𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 • 13 || ❝𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞❞

>𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 (𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞)

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𝐊 𝐑 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐈 𝐀 𝐍 • 𝐏 𝐄 𝐓 𝐑 𝐎 𝐕

Time has moved far too quickly; it's been just over a week since I found Mila vulnerable. In the meantime, I've been making calls, arranging pickups from Ireland and England which have caused my mind to be driven to exhaustion.

I've given Mila space, after finding her at her lowest I thought it was best to leave her be. No one wants to show their vulnerability, and Mila isn't the type to want to show it often. Straight after putting Mila to bed and waiting for her to fall asleep I went to speak to Erik regarding his conversation with Mila. It was obvious that was what caused her breakdown. Turns out, she knows what her father was really like, wanted her gone to pay her debts off. But what daughter would want to admit or believe that? Definitely not Mila. I'm aware she tried to kill me over it. But not knowing how she's doing it annoying me and putting me on edge, she's only been out of her room to get food when Polina hasn't offered her services. Other than that, I haven't seen her. She's been avoiding me too, probably embarrassed.

I stare out of the window in my office and watch as the rain plasters itself against the panes, the drops travel down with the speed of a formula race car without stopping.

"Boss?" I hear a knock emerge itself against the oak, I turn and find the door already slightly open and Elias' head poking through the gap. "I have information regarding the man who cut Mila." He passes me paperwork and clenches his jaw.

I pick the files up, flicking through each page. But the words come flying at me, drug trafficking, human trafficking, sexual assault. This man was definitely a part of a mafia. And I was about ready to find out who's.

"Where is he?" I say through gritted teeth, trying to hold myself together and not lose it in front of Elias. "Basement." And with that I allow Elias to go back to his post next to Mila's door and venture out to the basement.

There I see my victim already strapped to his chair, hustling his way to try and break the ties that bind him. "Why isn't this a nice surprise." I mutter, watching as his eyes bolt to mine and become consumed with horror. He's not sure why he's here I doubt, it was several years ago, but when Mila told me about her stabbing I was and still am furious.

"Lets begin with some simple questions, and if you play nice, I might let you go." The lie comes out too easily. He looks at me, already with a blood trail from his forehead to his eyebrow from when Elias picked him up from the street.

"Where are you from?" I start easy, these questions are ones I'll always get my answer from, because when they start begging for forgiveness their accent soon travels through my eardrums anyway.

He looks at me and gulps any saliva he had in his mouth down his throat, looking around to make sure it was just us. "Here, Russia."

"Now, who do you work for?" I question, knowing full well I won't receive an answer, or, perhaps I will, but it would be a lie.

"No one." He looks at me, but for some reason I think he's telling the truth.

"I live on the streets of Russia; I roam around Russia in hopes of finding a warm home. As you're fully aware, the Russian weather is rather cold."

"Okay, say I do believe you, who have you worked with in the past?" My eyebrow raises and my patience thins. I'm not getting anything out of this guy that is nearly useful.

He scoffs, "I know what game you're playing Kristian Petrov. I'm not stupid. I told you my life story now, you don't need to know about my past."

I ball up my fists until my knuckles whiten, I throw it against his face, watching the impact throw his face to the side and blood trail from his teeth. He spits on the floor and smirks at me.

"You think you're big now Petrov, but just you wait. A war will come and I can't wait to see a gravestone with your name on it." And with that I throw another punch to his face, watching him bleed out from his mouth is satisfying but he is really getting on my nerves.

I get down to his level, kneeling in front of him, staring at the bloody mess on his face, watching the crimson run down his nostril and rest on his upper lip. "Come at me with your warnings of war, it'll be your gravestone I'll be staring at and thanking for the notice on the day." I smirk at him, feeling proud of myself maybe a little too much.

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I decide enough is enough, it's been a few hours already and the fucker hasn't spoken. I grab a pair of large tweezers and insert them under his finger nail and hunt for a good grip. I hold onto the end and stare into the eyes of my victim. "Are you still not going to talk?" I enquire. I've already pulled two finger nails off and the blood is already beginning to dry.

The bruises are fresh on his face, he's on and off conscious. I want him to tell me what I need to know.

"No." He grits, bleeding from the gums.

I place the tweezers underneath another nail, hearing my victim wince gives me a chance to stare him down, raise my eyebrows and wait for the predictable word.

"Wait!" He exclaims on time. I remove the tweezers and sit down on the chair opposite him, waiting for him to talk. But, before he can he spits a pile of red blood on my clean floor and parts his lips ready to speak. "I worked for Mr Orlov." The conversation was getting confusing yet interesting, why would one of Orlov's men want to hurt his daughter? Wouldn't they know the power Orlov would have over his men and what he could've done if he found out?

"Orlov is dead." I look and find him smiling. There was no way Orlov was alive.

"Why did you hurt his daughter?" I enquire, waiting for his response. "She was simply getting too close; it was a warning."

"A warning?" I argue, "That she didn't know her father was a mobster and she was close to finding out, so you shut her up?" I growl, standing up rapidly; launching the chair against the wall watching as the oak shatters into multiple pieces. I grab a piece with a sharp end and stab it at the top of his leg. His scream erupts through my ear drums, not satisfying me in the slightest, I push hard, putting pressure on the piece of wood in his leg. "And what? He ordered you to do so?" I growl once more, receiving a nod from him. I force myself away, too angry to look at the man in front of me. Even if Orlov had been alive, I'd strangle him with my bear hands and gut him like a pig.

Without a second thought more, I lift my shirt and take out the gun that was hiding against my skin, full of coldness; waiting to be used. I raised it to his forehead and allowed the bullet to shoot out, it rings throughout the basement and creates an indent in the middle of my victim's head. I dial Leonid's phone number aggressively for his help.

In a couple of seconds, Leonid comes jogging down the stairs, he doesn't have to ask me what has happened or why I need his help. He looks down at the man in the chair with a bullet hole in his head, the blood flowing from the impacted area. "Burn the body." I demand, walking back up the stairs and leaving Leonid with my mess.

𝐌 𝐈 𝐋 𝐀 • 𝐎 𝐑 𝐋 𝐎 𝐕

The day has gone by in a flash. It's been a week since my embarrassing encounter with Kristian and I'm still in a bad mood over it. I continue to read the Russian dictionary while having a pair of earphones attached to my new phone, repeating the words back to me so I can hear the pronunciation. The pillow behind my suddenly becomes uncomfortable, I turn and puff the pillow back up and place my back against the soft material once again, feeling relaxed.

A sudden growl catches my attention, causing me to rip the earphones out of my ears. Elias is speaking to someone on the phone, mostly in English other than the swear words. I carefully unwrap the duvet from my legs and one by one take my legs out of the bed and place them on the fluffy carpet; making my way to the door ready to place my ear against it.

I push my ear against the door, holding it for support, hearing Elias laughing over what I can only assume Kristian. It turns out Kristian has beaten someone up so bad and has lost his shit with some guy in the basement, I want to say I heard a gunshot break out, but I'm probably making it up. No doubt Kristian's basement is sound-proof.

Suddenly, the door handle begins to rattle, making me jog back to bed and cover my legs with the duvet once again. I quickly pick up the Russian dictionary and pretend to read the page I have already read. The door opens and there Polina makes an entrance with a smile on her face, yet a hidden feeling of concern. "Afternoon Miss Orlov." She smiles and comes closer, placing a tray at the end of my bed. I stare down, noticing the steam come off the homemade chicken soup. "Thank you." She nods.

"How are you?" She asks with a worried tone. I sigh, I don't want to explain to anyone how I'm feeling. I feel like trash, I've just found out my father was a mobster and owed money to the Petrov's which was the reason why he probably got himself killed, meaning I'm stuck here for no reason and wanted to murder Kristian for nothing, I never would've believed that I would go against my father.

"Getting better." To everyone but Erik and Kristian's knowledge, I've been tucked away with an illness I've had for a week and unable to shake off. Little do they know I've been at war with myself and my feelings towards my father and where I now stand. "Good to hear." Polina stares at me with a genuine smile, but it is suddenly consumed with another questionable look. She didn't come here just to see if I was okay, there was another reason too, and that other reason was on the tip of her tongue but she was just struggling to get her words put in the open.

I waited for a few seconds but wasn't receiving anything else from her, and my patience was thinning, I decide to throw the question out there, unsure if I would dread the answer. "What else is it Polina?" She sighs and looks at me with sympathy.

"You're getting married in a week sweetheart, I think it's best if you start to get prepared." She looks at me, trying to figure out my thoughts and feelings. "Kristian will only do so much, he is a gentleman deep down, he won't take over entirely. He wants you to choose the main colour and your own wedding dress." The two things I never thought I'd have to do. Choose a main colour and a wedding dress. I keep my frustration to myself and begin to plan colours in my head.

"Thank you Polina, I'll let Kristian know when I've decided the main colour so he can choose everything else." I didn't care about choosing anything for the wedding, a few months ago I would've never believed I would have one. She nods and leaves, but reminds me to eat my soup before it gets cold.

With Polina gone it was a perfect opportunity to think about potential colours and wedding dress styles I'd like. But no matter what I'd find my mind going blank. Nothing but darkness and confusion. Maybe I should just call it a day at three o'clock and go to sleep and hope that I'll have more motivation tomorrow. And without a second thought I finish my soup, put all my Russian books away and tuck myself away into the bed I haven't left in a week to rest some more, before going back to some kind of normality tomorrow.

𝐊 𝐑 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐈 𝐀 𝐍 • 𝐏 𝐄 𝐓 𝐑 𝐎 𝐕

It's now Sunday and we have less than a week to prepare for a large wedding. I never thought I'd be doing this, I am a lone wolf and had no intention in finding a mate, let alone a wife. It didn't take much bribery for Polina to help me talk to Mila, I assumed by Mila staying in her room all week that she still wanted space, I didn't want to push her, even if I didn't like her. This morning I got a message from Mila saying she has chosen the colour green and she will get onto the dress choice. A twinge feeling pulls inside of my chest at the fact Nikita won't be there to watch Mila get married, even if it is fake. It was probably a dream of hers. But Mila will just have to go dress shopping with Elias. I have already let Mila know she must take Elias if she decides she wants to go dress shopping and with some annoyed replies she gave in. Elias on the other hand, couldn't care less.

I begin to send out the invitations to our wedding to a variety of different mafia families. Some have replied in excitement and some I don't receive a reply. it was obvious I'd earn a reply from Cian, he's more excited that Mila and myself put together.

I know it's the day time, but with all this wedding planning I know I won't be able to see Nikita until after the wedding. So, I get dressed in some trousers and a buttoned white top and make my way to my car. Thinking about large events even if it's on the TV, it always makes me think of my mother and sister, the large celebrations we will never experience together, us getting married, us having children, us growing old...We won't be able to see any of it. Well, I can see if happening with Nikita, but she can't see it happening with me. Especially down the line once Mila and I divorce and go our separate ways, I will never re-marry and the idea of having children has never entered my mind.

I get into the car and make my way to find the warehouse where Nikita does her art, today I find her on her phone, scrolling. She doesn't have a brush in her hands, or a pencil and worry soon flashes before me. Every time I've seen her, she's doing more art, even if it's a doodle. But she's not. I wait patiently to see if anything else happens, but it doesn't. She stays in the same place for half an hour before she moves to get a drink.

Watching Nikita gets me thinking about my future once again, well, not just mine but hers too. I won't ever meet her children or punch her husband in the face if he upsets her. My knuckles on the steering wheel begin to whiten with anger, I decide to shake the horrible feeling off and leave Nikita be. I'll see her once the wedding is over, and maybe she'll feel better.