Page 183 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“Better, now that my boy is here to see me.” He crushes his cigarette on the sill and flicks it out the window. “And I’m here to give up the hard stuff. Compared to all that, cigarettes aren’t so bad, you know what I mean?”

“No. I don’t.”

He nods quickly and wrings his fingers together. “Probably best that way. You stayed clean, then?”

“I didn’t want to end up a fuck-up like you. So yeah, I stayed clean.”

“Fair enough,” he says, pursing his lips. “I’m glad you’re sober.”

“I’m not. I just know how to handle my poison of choice.”

He holds up his hands. “Again, fair enough.”

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” I snap. “You used to come up with every excuse in the book. You told me it was in our DNA.”

“Not anymore. I’m giving up excuses, too. I’m trying this new thing where I own my mistakes.”

I snort. “That must take up all of your time.”

“Most of it,” he says with a humorless smile. “My therapist says I’m her most reluctant patient. But I’m working on it.”

My grandfather would roll over in his grave if he knew his son was in therapy. It’s surprising enough that I arch an eyebrow. Ioakim notices.

“It’s required to keep your room here,” he explains. He gestures around. “It’s one of the nicest places I’ve been, so I’m willing to put up with it.”

I look around, clocking the water damage across the ceiling and the peeling paint on the walls.

“Well, maybe it’s a little worse for wear, but that’s why I like it. I can relate,” he chuckles.

I should have asked Arslan more about what to expect. I expected to show up and find my father slumped over in a crack house or sleeping in a gutter somewhere.

But he’s standing up in front of me, fully clothed, and talking coherently. I can count on one hand the number of times all three of those things have happened at once since Mom died.

It’s unsettling.

“Did you check yourself in or did a judge toss you in kicking and screaming?” I ask.

“I put myself on a waitlist a year ago. They have a scholarship program. If you get selected, you have to stay clean on your own for three months before they let you in.”

“And you did it?”

“Barely,” he admits. “It was fucking hell. I had the shakes under a bridge one night so bad I damn near walked up and threw myself off the top. If I was able to walk at all, I might’ve done it.”

“Shame,” I snarl. “We’d all be better off.”

Hurt flashes across his face, but he shrugs it off. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve much worse.”

“I don’t even deserve this visit,” he agrees. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I’d given up on the idea.”

“It’s not like you tried to reach out.”

What the fuck am I doing? I hardly even know why I'm here. Maybe to remind myself of the kind of father I don't want to be.

It doesn’t matter how Belle feels—I’m never going to abandon my child the way my father left me.

Whether she likes that or not.

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