Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“Where’s Mikailo?” I study my surroundings, searching for the big oaf. “I’m surprised he’s not shadowing you.”
“He’d never agree to hurting Yaroslav. Unfortunately, he can be emotional, caring, and loving toward a father who never gave two fucks about us. I spiked his drink during the wedding. That way, he’ll sleep peacefully instead of interfering.”
“And when he wakes up?”
“I’ll remind him about the man who left his mother to freeze to death in the slums.”
“And if that doesn’t convince him?”
“It will. Leave Mikailo to me as I know how to deal with him best. He’s my brother before he’s Yaroslav’s son.”
I can trust that. They were always close. As close as Alya and me.
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I have.”
I jut my chin in Dad’s direction, who’s still mumbling and swaying in his chair. “You do realize his loyalists will be at your throat like hyenas, right?”
“Not quite.” Lukas grabs a long rod from the table, running his fingers over the metal. “I swayed about half of the leaders to my side.”
“While I’m all for the coup d’état attempts, the other half still exists.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. The other half will never fully follow me since a bastard will always be a bastard in their eyes, but with you as co-leader, we’ll have both legitimacy and fear on our side.” He stands taller. “I’m offering you a deal—rule together and cut the old man out for good.”
“That other half you talk about contains some traditionals like my father who’ll never accept me anyway, because I plan to spend the rest of my life with the man I love.”
He raises a brow.
“If you have objections to that, I’ll walk out right now and leave you fighting rebellions for the rest of your reign.”
“I have no particular objections. I was already aware of your extracurricular activities, and it changes nothing.”
“No?”
“No. You can just kill them, Yulian. Throw away the trash, do a house cleanup. We need that anyway when changing leadership.”
I smile. “I like the way you think.”
“Everyone does.” His lips twitch a bit, then he removes the duct tape from Dad’s mouth. “Any last words, Yaroslav?”
He spits blood on the ground at Lukas’s feet. “No one will accept the son of a whore and a faggot.”
Lukas snarls, but he smooths it into an evil smile. “Guess you won’t be around to see your legacy taken over by us.”
“You know.” I walk toward my father, pulling out my gun. “I used to think being beaten by you on the regular was my fault. That I was doing something wrong by just existing and being a disappointment to you. So I wanted to prove myself. I bled more, trained harder, broke my bones over and over, hoping you’d look at me as a son instead of a mistake. But you never did, and somewhere along the way, I stopped caring. And now, I realize it’s not me, it’s you. It’s always been you and your closed-up thinking and lack of paternal care. You fathered four children but were never a father, and I believe it’s time to end the nightmare for all of us.” I lift the gun, my hand surprisingly steady. “Goodbye, Yaroslav.”
And then I pull the trigger.
The bullet sinks into his forehead, the crack reverberating through the dungeon and rattling my ears.
I wait for anguish. Regret. Guilt. Instead, there’s nothing but relief.
The burden I’ve carried for years peels away as his dead eyes glaze into the void.
I’m finally…free.
38
VAUGHN
I’m losing my mind.
My thoughts.
My control.
They all seem to have disappeared the moment I read Yulian’s letter.
He abandoned me.
Those are the words that keep playing at the back of my mind—that Yulian left me, that I lost him to someone else.
I’ve had those same fleeting thoughts about him over the years, mostly around the anniversary of the time we spent in the cave. Or sometimes, when I was lying in bed awake beside Danika, just scrolling through the images he posted on social media. I imagined what it’d feel like if I heard Yulian was engaged or was getting married.
The thought of him walking down the aisle with someone else always left me in a sour mood.
But that was before I met him again, touched him again, had him so far under my skin and inside me—literally and figuratively—that I haven’t been able to breathe properly.
Ever since I read that letter, I feel like a fireball has been sitting on my chest, suffocating me.
If he says his vows to someone else, I won’t just lose him, I’ll lose myself, too.
I tap my fingers on the phone as the car rolls through the streets of Chicago.
“Go faster,” I tell the driver, my heart caught in my throat.
Since my uncles gave Yulian their private jet, I had to fly commercial to Moscow, where Uncle Anton’s second private jet picked me up.