𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

Where's My Love - SYLM

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Khalid Ayad

"Read it." 

She loosens her hold on the papers and throws them all over the table as if they're not priceless pieces of family history, older than even I am.

She has no idea of the importance of what I'm teaching her. Aside from myself, she'd be the only person in the world with the right knowledge to read my grandfather's Arabic scripture.

But one day she will understand. It's what connects us.

Right now, she looks fed up with it, sprawled over the garden sofa, her eyes anywhere but the paper. "What did I do to deserve this punishment?"

My informant waits by the door, watching in bewilderment as I attempt to bargain with my granddaughter who's not only got my eyes but my attitude. "Reading is a privilege."

"To those in prison." She's been reading for ten minutes and has spent nine of those minutes complaining.

I give a light shake to my head and suppress a laugh. She's got my humor and I can't be mad at it. "If I was your age and mouthing off to my elders like you are, I'd be sent to live with the wild dogs outside the gates."

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't argue, she does however mutter a curse under her breath. For the sake of my own sanity, I pretend not to hear it.

I leave her in the garden and head to the guesthouse. It's rare for us to have guests come uninvited, no one is foolish enough to be so disrespectful.

Except for them.

When I enter the living room and spot the familiar figure, it soon makes sense.

She's here once again. This time, the man she's with doesn't look like her husband.

"Mr. Ayad." She greets me with a nod, her tone respectable.

I return it, after all, my people are taught to be polite, my grand-daughter seems to be the only exception. "Miss. Kozlova."

When I look to her companion, he merely nods. She clarifies. "This is Arturo Moretto. A friend," when she glances at him, a smile forms on her face. Much like all else it's cold. "And a perspective business partner."

I'd turned her down the last two times, but like I'd learned of the Russians, persistency ran in her royal blood. Luckily, it ran in mine aswell. "I'm not interested."

I do however take interest in this Arturo Moretto character. I knew very little about him. I'd heard his name, and knew he ran the small Italian business alongside that Italian idiot my daughter's convinced she's in love with.

He has no business here, with a Russian for that matter. Especially not one who's begun a war between them.

"I have a new proposal this time." She steps forward, I heave a sigh.

I have no clear idea of what this woman wants with me of all people. I don't involve myself in the business of crime outside of what I've already tied myself to.

What she brings is trouble. The kind of evil I don't want for myself or my family.

"The power in monarchy is dying off." She helps herself to the dried fruits placed atop the table, and speaks as though we're in a mutual understanding. "Soon, our family names will mean nothing to our countries. That is unless we have something to offer or reign over."

The most dangerous people are the ones hungry for power. It's like an all consuming drug that blurs any and every line. All of which they'd cross to get more of.

"And as one dying royal to another, I have a way to keep our families powerful for generations to come." Like I'd said, power is nothing but a drug.

I don't want to hear her out, but intuition keeps my ears open and my words deceiving. "Go on."

Excitement sparks deep blue eyes. "Arturo says the Italians are growing even bigger than they are now by expanding their businesses into America."

Businesses? They dealt in crime, murder, drugs and weaponry.

I'd rather die than have my family name tainted by any of it - more than it already has.

"It's a gold mine over there," His accent is much heavier with each word, it confirms any suspicions I have about him being Italian. "And we want you on our side when we take it before they can."

I don't need anymore enemies. "Why me?"

She steps forward to speak. "You have legitimate connections over there. With a politician on our side, we can do anything."

My father, he was a politician. I'm nothing but an old man born into a family with immense responsibility.

I thought she was the same. I look to her and tilt my head. "When did you lower yourself to working as a mafia?"

She was Russian royalty, and as one royal to another, petty crimes like this were beneath us.

"Since you did too." It's Arturo who speaks this and Arturo who makes my temper flare with the insinuation in his eyes.

I know he's speaking of my recent history with the Italians. No one knew of that history, I'd made sure of it.

Despite the fifty degree weather outside, the man wears a full suit and stands in my home, on my land and dares to be so disrespectful. "You know nothing of my business." Nor my family.

A small smile appears. "I know there's a bastard Italian love child somewhere in this castle." It's sinister as he looks around the room with nothing but an evil eye. "Maybe that's why you're siding with them."

I think of killing him, but with the heat outside and dinner time approaching, it's too much work. I'm better off saving it for one of the many other enemies he's mostly acquired with his disrespect.

"I don't care for any side in this war you've created." I want no part in it and if I had things my way, Silvio Ademaro would have never been able to step foot in my home and put my entire family at risk with the life he dragged us into. The thought brings immediate regret. "I want no part in any of what you have planned. You've wasted your time once again."

The woman, she shows very little. But I catch the tightness around her lips and the anger in her eyes. "I do hope you reconsider." Her voice is light, her words sound like a threat.

I offer no response, I just watch as she heads towards the doors, Arturo, however lingers. "She'll be back." He pulls a cigarette from his pocket. "Between you and I, this is the only plan she has. Confirm or reap the consequences."

He soon fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings it to the end of his cigarette as if it's acceptable. As if my granddaughter doesn't play kill and seek in this room. As if my wife wouldn't kill me if the stench lingered on the furniture.

I reach forward and grab his lighter, "I have no trust in a man who's betraying his own people." I knew of their business. He was an Italian, high in the ranks of what the Galanti family was building alongside Silvio Ademaro.

And while I dislike Silvio, I have enough respect for him as the father of my grandchild to care. "Does Silvio know of your friendship with the Russians?"

The easygoing smile of his disappears. In its place a true evil of a man with no soul. "No. And if by chance anyone does hear of it, they'll be shocked by the news of that little bastard of yours."

He takes a step forward and my hands begin to shake in anger. "Silvio may have a big famiglia backing him, but he has many enemies. Imagine how many would want a little girl like that dead or alive."

I'm getting too old for physical violence but I grab him by his blazer and shove him towards the door. "Get out of my home and never return."

He shrugs it off. "It's your funeral."

"You seem like a terrible man." I nod for the guards at the door to escort him out, "I hope yours comes first."

I don't move until I've been notified that they've both been escorted out of my property and even then it's not enough. And I don't relax until I've found my family, safe and indoors.

I find my daughter at the dinner table and my wife setting my plate. When I take my seat, I glance between them, so ignorant to the sudden danger I feel they're in.

"Baba?" Ayra's soft spoken voice pulls me from my thoughts. "I saw we had guests, what did they want?"

Nothing good.

I don't answer my daughter, instead I look around at the sound of rushed footsteps and finally spot them down to my left. " Jido! Jido!" Small fists tighten around a piece of paper that she holds over her head. "Look! My papá finally wrote me a letter!"

"That's great," I plaster on a smile for her sake, before looking up to the two women sat around me, avoiding my eye.

"Celina, my love. Let me see it-" Ayra jumps to grab her, "Does he say anything about me?"

My daughter, she's naive, my wife should know better. I raise a brow at her, but she's instant in her defence. "What was I suppose to do? She found it before I could take it."

I told that idiot to stop writing. When he didn't, I began taking them before they could make it to my daughter and grand-daughter.

It did them more harm than good.

Silvio had no place here. He brought trouble, and was actively making enemies in his career. Despite the fortress we're in here, I'm not as strong nor powerful as I once was. I wouldn't be able to protect my family from the danger he brought.

They don't understand, but it's for the best.

"Can you believe he wrote us back?" But as I look towards the end of the table, I see my granddaughter in her mother's lap, eagerly reading the letter as if she actually wants to.

He's written them back every single time. I'd hid them to protect them.

But sometimes, I felt guilty. As though I'm doing the wrong thing. But other times it hurt's to do what's right. And sometimes that guilt would push me to weakness.

A weakness that would push me to excuse myself from the table and into a corner of the castle where no one could hear my phone ring.

"Hello?" He answers as though I'd just woken him up.

"Where are you?" Shuffling echos on the other line.

"In America. We just moved to New York City."

Just like Arturo said.

There's a pause from him, before he speaks in a much lower voice. "How are my girls?"

"They're safe." I remind him.

Despite it, he persists. "Do you think I can come visit?"

"No." It's an immediate response. One that makes his words sharpen.

"Then why are you calling me?" Agitation coats his tone. "Are you calling to boss me around again? To tell me I should be doing even more to hide any trace of them?"

I don't know why I'd called him. My sense tell me I'd called to warn him but Arturo Morettos words linger in my mind.

I'd done all I could to hide my daughter and granddaughter from his word. I'd forced him away. Swore him to secrecy. I'd even forced him into a marriage he hadn't wanted.

It'd all be for nothing. And all the years of separation would be a waste.

There was no way out of the danger that was heading towards him. Nothing I could do. Unless...

"You can come to see them, when I permit. On one condition." Maybe I'm doing the wrong thing. I don't know.

"Anything-"

"I think your relationship with the Russians is getting too dangerous. I  want you and your counterparts to call for a truce with them."

"What?" Outraged, the young man scoffs. "That's impossible-"

"Then goodbye." When I reach for the wall to hang up the line, he stops me.

"Wait okay, we can figure something out-" He sighs. "Just let me see them."

"I'll arrange a schedule. We'll discuss more when you arrive." I don't let him speak, I hang up.

I don't move from my spot for hours. I'm too riddled with thought.

Peace. I want nothing but peace.

I have things to loose, people I care for.

If I insert myself anymore in this war, it means I'm picking a side.

Maybe it'll put us in more danger, and maybe it'll get me killed.

But I can't shake my intuition. It tells me I have no choice. Not when my guests had left me with nothing but a target on my back.

Celina

I run and run and run. Until my lungs burn like my eyes do and my pulse sprints past my racing pulse.

And then I stop because my senses kick in.

What am I doing? Why am I running?

Because it's easy. Because I'm so use to it.

When I look around me I'm at the end of a hallway, while footsteps round the corner far behind me.

When I turn, Adrik slows, until he stops, barely swallowing the distance between us.

"I didn't know." He speaks from so far, I hear it in the eco.

In and out. I breathe so heavily my chest aches. "I know, I just-"

I don't finish my sentence because I don't know what to say. Instead, my feet move on their own, back down the hall towards him while he stands in place.

With each step his features tighten until he seems to explode. "Then why'd you run, from me?"

I stop to think. "I... I don't know."

"Yes, you do." His voice is firm, so is his stance as he refuses to come any closer. "This isn't going to work if all you do is run from me at every difficult turn."

"I-I just needed some space." It feels like a lie. So, why did I run?

It didn't feel right, it just felt familiar. Like a habit, a trait that was engrained into my history.

We'd fled Egypt when things got hard. I escaped  my life in America for school when life was too difficult. I was beginning to sense a pattern forming.

Run, hide, I did anything to get away. 

I never stayed.

I grip Jido's last journal in hand. I needed to be alone, but the thought fills me with nothing but dread. "I didn't think you'd care so much."

Dumbfounded the man tilts his head at me. "You don't think I'd care?" With a scoff, he steps closer. "I've killed for you, I'd take a bullet over and over again if it meant you didn't have to endure the pain of it."

His voice rises with each word, it rings in my ears and scares me to my core. "Of course, I fucking care, Celina."

He runs a hand through his hair, his ring glints beneath the light. "I care more about you than I do myself, and anything else."

He's frustrated with me and I feel it. I sense it. When he grabs my face, he brings his close to it. " How many times do I have to tell you I love you? How many times do I have to show you I'd do anything?"

I wipe the tears. They don't fall for the same reason as before, instead they fall at the look on his face as regret starts to form.

Old habits prove to live long, when I resort to my defences. "Are you seriously angry with me?"

His touch fades, he steps back and shakes his head. "Disappointed." He speaks softly. "I'm disappointed, baby."

When Adrik turns his back to me and begins to walk away, I can't help the panic. "Where are you going?"

He doesn't even look at me when he responds.

"To give you that space you wanted."

. . .

Space is the last thing I want. It eats me alive, kills me softly and I'm too alone in it to do anything.

I avoid myself. Spend my afternoon with my grandmother, eat my lunch with my little brother who barely talks.

Some days he's more vocal, other days, he's not at all.

I've grown to realize that when he's happy he's vocal. When he's upset, scared or sad, he's quiet.

Today, he's silent. So much so that the only words I get out of him are asking about his parents.

I lie and say they're working, and when he asks about Sabrina, I don't have it in me to lie.

So I don't.

I just offer to take him home.

It's unlike me, but I need an excuse to get out of the house and into one I know will be empty. Silvio's still on bed rest in the hospital and Sabrina might not be home.

It's late afternoon when we stand outside the upscale townhouse in Manhattan. I open the door, and with extreme difficulty, I let go of Enzo's hand and nod inside. "I'll wait out here."

He doesn't move, instead, he grabs my jeans and tugs me towards the door.

I stare the stubborn little shit down. He doesn't budge and with an annoyed sigh, I step inside. "Fine, I'll stay-" I glance around the empty foyer, and lower my voice "But only for five minutes."

He smiles, the big toothy kind. I roll my eyes. "You go look for Sabrina, I'll go look in the fridge."

When he runs off, I find the kitchen. The pantry's stocked, the fridge is filled and no one's there to stop me from taking whatever the fuck I want.

I'm halfway into a bag of cookie dough bites when my appetite disappears, "Who's there?"

I freeze, until the old man's voice sounds again, only this time he's less groggy and more suspicious. "Show yourself," shuffling sounds, and my heart beats erratically. "The security are on their way-"

His voice stops and by then I sense his stare, hear his confusion. "Celina?"

I avoid it, until I can't help but look at him.

My father looks worse than I've ever seen him. He wears casual clothes, while his right arm is bound by not only a brace but a sling. Dark rings form beneath his eyes.

I clear my throat and look to the counter. "Enzo came looking for Sabrina."

He walks forward and rests his non injuries hand on the counter as if needing the support. "She's gone." I snap my eyes to his face at the sound of that. He looks uncomfortable, embarrassed. "I don't know exactly where."

Shouldn't he be concerned? "What if she's kidnapped?"

He smiles. It looks like it physically pains him to. "She took my credit card, packed a bag and bought a one way ticket to somewhere in Europe."

Good for her.

I don't speak it aloud though. I change the subject, "What about your wife?"  I ask as though I hadn't spent the night torturing her. As though it hadn't given me a minor concussion. 

He doesn't look as affected by this one. "She left me this morning." He nods to the card attached to the fridge by a magnet. "I found that note in her closet."

I follow his gaze, even go so far as to grab the note and read the short message. It only takes a moment for me to conclude it was Adrik's doing.

Indecision sits in the air as I glance around, suddenly uncomfortable. Until he breaks it. "Help yourself To whatever you want."

When he turns and slowly walks to the living room, I follow him and despite my self respect, I speak. "How's your arm?"

My father looks almost taken aback by my question. He touches where his shoulder meets his chest, "Sore.  But it'll heal."

More silence lingers, while Enzo's footsteps echo from upstairs. "How's your... husband?"

It's awkward. The small talk doesn't feel natural or normal. For some reason, I follow him into the living room and endure it.  "It's whatever."

I stand there, quite awkwardly, while he lowers himself onto the sofa he's most likely using as his bed. I watch him struggle to straighten the blanket around himself.

I eventually get fed up and do it for him while he watches me, almost wearily. That is until footsteps filter into the room in place of the awkward silence and Enzo launches himself at his papá.

I feel out of place but can't help but watch the way Silvio's there for Enzo like he once was with me. Hugs, kisses, the shit that makes a kid feel like their parent actually loves them. Enzo loves it, I feel like I should leave.

When I do so, Silvio keeps me a while longer. "Are you happy-with him?"

It's beyond weird to be having this conversation with him. It feels almost too personal of a question, until I realize who I'm speaking to and do it freely.

I lower myself onto the armchair nearest to him and glance away, "He calls me beautiful."

To anyone else it wouldn't make sense. He's perhaps the only person in the world that could possibly get it. After all, I'd like to believe he loved my mother at some point in his life.

"Do you feel it?" He asks simply, softly almost.

This is weird. Why am I still here?

"Yes."

"Good, because you are." Thick emotion coats his voice, I refuse to look up to his face. "You always have been. I'm sorry I didn't say it enough."

"You never did." I always got pretty. Beautiful was always reserved for mama. He only ever used it for her.

"Your mother was and still is the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on." I don't like the sadness in his voice or the way I hurt when he remembers her. "You look just like her. It hurts to look at you sometimes."

And suddenly I want to look in the mirror. I want to see my mother's eyes, her cheekbones, her lips. I think I like that I can do that.

Reality pulls me back to Enzo who's now at my side, whispering in my ear. "Can we go home now?"

It feels wrong to take him, he's not my kid, I'm not his guardian. He has one.

My father sits up in his seat, "He talks to you?"

"Sometimes." I shrug as though it's not of great importance.

"He's never spoken a word to me." He looks at me otherwise. "He must be happier with you."

He is. 

It's why I plan to take him back home. But I don't feel the need to respond to that, I merely stay seated, in the comfortable silence until his breaths weight down deep snores. And by then I'm getting up, fixing his blanket and adjusting his pillow.

I don't know why I haven't left. Why I even bother with him.

I just know that before I leave, I brush my lips to his forehead and whisper the words I would never say aloud. "I'm sorry, papá,"

. . .

It's late when I get home. Enzo's fast asleep, my arms are numb from carrying him and I only get a break when I drop him onto Sitto's bed.

Despite it being mid August, my bones feel cold, my hands frozen and numb.

I don't mean to seek out Adrik, but I catch the bathroom light on when I enter the bedroom and my eyes draw to the scars that litter his back as he stands at the sink with his back to me.

I don't approach him until I'm so desperate for his attention, I realize I've missed him. And by then, I've changed into a tshirt of his, begun brushing my teeth at the sink next to where he stands, shaving the barely there stubble across his jaw.

He doesn't say anything, and a small part of me refuses to give in first, but one single glance at him throws away every toxic thought until all I want is for him to hold me.

I rinse my mouth, wash my hands and turn to watch him. "Can I try?"

He doesn't say anything, he does however pause for a brief moment and step back from the counter.

I take the small win and slide between him and the counter.  The space is tight, but when I jump up and take my seat atop counter, I pull him closer to me, between my legs and take his razor.

The blade glides across his pale skin, while his wet hair smells freshly of his shampoo and his neck of his aftershave.

He watches me, silently, his eyes flickering between the mirror behind me and my face. It makes me nervous, so nervous a faint tremor runs through my hand, sliding the blade in the wrong direction, drawing blood from a tiny cut.

He doesn't flinch, doesn't say anything. His hands stay planted on the counter on either side of me, while I scramble for a tissue and hold it to his cut.

When the bleeding stops, I run my finger over it and speak so softly, I shock myself. "I'm sorry."

I get no response. I don't care.

I take his face in my hands, and bring his cheek to my lips before softly running them over the cut. "I won't do that ever again. I promise you."

The cuts long forgotten, his hands grip the counters, corded veins pop in its process.

He's still disappointed, perhaps even hurt. I hate the idea that I caused that.

With a soft sigh, I bring his forehead to mine, "Forgive me?" I whisper against his lips and pepper kisses across his bottom one, before pulling back to murmur against them."Please, Adrik?"

Our eyes finally connect, a single second, so long and dragged out, filled with nothing but contemplation. Somewhere in the sudden haze he rasps out a low fine, "Fine." against my lips before he's on me.

Hands grip my thighs, he drags his palms up beneath the shirt, to my waist and pull me in before he starts once again.

Lips touch, teeth clash. Adrik grips the side of my neck and steals my breath. He's starved, like he'd missed me almost a much as I'd missed him.

When he pulls away to catch his breath, I pant against his mouth, "I love you."

He takes my lips once more, this time with a low, satisfied groan before grabbing my legs and securing them around his waist.

He doesn't say anything but he doesn't have to. I feel his I love you. It's in the way his thumb traces my pulse. Th way his lips move so softly, yet delicately again mine. The way he lifts me and holds me in his arms like I'm delicate.

I feel warm all around and all he'd had to do was touch me.

His nose trails the skin beneath my ear, while his lips press to it. "I'm sorry too."

With my hands tight around his neck, I hold him just as tight as he holds me, "About your grandfather."

I'd long ago grieved his death. It doesn't make the news I'd gotten about it any easier.

Adrik gently places me down onto the bed, and I suddenly feel as delicate as he handles me. When he gets in next to me, I'm doing everything to hold back.

"He was..." I clear my throat and whisper, knowing that my voice would crack. "He was my best friend."

All he has to do is look at me, with his eyes so rich and all knowing for mine to water.

With a soft sigh, he reaches for me. "Come here," I comply immediately, and let him drag me onto of him.

It's a kind of comfort only he can give when he wraps his arms around me. A kind of warmth he creates when he pushes my head into the crook of his neck, and tangles his hand in my hair, while his lips rest against my temple.

And when he kisses me there until I fall asleep, I know we'll be okay.

I'll be okay.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

GUYS make sure you read the edited version of last chapter. It should say *edited* on top of it.

Idk why Wattpad is so annoying but I unpublished the chapter like 2 times and no one's still able to read the edited version so lmk if u can see it ❤️

-

Also has anyone watched the movie night pt2 episode of love island USA?
If so plz tell me I'm not the only one that looses brain cells every time ANY of the men speak. Like I've never seen so many red flags in one place

AND DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON AARON's speech that gave ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but Noah Centimetre's it's not what u do but what u do with what u do speech 😭

Also what the fuck does miss Niagra Falls see in this man?