Page 17 of With This Kiss
He had recorded the entire fucking thing, which only strengthened his case, and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to release the footage to Eric Murphy, the corrupt police captain he had in his pocket.
It had been a decade since the events that killed my innocence. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe he had gotten rid of the video. He was just waiting for the moment I would be brave enough to betray him.
What he didn’t understand was that I didn’t needmotivationto betray him. I was born in the Bratva, and I had every intention of dying in it… of dying for it.
But my loyalty toward the bastard…
That was a different story.
I stayed in my car for a long minute. I didn’t want to fucking go inside, put on a fake fucking face for an hour or so, and endure the farce of a happy family dinner.
A knock came at my window, and I looked toward the sound to see Kingston standing there.
He wore his usual stoic expression, revealing nothing of his emotions or thoughts. I might as well be staring at a statue with how much he was giving me. I opened my door, and he stepped back for me to get out.
For a long moment, we said nothing to each other. I didn’t look away. Didn’t cower down. He might be older than me, and much more ruthless than any man I had met before, but hell would freeze over first before I let him get to me.
“Don’t just stand here. Let’s get inside,” he said.
I nodded and let him walk first. There was always something about walking in front of him that had the hair on the back of my neck rising.
I followed behind, taking in my surroundings.
People said we didn’t look alike. I agreed with the sentiment.
Whereas I had my mom’s dark-blond hair and light-blue eyes, he had our father’s dark hair and light-brown eyes. We had the same tanned skin, and while he stood tall at six foot three, I had two inches on him.
But those inches might as well not exist, considering how much space his presence alone took.
He opened the door and walked silently into the house. My foot hesitated at the threshold. Would it be too late to just get into my car and drive out of there?
Kingston turned his head back slightly and met my eyes, almost as if he knew what I was thinking, what I was tempted to do. “Don’t linger. Get inside.”
He walked away before I could respond.
The house was quiet—as expected.
While this house had seven bedrooms and nine baths, along with a backyard big enough to accommodate both a swimming pool and a tennis court, only two people lived here.
It was big enough that my mom could go days without running into the old bastard. That was, if he wasn’t hunting her down when he got into one of his moods.
I didn’t react when we got to the dining room. The table was all set up with enough food to feed a small basketball team. At the head, my father sat, his eyes focused on whatever was on his phone, and at the other end of the table was my mother, her gaze downcast. She didn’t react when Kingston and I pulled out a chair across from each other and sat down.
I took in all the food laid out in front of me, my appetite gone.
Finally, the old bastard looked up from his phone, his eyes moving from Kingston to me, then back to Kingston once more, his pride and joy.
There was nothing that could make Ilya Mahankov prouder than hearing people say Kingston took after him. But I knew the truth, and so did many others in our circle, and deep down, I was sure he knew it too. Kingston was a bigger monster than he could have ever imagined becoming.
And much smarter than our old man.
“Let’s eat,” Ilya said, clapping his hands together. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom flinching at the sudden sound. I didn’t react, and neither did Kingston, though I was sure he didn’t miss that.
No one touched anything until the old bastard took his first bite.
A show of power for him.
And everyone around was just ready to humor him for it.
