Page 53 of Ruthless Son

Taking a deep breath, I replied, “YA znayu, shcho ya bisa harna, mudak.” I know I’m fucking pretty, arsehole.

Their wide eyed faces twisted toward me at lightning speed. “Ty rozmovlyayesh ukrayins'koyu?” Fedir asked, curiosity peeking his interest. The other men watched me with avid interest, Rex included.

“YA ukrainka'” I am Ukrainian. “My Grandfather grew up in Lviv and moved to England in his 30s with my mum after my grandma died,” I explained. “I was born in London but raised celebrating my history.”

Fedir eyed me skeptically. “Your pronunciation is terrible, what is your name?”

I squinted at the man beside me. “My pronunciation is not terrible, I’m just a bit… rusty,” I sniffed, “and my name is Mia.”

Fedir scoffed, and the men laughed along with him. “That’s not a Ukrainian name. You’re a liar, just like your American friend.”

My cheeks flushed pink at the accusation, anger rose inside me at the claim I was lying. I wouldn’t lie about my heritage, I was raised proud of who I was, proud of my mixed culture. “Ty smiyesh nazyvaty mene brekhunom.” You dare call me a liar. Raising my chin, I stared down at Fedir with contempt. “My name is Solomia Harwood, only granddaughter of Andrij Bartosh, and I don’t even know what you’re saying about ‘Mia’ not being a Ukrainian name when Sykyta isn’t a Ukrainian name either.”

His eyes lightened at my full given name, the mafia boss bowed his head, his hand placed over his heart. “I apologize, Solomia, you are right. My own grandfather fled Czechoslovakia after World War II and settled in Ukraine, marrying a local woman. He would be ashamed of my treatment of you.” He clicked his fingers, and a minion rushed over, slicing the cable ties free of my wrists. “Please accept my regret, pryntsesa.” Rubbing my wrists to ease the ache, I shot a dark look at the man. “That’s what they call you, no?”

“How do you know that?” Rex growled, his eyes narrowed on Fedir. The two henchmen now stood behind their boss, their guns tucked safely away in their holsters.

“I have eyes everywhere, Sergeant,” he spat, before giving me his sole attention, his face softening. “My babusya, God rest her soul, was also called Solomia. She was the love of my grandfather’s life, a kind woman with a core of steel… much like you.”

“Thank you?” I took it as a compliment even when my fingers tingled with sparks of pain. “So we can go?” I gripped the arms of the chair, trying to ignore the pins and needles rushing the feeling back into my hands.

“Not quite.” My heart dropped into my stomach. “There is still the matter of my business. I have lost much money, Solomia, and I am not happy. I am willing to make a deal… with you.”

“Me? But I’m…” I shot a worried glance at Rex, “I’m not in the drug trade.”

“Let Mia go?—”

“Solomia! Her name is Solomia, you fucking Americans always changing things to suit yourselves.” Fedir sighed. “Here is what we are going to do.” His hand slapped against the table. “Street Kings will provide me with the drugs I need, you will drive it to Canada and drop it to a location of my own choosing. I will pay you only the same amount I used to pay Felix… no more, no less. You will bring Solomia to my house once a month to have dinner with me and my wife. She needs to be around her own people sometimes, brush up on her… pronunciation. This is a good deal.”

“I agree to all of it except the dinners,” Rex started. “She shouldn’t be caught up in the middle of this.”

“I am not making deals with you, pyzda,” Fedir hissed. “I am making a deal with Solomia, only she can agree to the terms. You have no say.”

My hands shook in my lap, and I clenched my fists to hold the trembling at bay. “What if I don’t agree?” I croaked. “He told you earlier, I was going back to England. I can’t commit to monthly meals.”

Fedir’s eyes narrowed on mine before whispering to one of his men, their softly spoken words indiscernible, now they knew I could understand them, they took great pains to ensure I couldn’t hear their muttered conversation.

Rex stared at me with a newfound respect, a hopeful look shining in his blue eyes that stood out starkly against the paleness of his face. The gash on his head had stopped bleeding, the scarlet river stained against his face and shirt.

“Why were you running?” Fedir asked.

“What?” I finished my perusal of Rex, and twisted to look at Fedir.

“My men tell me you were running from something… or someone.” He shot a dark look at Rex, still tied up and at his mercy. Rex returned the look ten-fold, refusing to back down in the stare off.

“I wasn’t running. I was…” I thought for a minute about what to say, I couldn’t tell him I was running from Rex because of what I had seen… what he had done to me, because I couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t blow this tense meeting sky high. “I had just found out I could be pregnant, and… I was scared, so I took a drive… by myself.” The excuse sounded plausible, ‘an emotional woman runs away from her problem’, was a stereotype that I promoted as heartily as possible to try and get Fedir to accept that Rex hadn’t hurt me in any way.

“Hmmmmm.” His scrutiny was uncomfortable and I squirmed in my chair under his watchful eye, as he inspected my excuse for falsities. “So you are with child then? It is his?”

Fedir jabbed his thumb toward Rex. “Yes, it’s his, and I’d like Tata moejy dytyni

unharmed, I don’t want to have to tell my child that its father was killed by our own people, that wouldn’t look good.”

“But he hurt you, no?”

“No, no… he didn’t…” I stuttered under his menacing stare.

“I did not become the boss of the largest distributor of drugs in Canada and the Ukrainian mafia because I am stupid. I am not so gullible, pryntsesa,” Fedir sneered.

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