Chapter Ten
Maron
I lean back in my office chair and survey the representatives of the streaming company I just acquired.
"Gentlemen," I say, "It’s been a pleasure doing business with you."
The lead negotiator, a sharp-suited man named David Wells, nods in response. "I have to admit, Mr. Korolev, you and your team drove a hard bargain. But I believe this deal will be beneficial for both of our companies."
I chuckle, reaching for the signed contract on the table. The guy is a typical office rat in a suite, spilling out politically correct corporate shit. I know this world in and out and I can navigate it well. So, I meet him where he is and respond in the same ridiculous manner, just to piss him off a little.
"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Wells. The acquisition of your streaming service is a major coup for Global Media. With your exclusive content and subscriber base, we're poised to dominate the industry." I tell him, placing extra emphasis on the word ‘acquisition’.
David Wells sets down his pen and stares at me with a fake smile. I can tell that he can barely contain his frustration. It’s obvious that he’s not happy that I bought his precious little business, but I couldn’t care less. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Korolev. I have no doubt that our streaming service will thrive under the Global Media umbrella."
What he really means is that he doesn’t want to be my bitch, but unfortunately for him, there’s nothing he can do about it.
We stand up and firmly shake hands. I can feel the tension in the room but it’s not my problem. I’m only here for this meeting. My appointed CEO will take care of the rest.
"Welcome to the Global Media family, Mr. Wells," I tell him, just to grind his gears a little.
It's a good day to be Maron Korolev, I think to myself as I close the door behind Wells and his associates. I walk up to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey, watching the golden liquid engulf the ice cubes. I take a sip, savoring the smooth burn as it slides down my throat. The whiskey is a celebration, a toast to another successful deal, another feather in my cap. But as I settle into my chair, the weight of the empty room seems to press in on me.
Despite my achievements, my loneliness is tangible. The money, the power, the success - it all feels hollow without someone to share it with. I've sacrificed a lot to get where I am and built this empire with blood and sweat. But what good is it if I have no one to enjoy it with?
I take another sip of whiskey, listening to the ice cubes clink against the glass. The sound echoes in the silence of the room. I always took pride in my independence, in my ability to stand alone at the top. But now, a part of me is starting to wonder if was all worth it. What good is a billion-dollar empire if you’re alone in it? What’s the point of all this power if you’re too scared to let anyone in?
Scared?
Don’t be a pussy, Korolev.
Eva’s pregnancy story comes to mind, but I’m confident it is just a ploy on her part. Sure, we may have been careless a few times, but I never spilled cum inside her. And for the most part, we used protection.
But then again, a part of me wonders if I’ll ever be called "Dad" again. Probably not. That ship has sailed when my daughter, Cordelia, died. She would be a teenager if she was alive today.
I close my eyes, letting the whiskey burn away the edges of my newfound solitude. My mind wanders to Mindy, and the dayI saw her in New York High, sitting there with that guy. God, I wanted to punch that prick in the face, just for being alive. A surge of jealousy hits me. Mindy is mine.
Mine?
What the fuck, Korolev?
She betrayed you, remember?
And that thing with her has been over for seven fucking years!
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It is maddening to think that there is a woman walking this Earth who could linger in my mind for so long. One who can manage to creep into my every thought, and who stirs long-forgotten feelings within me. One who has my cock throb with desire every fucking morning and has me jerking off just thinking about her.
Maybe it’s time to reach out to her.
What?
No fucking way, mudak!
Every time you’ve done that, it ended up in some fucking disaster.
Instinctively, I reach for my phone and call Pavel. "Come to my office, bratok ."
Less than two minutes later, the door opens and my second-in-command’s head appears. "What’s going on, boss?" he mutters, closing the door behind him. His haggard appearance immediately catches my attention.
"You look like shit, Pavel," I tell him bluntly. I’m not in the mood for diplomacy. "Something bothering you?"
Pavel lets out a heavy sigh. "Natalia’s in hospital, boss."
Pavel got married to a woman named Natalia about five years ago. They had an old-school Bratva wedding and a party to follow, with lots of traditional Russian music and barrels of alcohol. We were at it the whole weekend, drinking vodka and smoking cigars like brothers, playing cards, and swapping war stories from the old days.
"Your wife’s in hospital?" I ask. "You never mentioned she was sick."
"Her health hasn’t been great lately, but it didn’t look like anything serious. Then, she fainted a few days ago. Some sort of autoimmune disease. They say she’ll have to be on steroids for fuck knows how long."
" Pizdets. Zhal’ slyshat’, bratok. " I gape at him in shock, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What do you need, Pavel? Anything."
He shakes his head. "Leave it, boss. She’s getting good care. Hopefully, she’ll pull through." His voice cracks a little.
I look him over, and in a moment of realization, I see Pavel as a broken man. His face is lined with concern, his hair looks thinner, and I could swear he lost weight. He seems to have shrunk, somehow. I can tell he’s very far from his best shape. He has been my loyal friend and right-hand man for nearly two decades and I know him too well.
I rise from my chair and head to the safe, pulling out a hefty wad of cash. "Take this, bratan . Private healthcare ain’t cheap."
Pavel looks at me dumbfounded. "You already pay me a shitload, boss. It’s not like I’m living on breadcrumbs."
" Zamolchi , Pavel," I insist, thrusting the money into his hand. "Shut the fuck up and take it. And tell me if you need help with anything."
Pavel throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Spasibo, pakhan ." He pockets the cash. "Let me tell you something personal, then," he adds.
"Personal?" I ask, surprised by the sudden change of topic. Pavel doesn’t talk to me about personal matters unless it’s something important.
"You heard me." He’s intently keeping his eyes on me.
I stare at him for a second then nod. "Go on."
"You've been sour lately, boss. Not yourself."
I take a sip of my whiskey. "Just dealing with some shit, Pavel. Eva and I separated, and then I ran into Mindy."
Pavel stares at me. "Mindy? Your old chief accountant? Where?"
"New York High. She was there on a date."
Pavel frowns, his disapproval evident on his face. "I thought you were done with her, boss. That was a long fucking time ago."
I shake my head. "Not that simple, Pavel."
"How is it not simple?" Pavel gestures with his arms. "You kicked her out because she betrayed you, remember? You need a good woman by your side. It’s not like you’re getting any younger, boss. If you keep this up, you’ll die as a miserable old man loaded with cash."
If I didn’t know Pavel for a fucking lifetime, I would punch him in the face for his comment. But deep down, I know he’s right. He knows me just as well as I know him and I fucking hate that he can see through me.
"You’ll be by my deathbed, mudak ." I grumble "I can get rid of any woman, but not you."
He smirks. "You got that right, boss. But don’t try to change the subject. What’s going on?"
"What do you want me to say?" I grumble, taking another sip of my whiskey. "That I thought I had Mindy once, but I fucked it up?"
" You fucked it up? I thought she did, boss," Pavel corrects me. "Or Maurice."
The mention of Maurice’s name makes me clench my jaw. I haven’t seen that idiot for seven years and I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead. Went fucking AWOL on all of us. If I know him well, he’s probably dead, face down in a ditch somewhere. Whatever the case, the memory of my half-brother still fucking stings.
I fall into silence. Pavel stares at me for a while, then walks closer and gives me a friendly pat on the back. "Only you can know what’s best for you, pakhan . But if you do, I suggest you go after it. Because one day you’ll wake up lying on your deathbed wishing you did."
I remain silent. I just continue to sip my whiskey without uttering a single word. But there’s a fucking war brewing inside me and Pavel knows it. He’s known me since we were teenagers and I know I can’t hide my deepest darkest shit from him.
Pavel finishes his drink and gives me a side-eye. "Well, I better get going and check on the wife at the hospital." He pats his pocket where he put the cash. "Thanks for the bonus, boss. Means a lot," he says, shutting the door behind him and leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
Shortly after Pavel leaves, I decide to call it a day. I’ve been feeling distracted since morning and I know there’s no point in staying at the office when my focus is off. So, I exit the building, hop into my Escalade, and make a spontaneous decision to go to the closest Walmart to pick up a few things.
Shopping is a mundane task, and it is usually taken care of by my housekeepers. But for whatever reason, today is different. Today, I want to get out of my usual environment. I want to feel like a normal person, for once. An average Joe, just buying shit at Walmart. I’m always either the Bratva boss, the owner of Global Media, or someone’s worst nightmare. Maron Korolev is anything but average. Except for today. I don’t know what the fuck is happening in my head, but I can’t be bothered to push it down right now.
At Walmart, I’m strolling through the aisles with the biggest fucking trolley I could find. I grab the fanciest drinks, luxury foods, and top-notch produce like I'm some kind of kingpin. As I look at my overflowing cart, I wonder who the fuck am I going to share all this with.
Driven by instinct, I pull out my phone to call my brother, Timofey, and ask him if he or my mother needs anything.
"What do you want?" he answers the phone.
"Wow, real friendly greeting there," I reply sarcastically.
"Not in the mood for formalities, bratok . I just saw Mom and she asked me the same fucking question 527 times."
"Speaking of Mom. Do you or her need anything from Walmart?"
"Are you in Walmart? What the fuck are you doing there, Maron?"
"Ever heard of grocery shopping?" I ask, gritting my teeth, knowing what’s coming my way.
"Grocery shopping? You?" Timofey bursts out laughing, not even trying to hide his amusement.
"Very fucking funny, Timo." I roll my eyes. "You can answer my question as soon as you’re done cackling like a hyena."
"Alright, alright," Timofey says, catching his breath. "Get Mom some ice cream. Lots of it. And I need vodka. Even more."
I smirk. "Consider it done."
Despite acting like a dick, Timofey is not wrong. I don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing pushing a cart around Walmart, but here we are. Maron Korolev, Bratva boss, billionaire company owner and investor, grabbing ice cream, fresh fruit, veggies, and vodka at Walmart. It feels strange. Like I’ve been domesticated or something. But somehow, it also feels right. The thought of getting something from a supermarket for the people I care about feels… right.
Suddenly, Willow Heights Elementary comes to mind. The little public school I decided to sponsor a while ago. After a lifetime of dubious shit, I figured it was time to give something back. And a struggling elementary school that is short on funds seemed like a sensible option.
What the fuck do kids like nowadays?
After some contemplation, I pick up three large boxes and start filling them with anything I can get my hands on - food, drinks, books, stationary, you name it. By the time I’m done, there is a heap of stuff in each box. I'll take the boxes to the school later and get Mrs. West, the principal, to distribute them among the children who need them the most.
Once finished, I make my way to stand in line at the checkout. After waiting for my turn for about five minutes, I begin to feel my impatience surge. How the fuck do people do this every day? How do they work their jobs, raise their children, and do chores like food shopping? After another few minutes of waiting in a line that does not move, I decide to switch to a shorter one.
As I round the corner toward another checkout, something makes me stop in my tracks. My eyes go wide and I freeze, my body going stiff as a statue.
There, standing at the register, stands the woman I jerk off to every morning.
Mindy fucking Williams.
My heart starts hammering in my chest. The sound of it is so ridiculously loud that I’m sure the whole store can hear it. I just stand there like an idiot, unable to take my eyes off her, drinking in the sight of her.
Bozhe moy.
She looks fucking incredible.
Like she hasn’t aged a bit.
Despite her good looks, I can see exhaustion etched into her face. There's no trace of the glam make-up she had on the other night at New York High. This is Mindy Williams on a weekday, stripped down, raw, and real.
And sitting in her shopping cart, with her back to me, is a little girl. She can't be more than five or six years old. From this angle, I can’t see her face. All I can see is her long, golden hair, cascading down her back. The kid’s swinging her legs, her little sneakers tapping against the metal of the cart. She’s wearing a purple backpack with some cartoon character I don’t recognize.
As I watch, the girl turns her head slightly, giving me a glimpse of her profile. There’s something familiar about the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek, but I can’t quite place it. Then, she says something to Mindy, and I strain to hear her voice, but it’s inaudible in the busy store. Mindy leans down, listening intently, then nods, and grabs a chocolate bar from the checkout display. The little girl’s whole body seems to light up with excitement.
Who is this child? Where did she come from? Surely, she can’t be Mindy’s. I remember her struggles with fertility, the pain in her eyes when she talked about it. Did she adopt? Or maybe she found a way to have a kid after all?
My eyes drift down to Mindy’s hands. There’s no ring on her finger. Right. Not married. I don’t know why the fuck that makes me inexplicably happy.
But then again, having no ring doesn’t mean anything these days. For all I know, she could be happily settled down with some guy, raising this kid together. A guy I feel like I want to kill, all of a sudden.
Chert voz’mi, mudak!
I push aside the thought and focus on the child instead. She seems happy, well cared for. Mindy always had a nurturing side. I always thought she’d make a good mother. Until she broke my trust by betraying me.
But as I watch her interact with the little girl, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. Something important. The way the girl’s hair falls, the shape of her hands as she reaches for the chocolate… it somehow seems familiar.
I shake my head, trying to snap out of my wandering thoughts. It’s just a kid, maybe not even Mindy’s. Maybe a niece or a friend’s daughter. It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s none of my business. But even as I tell myself that, I can’t stop the flood of questions and the what-ifs from crowding my mind.
Mindy doesn’t see me. She’s too focused on paying for her groceries. For a moment, I’m gripped by the urge to go over there, to say something, anything. But what the fuck would I say to her?
"Hey, remember me? The guy who got shot just after he kicked you out of his party?"
Yeah, that’d go over well.
I just stay where I am, watching them from a distance like some kind of creep. I can’t help it, though. Seeing Mindy, seeing this kid… It stirs up feelings I thought I’d buried a long time ago.
By the time I finish paying for my own groceries, they’re gone. Vanished into the parking lot like ghosts. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I load my bags into the car, my mind still racing.
That’s enough, Korolev.
You can pull your shit together any moment now.
Snapping myself back into reality, I start the engine. But even as I pull out of the parking lot, I find myself glancing in the rearview mirror, searching for a glimpse of them. Just for a second, just to make sure they’re real.
They’re nowhere to be seen. Just like always, just like everything else in my fucked-up life. Here one minute, gone the next.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. The image of Mindy and that little girl burns in my mind, refusing to fade. It’s like a splinter under my skin, irritating, and impossible to ignore.
Who is that kid?
The question echoes in my head over and over. I try to push it down, but it keeps coming back, insistent and nagging. There was something about her, something I can’t put my finger on. The way she moved, the shape of her face… It all seemed vaguely familiar, like some half-forgotten dream.
And Mindy… Christ, seeing her like that, all natural and unguarded… it hit me harder than I expected. She looked tired, yeah, but there was something else too. A softness, a contentment I don’t remember seeing in her before. Is she happy? Does she ever think about me? About what we had? And that kid… is she hers? If so, is she raising her alone, or is there someone else in the picture?
The thought of Mindy building a family with another man, living the life we once talked about… it twists something inside me. It is a mixture of jealousy and regret that tastes bitter in my mouth.
Pizdets!
What the fuck are you doing, dickhead?
This is ancient history. Mindy and I, we’re done. Have been for years. I made my choices; she made hers. There’s no going back.
But even as I tell myself this, I know it’s bullshit. Seeing her twice within such a short period of time, it’s like someone ripped open an old wound. All those feelings I thought I’d buried, all those what-ifs and could-have-beens… they’re all rushing back, as fresh and as raw as they were seven years ago.
Blyad!
I slam my hand against the steering wheel, allowing my frustration to boil over. Fuck the past, fuck the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. I have a future to focus on, a new path to carve out for myself. I can’t let myself get caught up in some old shit from the past. I won't.
But as I drive home, glancing at the city lights blur past my windows, I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted. That seeing Mindy and that little girl has set something in motion.
Something I might not be able to stop.