Pakhan's Rose

by V. F. Mason

  Again, not once wincing, I dried myself and put on silky black pants, which were an inch too short for me. Alec smirked. “Too big, huh? Days are counted here.” Again, ignoring his remark, I was led barefoot toward some new room, but this time the blindfold was already pushed over my eyes. After what Damian pulled, they didn't take any chances.

  I rubbed the knife wound right beneath my heart, and for a hundredth time wished it had killed me. Some doctor John brought kept me alive. Truly, why the fuck did I deserve this shit? Unlike Damian, I didn't need revenge or anything else. My life literally had no purpose. For all I knew, my twin considered it a weakness, but I was so damn tired of fighting everyone.

  Or was my purpose to provide pleasure for sick men who got off on hurting children? I heard once about the word destiny. John kept telling me that some people have a specific destiny in life, what they were meant to do.

  Who the fuck needed their life, if the meaning of their existence in this world was for some dirty old men to use and abuse them?

  And just like that, I came to an important conclusion. I decided to finally end this fucking shit, and for once, not accept what John and the company had in store for me.

  The only way to be free of this destiny was to end my miserable, good-for-nothing life.

  Rosa

  Blinking few times in confusion, I still had no clue why Dominic had come in the first place or why he would leave so suddenly, by a window no less. I sat down on my bed and exhaled a calming breath.

  What the hell was going on tonight? Surprises kept popping up left and right, none of them pleasant. Just when I thought everything was going well with my relationships and school, karma had to step in and throw some shit in my face.

  Grabbing a tissue box from the nightstand, I blew my nose into one as my eyes roamed around my room, seeing things I hadn't seen before.

  Walls covered in pink paper with unicorns on them, dollhouses, and toys scattered in the corners, princess-like cupboards, and nightstands with various princesses stuck to them.

  White fluffy carpet still held stains from cherry juice I spilled on it years ago, and the purple washed-out curtains that shrank with each wash. The only difference in the room consisted of my queen-sized bed, which took up most of the place, and the wardrobe, which had built-in drawers with several mirrors. But besides that? Everything, down to small details, such as drawings on the wall, stayed the same as it was all those years ago when Mom was alive.

  To preserve her memory, he never let go of her, and with that, he couldn't accept the fact I grew up. My eyes landed on the framed picture where Mama held me in her arms laughing and tilting her head back, while I smeared cake all over my dad’s chin during my one-year birthday. Holding it in my hands, I ran my fingers softly over the glossy photo. And with clarity, I saw that to my dad I still stayed his little girl who needed protection all the time. That way he didn't have to acknowledge his greatest pain, losing my mother. At some point, he entwined our images so tight inside his head he couldn't see the difference between us. My disappearance only fueled his desperation.

  Sighing, I finished packing and changed into comfortable flats, jeans, and a white T-shirt. Sending a text to Lorenzo to wait for me downstairs, I picked up my biology book, grabbed the wheeled-luggage, and almost bumped chests with my dad at the stairway. He scanned my appearance, and his expression turned grim.

  “Let’s talk about this.”

  Shaking my head, I tried to bypass him, but he wouldn't budge from his fierce stance. “Dad, please, I’m not in the mood for an argument right now.” All my exhausted body wanted to do was fall on the bed in my apartment and sleep twelve uninterrupted hours.

  His lips flattened, as he replied angrily, “Too bad. All this shit Allegro said… it was just a possibility a long time ago and—” My dad just couldn't listen or measure when it was enough.

  Why did he even think he had the right to decide what was best for me?

  “And you are hell-bent on keeping old promises, aren't you?”

  His eyebrows came together, creating a deep line between them. “Nothing wrong in preserving traditions,” he replied.

  “Traditions? Or creating a museum of my life and yours in this house?” My voice turned distant and cold, while he narrowed his eyes and raised his chin.

  “Rosa—” But I didn't let him finish.

  “Dad, look around.” Waving my hand around at the portraits, cracked marble floor, and washed-out walls. “Mom has been gone for fifteen years, and you still refuse to change anything in here, down to pigeons in the garden.”

  Something flashed through him, as his face became unreadable. “Stop while you can, Rosa.”

  But it was too late to stop, wasn't it? My naivety allowed me to stay blind to the fact that Dad’s issues ran deeper than his desire to protect me from life and everyone around me. The belief that the situation with me taught him anything was stupid. You couldn't help a person until he or she wanted it too. We simply couldn't live together under one roof, no matter how much we tried.

  “Mom is dead, Dad.” He stepped back, as if I slapped him. “Has been for a long time. This desire to make a museum out of our lives? It’s not going to bring her back. You seeing me as this”—I took the photo out of my purse and raised it to his grief-stricken face—“will lead our relationship nowhere.” His jaw ticked as his fist clenched while he struggled for his legendary control, but it failed him. So without further delay, I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him tightly while he stood with his hands hanging low, not even moving to return it. “I love you, Daddy, but you have to let go. Otherwise, Mom won’t be the only person you lose.”

  He finally hugged me back, almost squeezing all the air from me, and whispered into my hair, “You are my princess, Rosalinda.” Closing my eyes, I soaked all the love from this moment, knowing it was a changing point in our relationship. No matter how much I loved him, how much he loved me, the nest that was his house became a prison for me, and I longed to fly away and find my own place in the world. Parental love was one of the most precious things in this life, but not when it suffocated you.

  “But I can’t be a Cosa Nostra princess anymore, Daddy,” I whispered back into his neck, while he froze, but then his heart started to beat rapidly as the impact of my statement settled in.

  “If he is what you want,” he said firmly, with an edge to his voice.

  Dominic inspired feelings inside me I couldn't describe: desire, protection, and safety… Was it possible to call it love? Probably not, but I understood deep into my soul no one would ever compare to him. So why resist it so much? Granted, my life was here, and I had my own dreams that I hoped to accomplish, but if anything, he proved he’d always stay by me and never rush me. How could I not trust him with my heart in this case?

  “He is.”

  He sighed in defeat, and with one last hug, he let go of me, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Lorenzo will take you?” After my nod, he picked up my luggage and circled his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go then.” While we strolled down, I noticed our lack of guests and raised my curious eyes to my dad. “I sent them home. Romeo pissed me off, and Allegro just doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut,” he answered grimly, and I chuckled, wholeheartedly agreeing with him.

  Once we reached the car, he palmed my face, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and murmured, “When you have a child, you’ll understand me, but remember one thing, Rosalinda. There will never be a time when you won’t be a Cosa Nostra princess.” Tears slid down my cheeks. He wiped them away and helped me inside the vehicle. He barked at Lorenzo, “Keep her safe. Your job still stays the same.” And with those words, he closed the door, and the car slowly rode through the narrow arch to the entrance.

  Lorenzo’s fingers kept switching the radio, clearly looking for some classical song, which my ears just couldn't take, when I blabbed, “Did you know people still think we are engaged and gonna have babies?”

  He paused, and th
en his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror as horror ran through them. “What?” he asked, his voice colored with anger. “Are those people trying to get me killed?”

  Frowning in confusion, I asked, “What do you mean?”

  He grinned, as he waved a hand toward Salvador, our gardener, as he opened the gates. “The pakhan will have me burned alive for this. So please keep that information from him.”

  Shit, that ship had sailed. “Yeah, about that…”

  My apologetic voice got his attention. He slowed down then looked over his shoulder at me. “Please tell me you didn't share this nonsense with him? He is going to fucking kill me!” Hitting the steering wheel with his fist, he added, “I have a girlfriend.”

  Laughing, I patted his shoulder. “Then we are on the same page, my friend.”

  Winking, he begged, “Just make sure to let your man know about it.” Resting my head on the window, my eyes closed as I slowly was lulled to sleep with the knowledge that I became independent, and that freedom loosened the tight knots inside me that had been there for far too long.

  Dominic

  The doors flew open as I barged inside the hospital, menace written all over my face, with Vitya and Michael hot on my heels.

  The nurse at reception greeted me with a hesitant smile, but I didn't even bother speaking to her on my way to the elevators. “Sir, you cannot go there before—”

  Not having patience for her shit, I said through my teeth, “Michael.” He nodded and went to her, probably showing IDs and explaining the purpose of our visit. Clicking a few times in frustration on the button, the elevator finally settled on the first floor, and I entered with Vitya barely making it inside. Pressing the fifth floor button, I desperately tried not to lose my shit, although rage threatened to explode through my every pore.

  “Dominic, calm down.”

  My reaction was instant. Grabbing Vitya by the neck, I slammed him hard against the wall. “Know your place.” No emotion passed through his face. “Stop telling me what to do.” I let go in time for the ding, so when the door opened, I flew outside, quickening my steps and finally reaching room 524.

  My hands clenched into fists as my eyes scanned the body lying on the bed. Machines attached to his mouth, heart, hands, fucking everything, beeped around him.

  Radmir’s head was wrapped in a white bandage. His chest rose and fell slightly, and a pulse indicator showed a slow but steady heartbeat. His face was yellow-green from all the beating. His chest had several knife wounds, while both his legs had casts.

  Dima called me with the news that Radmir had been beaten up and stabbed—almost to death. Fortunately, one of the guards saved his ass just in time. I couldn't believe the fucking words. Immediately, I flew to Houston in my private plane with Vitya and Michael, who put my plan with Rosa on hold as long as Anton had eyes on her, making sure my woman stayed safe.

  Spinning around, I came face-to-face with Dima and Vitya who stood outside waiting for me to speak. “Who did it? And how the fuck did this happen?” I addressed Dima, who winced.

  “Nobody knows. He just got back from isolation. Everything was fine during the day, but then last night, he was attacked by five inmates, and as hard as he fought, he was powerless against their knives and baseball bats.”

  Anger boiled like fucking lava through my veins. “Where the fuck were the guards? They had to have plenty of time to put him in this condition!”

  His expression turned grim, as his lips thinned. “Apparently, they didn't see shit through the surveillance camera, and when one of them passed by, that’s when it stopped.”

  “A setup,” Vitya stated, and Dima nodded. “No doubt about it. Someone wanted him dead.” They both shared a look then raised their eyes to me, and I didn't have to wonder what they were thinking.

  Killing him was a message for me. Someone was after the pakhan of the Bratva. “Any ideas?” I snapped, desire to avenge my friend running high. “I need names and now. Whoever is behind this is dead. And I’ll be the one pulling the trigger.” No one fucked with the Bratva, and sure as fuck, no one fucked with my sovietnik.

  Once again, they shared a fucking look, before Vitya carefully started, “Dominic—” However, he was interrupted by a female’s horrified gasp as she stood in front of Radmir’s bed with her hands covering her mouth as a single tear slid down her cheek. She was a brown-haired beauty with vivid blue eyes.

  Vivian Jackson in the flesh.

  How the hell did she slip inside? And why would she come in the first place? She betrayed him and us on that day she refused to acknowledge her connection to our man, and then married another son of a bitch.

  She gently ran her fingers over his forehead, but then quickly snatched them back as if it burned her. Exhaling a calming breath, her eyes met mine as determination filled them. Slowly walking toward us, she extended her hand with a vanilla-colored envelope to me. “You are Dominic Konstantinov, right?” she whispered, and at my nod, continued, “This… this will save his life.” She licked her dry lips. “Please use it.”

  Dima snorted, distaste written all over him. “Why should we believe you? You put him in prison in the first place.”

  She stepped back as though he slapped her. “What?” she asked in disbelief, but I didn't get the chance to study her confusion as a small child raced inside, screaming, “Mama, why are you crying?” The boy had to be around four years old, and my men were stunned speechless as he resembled Radmir, from his brown hair to his gray eyes. A mini version of him. It was one thing to know about his existence, and another to see him. Vitya kept tabs on the boy, making sure he was treated well.

  Vivian picked him up, hugged him close, and practically threw the envelope at me. “Use it. And never tell him about me.” With that, she darted outside, coming and going in a flash.

  “Well that was certainly interesting,” Vitya muttered, as Dima scanned the papers she gave me, and then he shook his head, as though he couldn't believe his own eyes. “It’s a statement.”

  “Statement?”

  “She basically provided him an alibi for the night the killing happened. With this, they will have no grounds for keeping him for long.” He immediately starting calling various places and arranging Radmir’s release.

  Despite being confused as fuck with Vivian’s sudden change of heart, or the fucking tears, I focused back on the current problem. “Who, Vitya?”

  He cleared his throat, and said, “Cosa Nostra, Dominic.”

  Don Giovanni sent his dogs to kill my sovietnik as a message for me not to touch his daughter? “He just declared war,” I replied calmly, all traces of me honoring our agreement gone. “All the people involved in the attack… I want them to suffer unbearable pain before suffocating them to death. Find suitable people for the job.” Vitya nodded, although his intense stare didn't escape me. He clearly didn't know how I would proceed with Don himself after Vitya, so many times, managed to calm down my temper to play by the rules.

  And where did it lead us? No-fucking-where.

  Killing Don wasn't an option, considering he was the father of the woman who belonged to me.

  But sure as fuck, he’d never see his daughter again as long as he fucking lived.

  Man with the dragon tattoo

  “Book plane tickets, first class, for Lorenzo and Rosa,” I ordered into the phone, holding it between my neck and shoulder while my hands adjusted various wires on the bombing device.

  “For when?”

  Glancing at the clock, I counted the hours it would take for the pakhan to get on board with all this, and said, “Tomorrow afternoon.” The puppy lapped at my foot, annoying the fuck out of me, so I kicked him hard, and he bounced against the wall, whimpering.

  Fucking hated those useless animals.

  “Will do, boss.” Not bothering to reply, I hung up then grabbed the snips and cut the yellow wire, burned the red one, and then stuck them together in an unbreakable bond. Once it was done, I scooted the chair back and searched for t
he damn puppy as he lay on his side, his paws covering his eyes. Wrapping my hand around its throat, I raised him to my face and smacked his muzzle hard while he tried once again to lick. “Be a good boy, doggie, and deliver my gift to Don.” Adjusting the red ribbon on his neck, I threw him inside the cage as I placed the bomb inside the small box, which would be attached to his belly.

  Satisfied with the results, I cracked my neck from side to side to relieve the tension and smiled widely, anticipation speeding through the blood in my veins.

  Placing the detonator beside the table, I stood, whistling. Euphoria shook my whole body as I imagined the deaths tomorrow would bring.

  Truly, life was nothing but endless bliss.

  “Kneel, toy,” Alfred ordered, already wearing his favorite sweatpants, or at least grey was the only color he wore. They hung low on his abdomen, and disgusting wrinkled skin with several tattoos was visible.

  When I was seven years old, he loved me to lick them or trace them with my tongue right before he’d slap me so hard my face would tilt to the side and my upper lip would split. He loved to taste my blood there as he mushed our mouths for a deep kiss, and slapped me even harder when I didn't know what he wanted from me.

  Then his rough fucking would begin.

  Eight years had passed and nothing had changed. Glancing to the side, I noticed the usual ropes, chains, and cuffs on the stool ready to be used on my abused flesh.

  Not again.

  Never again.

  For the first time in this life, I spoke without being asked to. “Can I take you in my mouth instead?” His brows lifted, but at the same time, a dark expression of hunger settled in his eyes as he licked his lips while his eyes trailed to my full ones. A fact I was aware of only because he had constantly repeated it through the years. “You want to do it all of a sudden?” he asked suspiciously, and I nodded eagerly, trying not to wince at the pleasant smile slowly spreading on his face. He sat down on the corner of the sofa, spread his legs, and motioned for me to start the thing he was looking forward to.