Chapter Thirty
Maron
Maurice bursts into the room.
His bloodshot eyes are wild and his clothes are in disarray. His shirt hangs open, revealing his hairy chest and beer gut. Even his hair is in a goddamn mess.
It’s clear he drank his ass off.
With an unsteady sway, he makes his way through the crowd, his sneer oozing with spite as he takes in the scenery before him. A mix of irritation and pity surges in me. I want to punch him square in the nose, grab him by the balls, and toss him out of my mansion. But I can’t. I can’t fuck up my reputation in front of my guests. Not to mention that Mindy is also here. She still stands on stage, visibly shocked and confused at what Maurice is doing here.
Blyad.
This is not how I wanted Mindy to find out that her fucked-up ex-boyfriend is my own flesh and blood. A disturbing memory flashes through my mind - the naked photos she had willingly sent to Maurice. Well, she was going to. She ended up sending them to me, instead. Were those photos really meant to a screwup like my brother? How the fuck did she even put up with him for so long?
A tense silence falls over the crowd. Some exchange uneasy glances and some take a step back, creating an empty space around Maurice and me. In the corner, Pavel's eyes narrow in assessment. The once lively atmosphere has become suffocating. I grimace, trying to keep my composure in front of my guests.
When Maurice sees me, he stumbles his way over to me, his eyes glazed. "Maron, my man!" he exclaims, his voice too loud and his breath reeking of whiskey. "Happy fucking birthday, bro!" He scans the guests. "Is everyone having a good time at my brother's party?" he asks.
"Maurice," I bark. My voice comes out cold and measured. "I don't remember sending you an invitation."
He just laughs, like he heard a bad joke. It is a harsh, grating sound that sets my teeth on edge. "What do you mean, bro?" he’s slurring, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "I would never miss your big day. What kind of brother would I be if I did that?"
I shrug off his arm, my patience wearing thin. "The kind who knows when he's not welcome."
Maurice just grins, seemingly unfazed by my tone. "Aww, don't be like that, Maron," he says, his words come out accompanied by a disgusting burp. For a moment I think he’s going to throw up. "I’ve only come to celebrate with you. Why is that so wrong?"
There’s still an uncomfortable silence in the room. Only a few people exchange words in the back, probably talking about the unfolding drama. I don’t know if I should feel embarrassed or angry as everyone stares at my drunken half-brother. What I do know is that the dining hall is full of my business associates and prominent people from the Bratva. And I cannot let this fuck up my reputation.
So, I remain calm and turn to Maurice, placing a hand on his arm. "Let's step outside and talk for a moment."
But Maurice isn't having it. He yanks his arm out of my hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Maron," he barks. He looks around the room, his eyes landing on Timofey. "So, you invited Timofey but not me? You having a good time, Timo?"
Timofey shifts uncomfortably, his face contorting with what I recognize as disdain. He probably wants to slap Maurice as much as I do, but he’s trying to act civilized. "Maurice, go and clear your head," he says quietly, trying to diffuse the situation. "You're obviously drunk."
Maurice's eyes narrow and a bitter laugh escapes his lips. "Drunk? Yeah, I had a few alright," he spits out. "You wanna know why? Cause I just visited your mother."
"How does visiting her make you drunk?" I inject.
Maurice shuts his eyes and lets all of his alcohol-induced feelings rise to the surface when he speaks, "She’s… Fuck, Maron, I can’t bear the state she's in. She gets on your nerves, man! She asked about Cordelia at least fifty times while I was with her." He turns back to Timofey. "And you, Timo? Why aren't you with her? Maron said you're her main carer."
There is some motion in the room now. People either had enough of the drama or they’re preparing to leave. I take the opportunity to step forward, grabbing Maurice by the arm. “Alright, that’s enough, Maurice. You need to leave while I’m asking you nicely.”
But he’s still not having it. He pushes himself away from me, his eyes wild and unfocused. "Fuck you, Maron. Stop touching me, man. Why you… why do you wanna…" Suddenly, his body tenses as he looks in the direction of the stage. He staggers towards it, his expression a little clearer than it was just seconds ago. Mindy still stands there, her face a mask of shock and confusion. Her eyes dart to Maurice, then back to me, and I can tell by the way she’s staring at me that she's connecting the dots.
Maurice stumbles towards the stage, shaking his head in disbelief. "So, this is why you didn’t want me here Maron," he slurs, glaring at Mindy. His words are dripping with bitterness. "You took my woman."
Blyad.
So much for having a civilized party.
Leave it to Maurice to fuck things up.
My patience is wearing thin. I know I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I meet with my associates in the office next week. I also owe Mindy an explanation for what is happening. I just hope she’ll still want to talk to me after this.
But before any of that, I need to take care of my idiot brother before he causes more problems. I move closer to Maurice, speaking in a calm and measured tone. "Be careful, brother. You're walking on thin ice here."
But of course, Maurice is not someone you just reason with. Especially not when he’s drunk. In a moment, he turns into the manchild he is, and lunges towards Mindy. His hands are stretched out, his face contorted with rage and hurt. I react instantly, moving on pure instinct. In a flash, I'm between them like a human shield, protecting Mindy from my brother’s drunken fury.
I’ve had it with him. Until now, I’ve been trying to handle this in a civil manner, but enough is enough. I grab Maurice's arm with a grip like iron, my fingers digging into his flesh. He yelps in pain, but I don't loosen my hold.
"Enough," I snarl, my voice cutting through the air like a whip crack. The room falls deathly silent again. Even the guests who started to leave turn back to see what is happening. "You have crossed a line, Maurice," I growl. Without a moment of hesitation, I seize his collar, twisting the fabric until it tightens around his throat. He gasps, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"What the fuck… the fuck are you doing, Maron?" He wheezes, clawing at my hands, trying to break free. But I'm immovable, a force of nature he can't hope to overcome.
"You’re coming with me, dear brother," I declare, my tone brooking no argument. I forcefully guide him towards the door, my grip never wavering despite his struggle.
Maurice resists every step of the way, his feet dragging on the floor as he tries to plant himself. "Leave me alone, Maron," he stammers.
As we near the exit, he suddenly finds a burst of strength, wrenching his arm free from my grasp. Before I can react, he whirls around, his eyes locked on Mindy once more. The look on his face is pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You're fucking my brother, huh?" he jeers, his voice dripping with disgust. "Didn't take you long to find someone after you left me, did it you fucking slut?"
The room erupts into a flurry of shocked gasps and hushed whispers. Eyes dart between Maurice, Mindy, and me. Timofey stands frozen, shaking his head, his champagne glass suspended halfway to his lips. Mindy recoils as if she's been slapped, her eyes full of hurt and disbelief.
As for me, I see red. A surge of white-hot anger courses through me, pumping hot blood into my veins. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to not lash out at Maurice and shove my fist into his face repeatedly till it’s unrecognizable.
But I know I would regret that later. I’ll be sure to teach him a lesson in manners, but not while others can see us. Instead, I nod to Timofey, who understands me in an instant. He steps forward to open one of the side doors while I take Maurice by the arm, pushing him out with force. "Leave me alone, you piece of shit! What kind of brother are you?" he shouts at me, squirming and wiggling under my grip. But I’m not taking any more of his shit. I carry his drunk ass through the side door and shut it behind us.
As the heavy door clicks shut and the sounds of the party fade, we are left in a tense silence. The hallway we’re in feels claustrophobic. I take a deep breath to compose myself, but I know my eyes are still blazing with fury. Maurice leans against the wall and for a moment, we just stare at each other.
"If you weren't my brother, I would have broken your arm in front of everyone, you fucking idiot," I snarl. "The very reason I didn't invite you is that I didn't want to cause you pain. I was going to tell you everything later, you asshole."
Maurice laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "Tell me what? That you're fucking my woman?"
I take a deep breath in an attempt to center myself. Blyad! I should tell him everything that’s happened since I accidentally received those photos, then kick him out of my company, my life, and whoop his alcoholic ass. But I’m a better man than that. My life is all about strategy and control, and I’m not about to lose my shit now. Besides, Maurice is responsible for the Shirkov deal and I want his focus there. He doesn’t have to know about Mindy and me, at least not yet. So, I decide to choose my words carefully.
"She’s not your woman anymore. She does whatever the fuck she wants," is all I say. My voice is calmer now, but my jaw is still clenched tight.
“You fucking piece of-”
"Maurice, look at me.” I cut him off before he says something stupid and things spiral out of control again. “Mindy… she’s my chief accountant at Global Media. And she happens to be a good singer. The fact that she performed for us tonight has nothing to do with you."
But Maurice isn't listening. He can't. He's too drunk and impulsive. "Bullshit!" he spits, his words slurring together. "You’re fucking her, aren’t you? You took her away from me, just like you took everything else!"
"Took away what? You never had anything to begin with," I snap. "As for Mindy, you broke up with her from what I hear. Besides, I always wanted the best for you, no matter how much of an asshole you've become. I thought you were getting your life together, but look at you! You're fucking it all up again."
Maurice laughs, a bitter, broken sound that cuts to the core. "What do you care, Maron, huh?" he asks, his voice dripping with venom. "You have everything you want. The power, the money, and now, you have the girl. And what do I have? Nothing. I'm just a fucking joke to you, aren't I? The screw-up brother who can't do anything right."
My first instinct is to tell him that what he’s saying is as accurate as it gets, but choose to be wiser. Giving in to my anger wouldn’t get us anywhere. "That's not true, Maurice.” I reach out to place my hand on his shoulder. “You're my brother, and I care about you. That’s why I put you in charge of the organ trade business. That’s where your focus should be right now."
“No!” Maurice jerks away from my touch. His eyes are still glassy, wild, and unfocused. "Fuck you, Maron!" He spits. "I don't need your fucking pity. I don't need anything from you. You're dead to me, you hear me? Dead!" He turns and stumbles down the hallway towards the exit.
Well, shit.
So much for my plans to handle this without causing more drama.
I inhale and rub my eyes as I try to center myself. It fucks me that Maurice’s bullshit still gets to me. Even after all these years. Family has always been important to me and I know have a soft spot for him because of that. That’s why I keep bailing him out of his own shit. But he’s not making it easy for me. I know I have to go back inside to face my guests and the fallout from his childish outburst. And worst of all, I know I have to face Mindy. That is if she’s still here. But even if she is, she’s probably going to give me a hard time for not telling her that Maurice and I are related. Or worse, she’ll never want to see me again.
Calm down, dolboyob.
She signed the contract.
She’s not going anywhere.
I exhale a deep breath, fix my suit, and steady myself to go back inside to face whatever awaits me there. But when I finally push open the door, I’m greeted by an eerie silence. My guests are nowhere, and the place has turned into a fucking ghost town.
The only person in the room is Mindy. She is hunched over in a chair, looking lost and sad as she stares at her feet. The aftermath of the party lies on the floor between us - half-empty cups, crumpled napkins, one lonely balloon hanging on for dear life – a stark reminder of the disaster the night has turned into.
Mindy looks up at me, but no words come out of her mouth. Instead, she’s scrutinizing me with an expression I can’t read. But as I stand there, I understand one thing.
I have a lot of explaining to do.