21. The Ring and the ChainsMila
Twenty One
The Ring and the Chains
Mila
T he next morning, I sit at the breakfast table, picking at a plate of cut-up fruit. Layla sits beside me, her hands clasped in her lap like she’s praying for this meal to end. Across from us, our father devours his food like a man at his last feast, his expensive suit smeared with butter and jam. Bits of egg cling to his lapel.
“Eat well, ladies!” he bellows, his mouth half-full, raising a whiskey bottle to his lips. “Might be the last time you see a spread like this.” He gestures at the table with a wide sweep of his hand, nearly knocking over the pitcher of orange juice.
I chew slowly, stomach turning. The way his laughter bounces off the walls feels unhinged, like he’s on the verge of another breakdown. His eyes glint with insanity.
Ana enters with more trays, her face terrified as she sets down pies and pastries. Before she can leave, his good hand darts out to smack her ass. “Maybe I’ll get to enjoy you too before I can’t afford you anymore,” he slurs, laughing as Ana jerks away with her cheeks flaming.
My fork clatters against my plate. My entire body recoils, a shudder ripping through me. God. Poor Ana. She hurries out of the room without a word. I wish I could disappear with her.
“Why aren’t you eating?” he roars suddenly. “I spent good money on this food! Eat, damn it!”
Layla flinches and I freeze as his hand wraps around the neck of the whiskey bottle. He hurls it against the wall with a crash, shards of glass raining to the floor. His empty plate follows, shattering into jagged pieces that scatter across the hardwood.
I’ve had enough. I push my chair back, rising to leave.
“Did I say you were excused?” His voice booms across the room.
I stop and look at him, dead in the eyes. “I don’t care.”
“You fucking—”
The venom in his tone is cut short by another voice, one that I have come to know too well.
“You better not finish that fucking sentence,” Rafael hisses. He steps into the dining room, his presence swallowing the space whole. His eyes are locked on my father, unyielding, unrelenting. “Unless you want your tongue laid out on that table in front of you.”
Father flinches. He pretends he wasn’t startled. Rafael looks amused, his lips twitching into a crooked smile. He saunters toward the table, his boots heavy against the floor, and pulls out a chair. Turning it backward, he straddles it, resting his arms across the top. His eyes land on me first, scorching, before he shifts his focus to my father.
“You just let yourself into my home?” father sneers.
Rafael chuckles as he twists his neck, the sound of it cracking making me flinch. “Your home?” he muses. “You and I both know there’s nothing here I can’t get. Nothing here that isn’t already mine.” His gaze flicks back to me.
“Any guards you bring in? Already on my payroll. Fire them, rehire them—it doesn’t matter. They answer to me.” Rafael leans back slightly, his eyes sweeping the room with calculated disdain. “And this mansion of yours? It’s not really to my taste, but maybe I’ll buy it off you. Lord knows you need the money.”
I shift in my seat, my stomach knotting. Layla reaches under the table and grabs my hand.
“Fuck you,” my father snaps, slamming his fist against the table.
Rafael doesn’t even blink. He just tilts his head and glances at the offending hand. “How’s that hand, Milos?” he asks, deceptively calm. “You want the same thing to happen to the other?”
My father freezes, the color draining from his face. His anger vibrates through him, barely restrained, but he doesn’t answer.
For a moment, the room is silent except for the faint ticking of the clock. Then my father, ever incapable of holding his tongue, spits, “You know what, Rafael? Every time I see your face, I’m reminded that my decision all those years ago was exactly what needed to be done. Too bad you didn’t die as well. Your father was a man who thought the world owed him everything, as though he had the right to control it all. I couldn’t let him keep climbing higher, couldn’t let him steal the throne that was meant for someone else. You’re no different from the man I put down. ”
The air is sucked from the room. Layla’s grip on my hand tightens painfully, and I can barely hear over the blood roaring in my ears. It hits me suddenly—my father’s actions, his hatred. He was jealous of Rafael’s father, scared of his power. And now, standing in front of Rafael, I realize he’s just like him. If anything, he’s more dangerous. The fear my father had all those years ago? It’s alive again.
Rafael stands slowly, the scrape of the chair against the floor sounding like a death knell. His eyes burn with something unholy.
I can’t move, can’t breathe. He grabs my father by the collar and hauls him from his seat. The first punch is loud, wet, and my father’s scream is muffled by the second. Then the third. And the fourth.
The sight of Rafael tearing my father apart doesn’t spark fear in me. A twisted, broken part of me finds satisfaction in it. Revenge, not just for him, but for me. For the things my father made me do. The things I never had the courage to confront him about.
Blood pools on the floor, bright and vivid, and I think, this is what justice feels like.
Rafael doesn’t stop until my father is barely conscious, bloodied and gasping. When he’s satisfied, or as close as Rafael ever gets to that, he grabs my father by the collar again and hauls him upright, shoving him back into his chair like he’s nothing more than a rag doll.
“Sit,” Rafael growls, devoid of mercy.
My father slumps into place, staring past Rafael at the wall, his chest heaving. But Rafael’s not done. “Look around, Milos. Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You’re destroyed. Not me. Not the Bratva. You. ” He straightens. “The only reason you even touched the Bratva was because you hid behind a little girl.”
My father’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t react. His hands tremble against the table, and his gaze stays fixed somewhere in the distance.
“You’re weak,” Rafael continues. “Spineless. A fucking parasite.”
Rafael walks to the sideboard like he owns the place, grabbing another bottle of whiskey. He unscrews the cap and pours himself a glass.
The room clings to his next words, every molecule in the air charged. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice a quiet hiss. “But I’m feeling… particularly kind today.”
Father’s lips part, but no sound comes out. Rafael swirls the whiskey in his glass, takes a sip, savoring it, before adding, “I may even be able to stop your… subsequent arrest.”
The word hangs in the air like a death sentence.
“Arrest?” my father croaks. “Arrest?” He looks around frantically, his panic bubbling over. His breathing turns erratic.
I bite my lip, tasting blood. I know the “but” coming next. I can feel it.
Rafael leans against the table, his expression mocking. “Mmh, you weren’t so smart with your bank transactions, let’s say. Some accounts may already be under investigation… for laundering.”
The blood drains from my father’s face. For the first time in years, decades maybe, he looks thoroughly defeated. Not angry, not brash, not full of empty bravado. Just… beaten.
Rafael watches him crumble, a slow, predatory smile curling on his lips. “Checkmate,” he murmurs, sipping the whiskey again.
“I can offer you that,” he continues casually. “I can stop the investigation. Keep you out of a cell.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Your daughter.”
Father’s laugh is sharp, bitter. “You’re already going to marry her.”
Rafael clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Not Layla.”
The room freezes. My father’s face flushes a deep, ugly red. Layla gasps, her hand flying to her chest. And me? It feels like the world has stopped spinning.
“What the actual fuck?” I blurt.
“No!” my father screeches. His face contorts in fury as he points at me. “She’s mine .”
The moment those words leave his mouth, the temperature in the room drops. Rafael’s entire demeanor changes. His glass clinks against the table as he sets it down with an eerie calm. He stands, looming over my father, and the menace in his voice is a dark promise.
“Don’t.” He spits. He steps closer, forcing my father back against the chair. “She’s not yours. Never been yours. And she will never be yours.”
They’re having a pissing contest over me while I’m right there . It’s not a conversation, it’s a bidding war, and I’m the fucking prize.
My father turns his head toward Layla. He points at her like she’s cattle. “She’s sufficient,” he says, his chin tilting toward her. “She’ll fit you perfectly. Leave Mila to me.”
Rafael doesn’t even glance her way. His hand lashes out, grabbing my father’s jaw in an iron grip. The sound of bones grinding fills the room as Rafael squeezes. My father gags.
“Let me make this very clear,” Rafael growls. His words are a guttural snarl. “I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to reclaim what’s always been mine, Milos. And you already know that, don’t you?”
Rafael’s grip tightens, and I swear I hear teeth crack. “It’s simple,” he continues. “I marry her—which, by the way, I don’t need your permission for. I’m just giving you the illusion of a choice.” He taunts. “Or… you go to jail. And I’ll take her anyway.”
My father’s silence stretches. Rafael tilts his head, feigning patience. “Tick-tock, Milos. Tick-tock.”
Finally, my father breaks. “She’s yours,” he heaves, the words torn from him.
Rafael releases his grip on him. He wipes his hands on a napkin, like my father was just a bug in his way.
I look at Rafael, and all I see is the embodiment of everything I’ve ever loathed and everything I can’t seem to let go of.
“Are you done?” I ask them.
No one answers.
I laugh, my chair scraping against the floor as I stand. “Good. Because hell no . I don’t want to marry you.”
His gaze burns through me, a possessive heat that makes my skin prickle. He doesn’t just exist in this space—he dominates it, like he’s carved out every corner to suit his will.
“Too bad. You’re mine.”
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms as my chest tightens with rage. He’s so damn sure of himself, so sure of me, like this is all inevitable. Like he’s already won.
“Get over yourself,” I snap. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you anymore, not after all this . Have some pride, Rafael. Get that through your thick skull.” I jab my finger against his temple.
He looks away, tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s barely holding back.
“Too bad for you, I don’t give a shit what you want. My ring is going on your finger, Mila. It doesn’t matter if you hate me or if you hate yourself for loving me. This is happening. You’re mine. You don’t get to act like we’re strangers, like what happened between us doesn’t matter.” He says. “You owe me. And now you’ll spend the rest of your life making it up to me. You thought if I marry your sister, you could just forget the past, forget all about me, didn’t you? This way, you won’t ever forget me, or what you’ve done to me. ”
“I hate you,” I hiss, my voice cracking. My hands grab his collar, yanking him closer, and I shout it louder, “I hate you so much!”
And he just stares at me, the bastard, so calm, so infuriatingly calm, like he’s soaking in my fury and thriving off it.
“Don’t scream too much, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine like a promise, a threat. “You’ll need your voice to say, ‘I do.’ ”
I want to laugh, cry, and scream all at once.