Chapter 17 - Avraam
The boardroom meeting has been dragging on all morning. It’s an important one, we have to discuss this, but I’m not in the mood for it at all.
It’s an intimate group of my closest men. Dex, Royce and three others who were present during the attack on the warehouse are sitting around a table, watching me, waiting for me to continue.
“So, we have nothing?” I huff in annoyance.
“We have no evidence,” Dex confirms. “Not linking the Kuznetsovs directly to the attack.”
Royce tilts his head back and lets out a frustrated growl. “It’s obviously them and that girl played a massive role in it,” he snaps.
“She says she has nothing to do with it,” I say, playing devil’s advocate.
“Well, she’s lying. And I know exactly how to make her speak. Let me take her. I’ll bring her to the warehouse dungeons, and I assure you that after an hour or two with me she will tell us everything we want to know.”
I glare at him in disbelief, “Torture? Are you telling me you want to torture, Ruslana?”
“Yes. I can do it this afternoon. The sooner, the better. I will go past the house and—“
“Not a fucking chance,” I growl darkly. “And if you ever fucking mention using violence towards her again, I will rip your eyes from their sockets and leave you to fend for yourself in the forest.”
The threat is not empty. If he even thinks about touching her, I will tear him apart.
Royce becomes rigid with tension—looking like he wants to argue—but Dex clears his throat loudly. “I think we all are just a little heightened at the moment. I am sure Royce didn’t mean he wanted to literally torture the girl. Right?” his voice is also filled with disbelief.
Royce folds his arms across his chest and pushes his lips together. “Yeah. No,” he says, not answering the question but backing down.
The space behind my eyes is starting to throb with the threat of a headache.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss for now or can we end this meeting?” I ask, ready to walk out of here. Royce has pissed me off more than he knows.
And I am annoyed with myself because even after what Ruslana did—I am still so protective over her.
I am the only one who will ever touch her. Royce—the idea of him being anywhere near her—it burns like a raging fire in me and I do want to tear him to shreds.
I can’t look at him anymore.
It’s not his fault, though. He was probably just trying to help solve this shitstorm.
I have no evidence that the Kuznetsovs were behind the attack but it’s the only thing that makes sense.
I have taken their sister and they are slowly acting out their revenge. Instead of just coming straight for her they are causing damage and draining my energy and resources.
“I think we can call it for today. There are some other things to talk about—but they aren’t important,” Dex says, looking over some notes on the table in front of him.
“Are you sure?” I sigh, getting ready to stand up.
“Yes.” He is good at reading people and he can see I’m past the point of patience or focus. It’s late and I want to head home.
The only problem is that she’s at home.
The girl who caught my attention captured me in so many unexpected ways, and then betrayed me.
I stand up, gathering my things. “Thanks, guys. I hope you all have a good evening.”
Walking out of the car, I find myself thinking about Ruslana. She was so adamant that she had nothing to do with the attack. She was determined to convince me that she was innocent.
At the time, I just pushed her away. Harshly. Very aggressively, actually.
I sigh as I climb into the car.
She said she couldn’t have been involved because I had her under such tight lockdown.
And the more I think about it, even though for the first few days following the incident I didn’t want to think about it at all—the more I do think about it—the more I realize she is right.
Who could she have spoken to?
No one has been in that house except her and I. She has no way of speaking to anyone outside. The entire internet and communication system inside the house shuts down when I leave. It was one of my security requirements. I took every precaution to make sure that she was unable to contact anyone.
I ring my hands around the steering wheel, flooded with guilt. The more I calm my mind towards her, the clearer the truth becomes.
I judged her instantly and harshly, because I was so upset in the moment. And I was completely unfair towards her.
What I did to her was actually disgusting.
I should never have treated her that way.
I was a complete savage. Brutal in some ways.
Shaking my head, I clench my jaw and swear at myself under my breath.
“You fucking idiot, Avraam.”
No wonder she moved back into the other room, even though it is cold and empty and more like a prison. I know she doesn’t have any good memories of that room. She hated it. She hates being alone.
No wonder she doesn’t want to be around me. I don’t blame her at all.
I have to make this right.
Pressing my foot harder against the accelerator, I hurry home.
All I want to do now is talk to her and make things right between us.
I push the front door open and walk inside. The house is quiet and feels cold and unwelcoming. She must be in her room. She has hardly come out of there since everything happened.
I dump my things on the kitchen counter and run upstairs, taking them two at a time because I’m so eager to get to her.
I rush into the room, barging through the closed door.
She jumps with fright, dropping her book on her lap where she is sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her.
“Ruslana, can we talk?” I ask, looking hopeful.
“Don’t you knock?” she snaps back at me. “I guess, you don’t have to knock—I’m not a guest. I’m a prisoner. I should do well to remember that.”
She turns her face away from me and back to her book which she opens and flips through until she finds the right page.
I watch her as she gets comfortable again and starts to read. Even though I know she’s not reading. Her shoulders are tense. Her jaw is clenched. Her eyes are filled with anger.
I walk further into the room. “Ruslana—I am so sorry for accusing you. I’ve had some time to think about everything. I know it wasn’t you. You weren’t involved in the attack.”
I’m right at the edge of the bed, but she is pretending like I don’t exist.
“Ruslana,” I sigh, feeling heavy and miserable. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you.”
“Ok,” she says, cold and empty. She flips the page.
“Can we talk about it? I—I know I hurt you—I just wanted to talk about it with you.”
“No.” The same cold tone.
I swallow hard.
She hates me.
She hates me for what I did. Especially considering that only an hour before I accused her, she gave me something very special. She let me take her. And afterwards I treated her like trash. I shoved her face so close to that dead man. I was so full of rage. And so stupid.
“Ruslana—“
“Please leave,” she blurts out, finally looking up at me and I can see the pain and anger in her eyes. Tears brimming just behind those beautiful bright green orbs.
I nod.
I can’t force her to forgive me.
I can’t make her listen any more than she could make me listen.
Walking out of the room I feel hollow and alone.
What can I do to make her see?
I rush downstairs and back out to my car.
I have to go somewhere.
I don’t care what it takes—I will show her how sorry I am.
The visit to the jeweler goes well. I get lucky because he has exactly what I am looking for.
After that, I stop and choose the most magnificent pink and purple bouquet of exotic flowers that I can find. Then I get chocolates, takeout, a bright pink hoodie, neon blue sneakers, a glittering, body-hugging, short dress—also bright pink—and a really cute little t-shirt that says princess.
I basically just walk around the mall and pick up anything that is as bright and colorful as she is, anything that reminds me of her, and anything I think she will love. I just want to put a smile on her face.
Back home, I wait until Ruslana is in the shower, then I sneak into her room and spread the gifts across her bed. Along with a note that I wrote myself. Before I slip it into the envelope, I read it one last time, just to make sure I said everything I wanted to say—
Dear Ruslana, my butterfly,
I don ’ t blame you for your anger—I know I’ve been a complete idiot. The way I treated you was unacceptable and while it was unforgivable—I hope you can find it in your heart to see past it and accept my most sincere apology. I am so sorry.
You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met. Your color, your heart, your glowing energy—you shine beautifully and to know that I am the one who dampened that shine is painful.
Please, forgive me.
I am downstairs with dinner—if you would like to join me.
I will tell you again and again that I was a fool, and I will ask you a hundred times to forgive me.
Yours,
Avraam.
I hope she even reads it.
Slipping it into the envelope I set it on the bed and place the gold butterfly pendant, set on a delicate gold chain, on top of it.
It’s beautiful. I knew right away that I wanted to get it for her.
I hear the water switching off and after glancing over the bed, looking at the gifts, I know that they are a shallow attempt to grab her attention—what I really need is for her to read the letter—and then talk to me.
But right now I have to get out of here.
I bolt out of the room, just as I hear her footsteps.
Downstairs, I wait in the dining room where I have set the table with takeout for dinner.
All I can do now is wait.
In the letter, I poured my heart out and I hope she sees that.
Twenty minutes go by I am so tense I can feel my muscles spasming.
Is she going to come down?
Did she even read the letter?
If she doesn’t I will try again. I won’t stop trying because she deserves that.
I sigh, resting my head in my hands, starting to accept that this time it didn’t work.
“Avraam?” her voice is gentle when she calls my name from the doorway. I look up so fast, my heart thundering with hope.
“Ruslana—“ She is wearing the butterfly pendant, and the bright pink hoodie, and the neon blue sneakers. She looks so cute, dressed up in bright colors.
But the most beautiful part of it all—is her smile.
I stand up and walk over to her.
She holds up the letter, her eyes locked with mine. I want to reach out and hug her, but I don’t want to push my luck too far.
“This,” she sighs, the smile softening.
“I am not very good and expressing myself—I just need you to know how sorry—“
Standing on her tiptoes, she presses her lips against mine, the kiss silencing my words.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her tight against my body. Holding her like this feels incredible.
This is all I want. This is everything I need.
We kiss slowly and tenderly for a long time.
I don’t even know how long passes before she pulls away from me.
“You don’t need to say anything more, Avraam. The letter—it was perfect. It was all that was needed. And this is—it’s so special. Thank you.” She lifts the butterfly pendant in her fingers.
“Do you like it?” I ask, feeling giddy and relieved, tension seeping from my shoulders as I stare into her eyes.
“I love it. You didn’t have to buy me all of these gifts though. Just the letter would have been—“
“But you look gorgeous.” I grin, tugging at the pink hoodie. “All of these colors—and that beautiful smile.” I pull her towards me again and kiss her, more passionately and with more force. The kiss is another letter. Another apology. I hope she can feel the words of my heart as I move my lips against hers.
I step away from her, taking her hand and leading her towards the table. “Are you hungry? Come eat with me. I’ve missed you.”
She hesitates, then nods and sits down.
I watch her, wondering if she has possibly not fully accepted my apology. “Are you ok? Is there something else you want to say to me? You can speak your heart, Ruslana. I will listen.”
Her eyes stare into mine. She is nervous.
I frown slightly, worried about what is going on.
“I need to ask you a favor,” she says, finally.
“Anything.”
“Can you please investigate the attack properly—find evidence—to be one hundred percent certain that it was my brothers that did this?”
I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. I know it was her brothers.
I have accepted that she played no part in it—but I know it was them.
But how can I say no to her?
She is filled with hope that they would not do such a thing. She loves them. They are her family. But that love is blinding her to the truth.
But if she needs evidence—then I will find it for her.
I nod, relenting to her, “I will investigate further, butterfly. I will find proof.”