Ivan's POV
"Fuck! Yes daddy! Oh God, Ivan! Это так приятно!" Lara screamed, gripping the sheets while I pounded into her.
"Not God, Lara!'' I laughed, pounding into her little pussy. "Ivan!''
"Yes! Oh fuck! That feels so good!'' She moaned. The walls of her pussy tightened around my shaft, her clit throbbed under my fingers. A second later, she exploded around my cock, coating me with her juices. I pulled out the second I was about to cum, grabbing a towel.
Lara remained on the bed, shaking and breathing heavy. I collapsed beside her, taking a moment to breathe. She snuggled up to me, laying her head on my chest before I pulled away.
"Let's cuddle.'' She mumbled.
"No strings, no affection. Just sex Lara.'' This has become a mantra. Two years after leaving my wife, I couldn't look at any other woman without thinking of her. Analise. She'd ruined me for everyone else.
I hoped in the shower, jaw clenched as I swallowed all my feelings. Fuck! I missed her. Everyday felt like I was drowning.
"It's safer this way.'' I remind myself. I step out of the shower, finding Lara gone. I let out a sigh, glad I don't have to kick her out.
An Hour Later
"Where is Mikhail?" I asked with a low, almost bored voice. I didn't need to shout. The room was quiet enough to hear the drip of blood hitting the floor.
The man in the chair was a mess now—broken nose, split lip, one eye swollen shut. He was barely breathing, but I didn't care. He could scream all he wanted. He'd talk eventually. They always did.
"I don't know," he coughed up blood. "I swear, I don't know where he is."
His defiance was almost impressive. Almost. I pulled out my phone, swiping to a photo. I held it up to his face. "Recognize him?"
The man's one good eye widened, and for the first time, I saw real fear. "No—please, don't. He's just a kid! He has nothing to do with this!"
I nodded to Viktor, my second in command standing in the corner like a shadow. He slipped out the door and returned a moment later, dragging the boy from the photo. He was young, maybe twenty, with wide eyes and a face pale as chalk. Viktor shoved him to his knees in front of his father.
"Now," I said, crouching down to meet the man's eye. "Let's try this again. Where is Mikhail?"
"I—I don't know! Please, I swear!"
I stood, pulling my gun from its holster. I pressed the barrel to the boy's temple. He cried. "Last chance. Where is Mikhail?"
The man broke. His face crumpled, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "Italy," he choked out. "He's in Italy. A safe house in the capital under his girlfriend's alias, guarded by mercenaries. That's all I know, I swear!"
I tilted my head, considering him. "See? That wasn't so hard." I lowered the gun slightly, and the boy let out a shaky breath. Then I pulled the trigger.
The shot rung through the room. The boy crumpled to the floor, dead. His father screamed, he thrashed against the ropes. I watched him for a moment, then raised the gun again.
"Око за око, предательство за предательство. Такова цена."* ( An eye for an eye, betrayal for betrayal, that's the price.''
I fired. The man's body jerked, then went still. The room fell silent except for the faint drip of blood pooling on the floor.
I turned to Viktor, who was already moving toward the bodies. *"Убери это,"* I said, holstering my gun. *Clean this up.*
He nodded, his face impassive. I walked out of the room, pulling off my gloves as I went. The smell of blood was still on me, but I was used to it.
My brother, Mikhail, had been running for too long. Hiding in Italy, thinking he was safe behind his mercenaries and his walls. But he'd forgotten one thing—I always find what I'm looking for. And when I do, there's no place far enough to hide.
I walk into my father's bedroom. He's lying on the bed, resting after his chemotherapy.
"I've found Mikail.''
"Good, Ivan. An eye for an eye son!'' My father answers while he sits up. His words bring back memories.
My brother was only 7 while I was 9. We'd gotten in a fight after he went into a room and started going through my things. We were children, fed up about kid stuff. When dad found us arguing, he dragged us down to the basement and threw us in the cage. There, we were forced to fight each other until one of us bled. It was the way we fixed disputes, fighting fair and square.
"Family is forever,'' My father used to say. "Never turn your back on your brother.''
Mikhail had broken the most important rule, because of it, he was now a pound of flesh awaiting death.
"Ivan, If I'd known what Mikhail was planning, If I'd known that he was lying, you hadn't fallen overboard like he said..''
"Father,'' I took his hand, reassuring him. "My brother's plans were his own. Every man who worked for him is dead. This filth ends with him. Worry not.''
He taps my hand, sitting up fully. His tone turns serious. "The council wants a new king, Ivan. That king is you.''
"I will rule and serve the syndicate. I'll protect the family business and carry on your legacy.''
"I have no doubt son, however, we must adhere to tradition.'' He said. I sighed, knowing exactly what he was referring to. "Ivan, you must marry.''
"NO!''
"The council and the entire underworld demands a family man. It's tradition. They won't let you ascend unless you have a wife.''
I fought the urge to scream ; 'Yes, I do have a wife.'
I was quiet, biting my tongue. The thought of marrying another woman irked me.
"The clans will not accept a bachelor as their king, Ivan." My father's voice grew harder. "You know our traditions. A king needs a queen."
"I said no." The word came out like venom.
"You don't understand the gravity of this situation." Father leaned forward in his bed, his illness-worn face darkening. "Mikhail may be a traitor, but he has a wife. The clans are already whispering. Some say perhaps he should lead, despite his betrayal. At least he understands family values."
The rage that surged through me nearly blinded me. My hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. "They would follow a snake who shot his own brother?"
"They would follow tradition." My father looked at me, "And right now, between a married traitor and an unmarried heir, tradition favors your brother."
The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, I spoke through gritted teeth. "Fine."
My father's face softened. "You'll marry?"
"Yes." The word tasted like ash. "Gather the profiles. The daughters of the prominent mafia families. I'll... choose."
"Thank you, son." He reached for my hand. "You've given an old man peace. I can die knowing our legacy is secure."
I left his room before he could see the storm in my eyes. The moment I closed my bedroom door, something inside me broke. My fist connected with the mahogany table, splintering wood and flesh. Blood dripped from my knuckles, but I barely felt it.
I slid down against the door, and for the first time in years, I let the tears come. They burned like acid, worse than my brother's bullet ever could. Analise. My Analise. Her smile, her touch, her love – all sacrificed to keep her safe. And now I had to drive the final nail into that coffin.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the empty room, to the ghost of her memory. "I'm so fucking sorry."
I pushed myself up, ignoring the blood trickling from my hand. It was time to choose a bride. Time to bury the last piece of the man who had loved a beautiful nurse and dreamed of a normal life.
This was the price of the crown. And I would pay it in full.