Chapter Twenty-Six
Maron
Earlier that day
I wake up with a painful erection.
I’m not even surprised by it anymore. In my dream, I was with Mindy, fucking her until we were both spent.
I breathe in deeply, my eyes still closed as I try to banish her image from my mind. It’s futile. Of course, it is. The memory of her perfect ass grinding against me, the sound of her moans, and the sweet taste of her cum on my tongue are all seared into my subconscious.
It’s the faint light by my bed that finally snaps me awake. I look to my right and realize it’s my phone. I had put it on silent for the night, so the only indication of the incoming call is the glowing screen.
I mutter a curse under my breath as I reach for the phone on the nightstand. "Hello?"
"Good morning, Mr. Korolev," Mrs. West’s voice greets me. "I apologize for calling so early, but I must delay our meeting by an hour. There was a pipe burst in the building overnight and I need time to handle the situation."
"No problem," I reply. "An hour later works for me."
I put the phone back on the nightstand and almost immediately drift back off to sleep. By the time my eyes open again and I look at the clock, it’s 10 AM.
Ublyudok!
I fucking overslept. That never happens to me. My head is still reeling from the dream I had about Mindy earlier. It feels real, every goddamn time.
I push myself up and sit on the edge of my bed for a while, trying to force my body awake. A cold shower is just what I need on a morning like this.
I step into the bathroom, turn on the tap, and let the icy water cascade over me for five minutes. Once I feel ready, I shut off the flow, dry myself, and head to my wardrobe to choose some fancy clothes. I want to look presentable for my discreet visit to Willow Heights today.
Today’s meeting with Mrs. West has a very specific agenda: to discuss plans to support Sharon Williams.
The whole thing is anonymous, of course. The idea is to set up a bank account with enough money to cover her school fees and her therapy sessions for her selective mutism. In return, Mrs. West will keep me updated on Sharon’s progress. While it isn’t strictly legal, it isn’t illegal either. Mrs. West has agreed to cooperate, and I’m going to make sure she gets compensated for her efforts.
I look at myself in the mirror and I’m pleased with what I see. I almost look like a billionaire philanthropist instead of a ruthless Bratva leader. Which suits me just fine.
As I head to the garage to get my car, there’s this strange feeling nagging at me, one I can’t seem to shake. It’s about Sharon. That little girl I saw on stage at the Willow Heights event last week. She triggered something in me, something I locked away a long time ago. I can’t name that feeling. All I know is that it’s intense, primal, and it comes from a place I didn’t even know existed anymore.
I can’t help but think that it has something to do with the daughter I lost: Cordelia. It’s more than just the physical resemblance between her and Sharon. She struggles with words almost the same way as Cordelia did.
Because of her Down Syndrome, it was tough for Cordelia to talk. I clearly remember the frustration in her eyes when she couldn’t get her point across. And when she did, it was like fireworks going off.
And then there’s Sharon with her selective mutism. I barely know who she is. I don’t even know who her parents are. All I know is that she is being raised by a single mother. But every time I think about her and the help she’s going to get from me, something warms in my chest. It’s like a shot at redemption for me. A chance to make a difference for a kid who needs it. Something I tried so fucking hard for my sweet Cordelia and failed.
I check my watch and freak out. Fuck, I’m running late! Mrs. West is waiting for me and I can’t keep her hanging.
I start my car and weave into traffic. But just as I’m about to merge onto the highway, it hits me - the fucking documents! How could I have forgotten? After my meeting with Mrs. West, I have a crucial appointment with a major distributor for Tramoxine, and those papers are essential to seal the deal.
Chert voz’mi, Korolev!
Head in the game, mudak!
I switch lanes and make a quick U-turn at the nearest junction. But as soon as I step into my office, my eyes are drawn to the cabinet door where I keep my documents - it’s wide open. Which is fucking strange because I always lock it tight.
Maybe you forgot to lock it last night.
You’re getting senile, dolboyob.
Unless I’m not. The instincts I honed back in my Bratva days are screaming at me. My entire body is alert, ready for a fight. Something feels off.
I slowly move forward, scanning the room like a predator assessing his domain. Everything looks normal, but I know it isn’t. I never leave my cabinet unlocked. Keeping my hand close to the gun hidden in my pants, I search the room for intruders.
There’s no one.
The room is empty.
Once I’m sure there’s nobody hiding in my office, I walk up to my cabinet and check the lock. It’s intact. Whoever opened it had access to it. Maybe I am getting senile after all.
"Kakogo cherta," I mutter under my breath.
I rummage through the cabinet, but everything appears to be in order. The files are neatly organized and undisturbed. Nothing is missing.
Fucking strange.
Relieved, I grab the documents I need and lock the cabinet, slapping the key back into my desk drawer. Time to focus on the main task for the day: meet Mrs. Westand set up an anonymous support fund Sharon Williams.
***
"What do you have in mind, Mr. Korolev?" Mrs. West addresses me in her office.
"I’d like to set up a support fund for Sharon. Off the record. It’s for her education. It will also cover any therapy she may need for her condition."
Mrs. West's expression remains neutral. "May I ask why you wish to support her?"
I hesitate. I guess I didn’t think this part through. What am I supposed to tell her? That Sharon reminds me of my late daughter, who passed away? Even I barely know why I want to help that little girl. Maybe it is just my fucked-up way of seeking redemption? Making up for all the terrible things I’ve done in my Bratva days?
"I was impressed by Sharon when I met her at the school event," I tell her. "I believe she has a lot of talent and potential. I want to make sure she has the support she needs to overcome her condition."
Now, that sounded a lot better.
Mrs. West smiles, but it’s obvious that she’s not buying it. It’s like she’s got x-ray vision for my bullshit. "Fine. You don’t have to share your reasons with me, Mr. Korolev," she says. "Whatever the case, this is very generous of you. Please email me the details of the account and I’ll set everything up for you." she glances at her watch, and I can tell she’s eager to wrap up the conversation. "I’m sorry, but I must go. The plumbers are still fixing the pipe and they are waiting for me outside. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Korolev?"
"Actually, there is. " I reply, feeling slightly uncomfortable with what I’m about to ask of her. "May I see Sharon for a minute? Just to say hello."
Mrs. West’s smile fades. "I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Korolev."
"Why not?"
"She’s not in school today. She is in hospital."
My internal alarm bells go off immediately. She’s in hospital? Why the fuck would she be in hospital? My immediate instinct is to rush to her side and I don’t know why the fuck I feel this way.
"Why is she in the hospital?" I ask.
Mrs. West looks down at her hands. "Mr. Korolev… I’m afraid I can’t give you any details. I’m sure you understand. And now, if you don’t mind-"
I feel my patience wearing thin. "Which hospital?" I snap, sounding more irritated than I had intended.
Mrs. West shifts uncomfortably, feeling the change of energy in the room. "Mr. Korolev, as I said, I can’t share any personal information about our students. "She nervously clasps her hands, "It’s a matter of confidentiality."
I clear my throat and try to keep my cool on the outside, but there’s a fucking storm raging inside me. "Perhaps we could bend those confidentiality rules," I growl.
Mrs. West’s eyes widen and she takes a step back. "I… what exactly do you mean, Mr. Korolev?"
"Mrs. West, I mean no harm," I say, softening my tone. I don’t want to give the old woman a heart attack, but I need her to tell me where Sharon is. "I just need to know which hospital Sharon is in," I pause. I reach into my pocket and place a wad of cash on the table in front her, making a show of it.
She stares at the stack of dollar bills and shakes her head. "No." She looks up at me. "No, Mr. Korolev. I’ve been in this career for almost forty years. I love this school and my job. I won’t stain it like this." She stands up and slides the wad of cash back to me. "Goodbye, Mr. Korolev."
As I meet her gaze, Mrs. West motions for me to exit. Fuming, I rise and storm out of her office. But just as I’m about to slam the door behind me, I feel a hand grip my arm. I turn around to see Mrs. West’s eyes locked onto mine. She holds out her hand, cradling a piece of paper in her palm. I stare at it, and the words stare back at me.
"St. Mary’s. Pediatric ward."
I take the slip of paper and hold Mrs. West’s gaze. "I don’t need your money, and I don’t need to know why you’re looking for Sharon, Mr. Korolev," she says, unwavering. "I trust your intentions are good. Just don’t do anything stupid."
Fucking jackpot.
I smirk and tuck the piece of paper into my pocket as I exit Mrs. West’s office, striding down the school corridor. I don’t know why, but I’m fucking ready to tear across town to find Sharon.
I jump in my car and shut my eyes for a second. What the fuck am I doing? And why? I don’t know the answer and it’s sure as shit I’m not going to figure it out now. All I know is that I would regret it for the rest of my life if I refused to do what my gut is telling me.
I must see Sharon.
Whatever it takes.