Chapter 52 #2
“Calling my cat Tricky Vicky makes her sound like some sort of cheap hooker,” I roar.
“You address her as Queen Victoria or Your Majesty! Do you fucking understand? Or even better, don’t talk about any of them ever!
” My voice is venomous. No one’s laughing anymore.
“You don’t say Avelina’s name. You don’t say the cat’s name.
Unless you want me to rip your fucking tongue out and feed it to the strays in the fucking neighborhood! ”
The other soldier gulps. “We could, um, snatch the oversized rat back for you, boss.”
He’s fucking insulting Queenie now. I don’t think. I move.
My blade is in my hand. And in a flash, I ram the blade into the bastard’s thigh.
He howls, collapsing with blood gushing around the hilt.
“Try it,” I growl. “And I’ll make sure you never fucking walk again.”
Grigory storms in, eyes flashing as he takes in the scene. “For fuck’s sake, Vik!”
“He fucking disrespected Avelina.” I blow out a breath through my nostrils. “And Queenie.”
“He’s gonna need stitches. Let him go!” Grigory orders. “And pull it fucking together.”
Stepping back, I release the man before yanking the blade free. The man screams again, and I let him.
“I’m telling you,” the other one mutters, “he’s really losing it. He’s demanding we address his cat as Your Majesty.”
Grigory grabs my shoulder. “You want to spiral? Fine. Do it on your own fucking time. But don’t drag the rest of us into your meltdown.”
I shake him off. But I hate that he’s right.
Later, I make my way to the ops room for the urgent meeting Grigory has called for everyone.
The others are already here. Grigory looks at us all. “You’re all required to participate in sensitivity training. Effective immediately. Clear whatever plans you had for this evening.”
Everyone stares at him, me included.
Some groan.
“You’re joking,” Matvey says.
“I don’t joke about this shit.”
“Sensitivity about what exactly?” Nikolai chimes in.
“Animal sensitivity training,” Grigory announces in a terse tone.
The room erupts.
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m not sitting through some slideshow about goddamn animals!”
“This is the Bratva, not the fucking Dr. Phil show!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Grigory snarls. “You’re doing it. I’m not having my men going on rampages and stabbing each other just because some of you don’t know how to engage your brain before you fucking speak.”
Soon, we’re watching a presentation on Respecting emotional support animals and their owners.
One slide reads: “Avoid comments that compare cats to pussy and other crude nicknames.” Nikolai shoots a scowl at me.
Another slide: “Refrain from comparing emotional support animals to oversized rodents, regardless of size, shape, or factual truth.”
As if any of this is going to make me feel better.
Because there’s only one thing that will ever make my world whole again. Having Avelina back and us being a family again. Avelina, me, Sofia, Leon, and Queenie. But it’s something that’s not going to be possible—ever.
And it’s all still too raw. Because it doesn’t matter how many rules Grigory makes or how careful the men are around me. What it comes down to at the end of the day is that Avelina’s not here. Queenie’s not here. The kids aren’t here.
And I’m not okay.
After an hour, the meeting finally ends, much to the relief of the other men. I find myself in the back stairwell. It’s quiet. Cool. Dim.
Perched on the stairs, I drag my hands through my hair and exhale.
I’m still at a fucking ten. My mind and body won’t stop racing.
Someone clears their throat.
I look up.
Grigory stares at me. He leans against the banister. “So, you’re done stabbing your way through our men, yeah?”
I don’t answer.
“You look like shit, Vik.”
“You said that yesterday as well.”
“And yet it’s still true. You wanna talk about this shit?”
I glare. “Do I look like I fucking want to talk?”
“No. You look like you want to go a few rounds with some drywall until your knuckles bleed.”
My eyes drift to my battered hands.
“Look, if you keep going this way, you’re going to end up broken.”
“I think I already am,” I murmur.
“Why?”
“She left.”
He quirks a brow. “Didn’t you say it was for the best? And you didn’t stop her.”
My shoulder slump. “I couldn’t. She…she’s such a good person. Happy. Sunshine.” The words feel like glass in my mouth. “I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
“Does it fucking matter?” I snap.
He studies me. “It does. Unless you plan on crawling into a fucking hole and staying there for the rest of your life. She didn’t leave, Vik. She asked you to go with her, right?”
My chest aches. “It wouldn’t work.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Avelina…never made me feel broken,” I tell him even though he must already know this. “She just met me where I was.”
“She wanted you,” he says simply.
I say nothing. Because deep down, I know I’m not enough.
“Maybe if you stop tearing yourself apart for five seconds, you’d see what she saw. What your brothers see.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You know where to find her if you want to.”
He passes by me on the stairs. Leaving me alone.
I hold my head in my hands.
Grigory is right. Logically, I understand that. But what I don’t understand is the emotions. They’re too much and don’t make sense. I feel lost. Unanchored.
But maybe Grigory’s not wrong. Maybe I’m not as hopeless as I thought.
I push from the stairs, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The scratch of stubble makes me pause. First things first, shave and shower.
I can continue to spiral out of control after I’ve done what I need to do.