.
“Egypt.” I challenged her as we walked back home, keeping my distraction plan on execution.
“Cairo.” She replied, soft rasped voice keeping my restlessness at bay, while she walked in front of me, the sight of her perfect ass fit in high waisted jeans kept my reason running short. “Peru.”
“Lima.” I took a moment to come up with a hard one and- “Transnistria."
“Tiraspol.” She replied arrogantly and I smacked her ass to humble her down.
She turned to me indignant, and started walking backwards, keeping her ass away from my reach, as she should. “It is Tiraspol! Google it.”
“It was a catch. Transnistria is not a country.” I said, noticing her cheekbones were getting pinkish from the cold, and her countenance now ready to quarrel.
“Of course it is a country, they have their own coin, their own Parliament-”
“They’re not a recognized state.” I said not one bit amused with her in-depth knowledge of a communist breakaway country.
“That means nothing.” She hit back. “Don’t you support tranistrians’ right to self-determination?”
Mila was the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known, she was the only person who had ever blindsided me in terms of general knowledge, which was supposed to annoy the fuck out of me but had the exact opposite outcome. I fucking loved her big words and if only she knew how hard her big brain made me…
“Wait a second- are you a communist, kotyonok?” I said in wrought bewilderment.
“What do you have against communists?” She spat sardonically, although I knew she was in fact kind of a lefty.
An unevenness on the ground came ahead of us as she kept walking backwards. Before she could stumble and fall I quickly curved myself and lifted her by her waist, carrying her above my shoulder. She squeaked in surprise but then remained quiet because she knew better than to complain, I had full access to her ass now.
“I’m actually disappointed, you know, did I marry a right-wing Russian? I didn't even know this was a thing.” She asked dramatically, trying to get rid of my grip on the back of her thighs. But not really trying.
I slapped her ass harder this time.
“OW!”
“Sweetheart… You know I rarely take offenses personally, but ‘right-wing’ was low, even for you.” I complained dramatically, engaging in her provocation and thinking how twenty-year-old Ronan would not take that as a joke at all. Being right-wing in the bratva was pretty much equivalent as being a nazi, and if there's one group of people who aggravated me just as much as pedophiles did… well.
My grip grew tighter around her thighs and as we approached the house, I caught the sight of Albert’s black SUV parked on the main courtyard, annoyance immediately growing into me. I had fucking asked for him to text me throughout every step of his task, which he might have clearly forgot.
“Did we just have our first argument over politics?” She said in a fake excitement and good humor.
“Pretty sure we had one of those before.”
As we approached the manor the more real it became and her laughter wouldn’t last long, once again. It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it what commoners used to say? I was holding onto it with dear life.
Entering home, I released her onto her feet. Albert waited for us in the main living room, the paperwork spread on the centerpiece as I followed after Mila.
“Hey Albert.” She greeted him with a modest smile, petting his arm and sitting on the couch “How was your day off?”
Albert looked at me skeptically and annoyed, so I stared back, challenging him to deny the little white lie I told Mila. He had this irritating habit of morally evaluating my actions towards my wife, he was lucky I didn’t feel petty enough to remind him he was in no position to morally evaluate shit.
“Good. I saw Vera.” He answered in a rough accent. Ivan Drago rough.
“Oh that’s lovely, how is she? You should invite her over one day.” I walked towards them, and stopped beside Albert, who answered her promptly. The subject fell away quickly when her eyes finally landed on the centerpiece, and her features twitched in curiosity.
I watched her carefully, waiting for the question to come. Her eyes found mine.
“What is this?” She asked carefully, almost as if she, secretly, didn’t want to know the answer. She randomly picked one paper up and started reading it, her features gradually turning strained as if each word brought a new dose of poison.
Silently, Albert took a pen from his jacket inner pocket, handing it to me and walking out of the room.
Coward.
Right. It was on me.
Ripping off the bandage.
“Ronan.” The utter desperation in her voice went straight into my chest, like a sharp blade breaking through skin. “What is this?”
I walked slowly to her, taking the place next to her on the couch.
“Everything I have.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Her voice faltered while she leafed through the paperwork, searching for a reasonable answer, which was not the one standing right in front of her. “Why does it say my name? ”
“You need to sign these down.” I said it wearing the tenderest voice I had, hoping it would soothe her, but it ended up only making her panic more real.
A close call bit Albert and I in the ass a few weeks ago. Mila could never even dream about it, but that fateful day put Albert on a mission to implant an itch underneath my skin, which had been consuming my peace for the past two months.
What happens to Mila if something happens to you? he petulantly asked.
My head went straight back to one year ago when Alexei left Mila with no choice but to marry that playboy, otherwise she’d be left for her own fate. The anxiety it caused her back then (1) always made me question if I really did the right thing by sparing Alexei’s life and (2) it was something I’d never wanted her to experience ever again.
I didn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, like a mad and starved man, I don’t think I’d settle with less than a dozen lifetimes beside her, but I knew I had to be prepared for any possible scenario. If death did us apart in the short term, she’d be the one to stay and I had to guarantee she wouldn’t have to worry about anything else than to move on.
Knowing Mila, she wouldn’t take my precautionary measures without a temper. But well, she knows who she married, such as all of the hazards of the profession, godammit. She’d have to concede.
“Ronan…” Tears turned to run down her cheeks and her voice begged, I couldn't say for what exactly. “Why- Why this now?”
“Mila, listen-”
“Why?” She pressed with tired eyes.
“No particular reason besides allowing me a full night of sleep.”
Resting her elbows above her knees, she looked at the papers on the centerpiece as if they were a battle she did not want to fight.
“You know, if something happens to you- this is the last thing I’ll be worrying about.” She said through new tears.
“I know.” I mimicked her posture and kept looking at her profile. “If- something happens to me, I want you to have options. Most assets are in the US and in Paris. It’s a big amount of money for you to start a new life, keep your career, move on, without having to worry about money. You’ll have the right to everything, even if… you decide to eventually get married again.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth and by the look on her face it was just as bitter for her to hear them. “Though, I can’t promise not to be back to haunt the shit out of your new husband for the rest of his days.” She didn’t crack a smile so I placed my hand on her thigh.
“You can’t make me.”
“No, I could’ve done better and just signed it as you.” Then I could add documentary forgery to my long list of offenses, not it’d make a difference among any popular jury. “But I wanted your compliance.”
She took a moment to digest the words she once used against me, then to understand this was more about me, than it was about her, and that’s what it took for her to indulge.
After she signed every single paperwork, we had dinner in silence, at least I had. Mila only nipped at the food and drank two glasses of wine. I bickered at her for it, being solemnly ignored. She was a self made multimillionaire now, was what I wanted to say to pester her patience, but I decided against it and kept the joke to myself.
By her blank face during dinner, what I wasn’t expecting happened later as we got to our room. As soon as I closed the door, Mila jumped into me pushing me against the wooden door and ravishing my mouth with hers. Her hands moved fast and skillfully to my back, removing the revolver from the back of my waistband, throwing it on the floor and then lifting my shirt off.
Usually I was the one who set the tone during sex, but I loved when she had no shame on showing this raw need for me. Getting rock hard, in a heartbeat, I wasn’t physically able to play the worried husband who needed to find out which place this was coming from, before just playing along.
She pulled me by my waistband towards our bed, without saying a word, mouth too busy against mine. Holding her by her throat, my fingers reach her nape and I pull her ponytail for her chin to go up, and I have free access to her neck. She starts making those sounds that always made my world tilt on its axis.
My fingers intertwined in her locks, my mouth on her neck, she ends up on her back, on our bed.
“If you die, I’ll dye my hair black and spend all of your money on saving sperm-whales from extinction.”
I took a moment to kick off my boots and stand up straight again. Looking down at her I curved to help her out of her jeans.
“Is this a threat?” I smirked at her and threw the piece of clothing on the floor.
“If you die-” She removed her sweater, standing only in her panties now. Her eyes on me from that angle kept my sanity at bay and told me I was walking on thin ice from now on. “If you die I’ll fuck the first man who comes along.”
Her words strike me like a chemical burn. I knew what this was, at least… I thought I did. Looking down at her, I smiled at the monster I had created, deciding to play along. She wanted to play dirty pool, so be it.
“Well, even by your low standard you’d have to run a mile, I can’t think of a man in Moscow who would have the guts to touch even above my casket.” I said darkly, stridding her hips to the edge of the bed and removing her last piece of clothing.
“It could be a homeless man from Kiev, I don’t care.”
“Too close, still. They know me in Kiev.” I taunted her, feeling her breath going shallow. “Tell me what else is in your Widower To-Do-list.” Her eyes didn’t leave mine as I came down on top of her, leaning my face over her breasts. I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth, wondering how many atrocities have gone through her head by now.
But I didn’t give her a chance to infuriate me even more, for her own good. I sucked on her tits in slow torture, while holding her down by her waist, my mouth stridded down, passing thorough her low belly, she lets out a little growl in frustration when I decide to bite her inner thighs before getting to where she wanted me to be. Well, not always we could have what we wanted, when we wanted it.
“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” I said tightening my grip on her thighs, I could already smell her wet and so sweet.
“If you die I’ll bring the homeless man to Moscow, and let him fuck me again on top of your grave.” She said between her teeth. I could no longer properly see her face, but there was something rising in her voice, I still couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Morbid. Even for me, kotyonok.” I say through my teeth, drunk in her game, high on the adrenaline the growing tension provided.
I nest my face between her legs, starting out with her clit, stretching it into my mouth, going back in again and again, making her just as desperate as I was. Licking her up and down, swirling my tongue around over her nub, I got drunk on her scent and taste, like it was the first time. I never thought I’d enjoy eating someone out as much as I enjoy doing her.
I curve my arm under her thigh and grip it for support as I feed off her. Her back arches off the bed when I flick her with my tongue, and she finally lets out a restraind moan. I keep doing that until she’s panting so fast I know she’s ready to come apart and when I feel her stomach start to shake, I stop.
“I’m waiting, Mila.” I threatened her against her pussy, edging her to torture. She lets out a frustrated little growl and takes a deep breath, not willing to give in.
She lifted her torso by leaning her elbows on the mattress, then looked straight into my eyes, her face carrying some sort of mockery I only got to decipher as she opened her mouth.
“Does Nadia do women?” She challenged me, lowering the bar even more, as if it was possible.
I went up to stare at her face to face, wearing a not-so-nice smile. Her cheeks were rosy with the alcohol and the near orgasm. Her features didn’t falter and I was struck with the beautiful perk face she had on. Staring at her during sex always made me feel the hardest I have been in my life, this wasn’t any different.
“Ty tak trakhayesh'sya pryamo seychas.” I barked intelligibly, placing my left hand to her face and sticking to fingers inside her mouth. She conceded like the good girl she is and I felt intoxicated with her warmth radiating all over me.
“Yeshche ne.” She said arrogantly. If this was her baiting me, fuck if, it worked.
I positioned myself between her legs while she sucked on my fingers like a starved woman. I lifted her knees to her waist with my free hand, and ripped my fingers off her mouth taking it below her waist, between her legs. She gasped a short breath when she felt my index and middle finger poking her ass, and then entering her completely.
I took a moment to kiss her, swallowing her whimpers and taking my other hand to her clit, rubbing it gently. The first time we’ve done it she was the one to ask for it and I managed to get her off in less than five minutes, which obviously drove me insane, but this time I wanted it to last a little longer.
Nestling between her legs I bent her knees even higher while she ran her nails down my back. Slipping my hand under her, and turning to pump my fingers inside her, as I gripped her knees up and pressed our bodies together, the universe gravitating around us.
“Yesli ya umru, ty smozhesh' iskat' po vsemu miru, Mila.” I whispered menacingly against her ear. “No nikto ne budet trakhat' tebya tak, kak ya.” Her breath shakes and a smile plays on her lips, just as thunderous as mine.
I dive down quickly and snatch up a nipple between my teeth again. She gasps and spreads her legs wide, and the tip of my cock finds the wet heat of her tight cunt like a fucking magnet.
Reaching down, I hold her eyes as I fit my tip at her entrance, my fingers still deep in her ass, and then I grab hold of her hip and thrust inside of her, immediately overcome with the feel of her and my body shaking.
She arches her neck back and closes her eyes, moaning, and her breasts bounce with the movement “Fuck…” she cries. “Ronan...”
“I know, baby. No need to worry, you won't have to fuck anyone else… I’m not going anywhere.” I thrust again and she clutches my waist to hang on as I pick up the pace quickly, feeling her tighter than usual with my fingers on a side task, sinking deeper inside her and mesmerized by her body underneath me. I dip down, sucking on her breast as she moans and whimpers.
Coming back up, I kiss her mouth, and she does that thing where she licks my tongue, and I’m spiraling. I breathe out, thrusting faster and working harder with my fingers, until the only thing I hear is our bodies coming together. Her moans fill the room, growing louder, and I kiss her, muffling the noise as she comes apart again, her cunt tightening around my cock as she loses it just as I do.
Getting off her completely, I grab her by the waist with both hands now, placing the tip of my cock on her back entrance. I enter her in a swift stroke, her walls rail me like a tight fist and it’s fucking insane, like all of the times we’ve done this. Mila moans loud and her head falls at the side of the bed, too close to the bedside table. I quickly grab the bottle of lube in the drawer before whipping it away, sending it toppling over, lamp, the revolver and everything crashing onto the floor.
I took the bottle and squirted it on my hands where our bodies met. I wanted her to feel me the following day, I knew she enjoyed a little bit of pain, but going dry the whole way through it just wouldn’t do.
“Mila, relax.” I whispered against her ear, entering her again, more smoothly this time. She whimpered, while kissing me, when my hand went instinctively to her clit, where I worked on riling her up.
I always got caught up in my madness when I was inside her. I couldn’t even tell the next day the words that left my mouth, but it always seemed to lure her into diving into it with me.
“Don’t stop,” she pants. “Don’t- I’m gonna come.” I press my forehead to hers, both of us damn near hyperventilating as I thrust over and over again, trying to think of anything that won’t make me come, but she feels too good, and I’m too fucking lost.
She cried my name again and again, driving me fucking insane, leading from heaven to hell in a split of a second. My muscles burned, my head spinned, but I didn’t break pace. I promised her I’d stay, but if I fucking died right now, this was how I want to go out.
She moaned again, her voice rasped from the use, her body tensed and her breathing shaking. She falls silent and then… throws her head back and cries out. I kiss her hard, seeing her come again is enough to send me over the edge. I thrust hard, squeezing my eyes shut and spilling, diving deep inside her again and again as the orgasm wracks through my body and exhaustion and euphoria set in at the same time.
White hot heat streams from my thighs, and my cock pulses, and everything about her is pure bliss. I come down, resting my elbows on either side of her head and smooth the hair away from her face. She gazes up at me, her face flushed and shiny with a light layer of sweat.
“Fuck you.” She barked in a whisper, tiredly bumping her palm onto my shoulder. “Fuck you if you think your money would solve everything.” Something vulnerable emerged and I instinctively pulled her to my chest. “It fucking wouldn’t. I would never move on.” She wept on my shoulder.
I could not say a word as I soothed her to our bathroom, as I helped her shower and then get dressed. I could not utter a single word because what ran inside my chest was overwhelming enough for my brain to code into sentences.
But it was actually really simple: I understood her agony better than anyone else. Mila couldn’t picture a life without me, just like it was humanly impossible for me to comprehend how I had dragged myself around for so long without missing something. Missing everything, for fuck sake.
She slept soundly against my chest, and I thought of all the things we would do in a lifetime together. The life we’d build to make up for all of the dragging and the wandering around lies.
Notes:
Ronan Markov's traits rank:
#1 husband (NEW)
#2 sarcasm (=)
#3 mobster (-2)
#4 alexei's worst nightmare (+1)
#5 shooting coach (NEW)
#6 villainy (=)
Lokiismybae on Chapter 1 Fri 03 Jan 2025 05:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Esther Hernandez (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 06:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Dangerous_Bunny on Chapter 2 Mon 06 Mar 2023 08:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
opheliababy on Chapter 2 Fri 24 Mar 2023 08:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lina (Guest) on Chapter 2 Wed 19 Apr 2023 04:28AM UTC
Comment Actions
opheliababy on Chapter 2 Sat 20 Jan 2024 07:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
ifitsnotnowwhen on Chapter 2 Wed 03 May 2023 08:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
opheliababy on Chapter 2 Sat 20 Jan 2024 07:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kisa (Guest) on Chapter 2 Wed 13 Nov 2024 10:06AM UTC
Comment Actions