An alliance that was doomed before it even began...
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They call her princess, but she was never looking for a prince charming. Good thing he's anything but.
Completely irresponsible, troublesome, and a liability, there's nothing remotely noble ab...
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"You know... your son isn't doing so well."
The implied threat echoes loudly in the warehouse, swallowing out the silence left behind by a stubborn man.
A blood-stained t-shirt clings to his frame as he remains restrained to the chair that's been bolted to the floor. Face set in a willful glare, he doesn't cower as my father lets the warning hang over his head.
"I could speed things up ya know..."
He comes to a stop right in front of Dmitry Antonov, with his intention clear in his gaze- to break the Russian Pakhan, both physically and mentally.
But is there anything left to break if he's already experienced his downfall?
"Put an end to his suffering sooner rather than later," my father muses menacingly. "Although, can't say you'll like my methods."
He tilts his head to the side, hard stare pinned to Dmitry. And as I look at him, I'm certain I can see what he's seeing. The red that's clouding his vision at the sight of the shameful man.
I'm not far behind. My fingers twitch. My teeth grind together. I imagine all of the ways I could personally make him and his useless offspring pay for the shitstorm they have caused
But this time restraint wins over rage. So I step back. I leave my father to continue speaking.
"Perhaps it's fitting, though," he continues on. "He's the one who tried to move those drugs, so he's the one paying for it."
That's what seems to crack Dmitry's exposure.
"What-" His mouth falls open in a silent gasp.
Mr. Antonov starts to shrink in his seat, shoulders slumping forward as the realization of what we know settles in.
The attempt to move the drugs didn't fit Dmitry's usual methods. At all.
It was sloppy, hurried, and the biggest give away of all was who went. Dmitry wouldn't do something so risky himself, nor would he send his son. Rather he'd leave the task to those of much lower rank and lesser importance. The disposables.
It didn't take long to put two and two together.
And by the way his eyes dart anxiously around the warehouse, it's clear this has increased his distress over his son's condition. And it seems to only get worse when he can't locate him with his eyes.
"I know how you work, Pakhan," my father spits out, using the term mockingly. "You wouldn't send your son to do that. I think he got a bit ahead of himself and didn't even tell you what he planned."
