Page 20 of Dark Prince

Her demeanor shifted, her eyes narrowing as a wave of tense anger washed over her face. “Yes, I've used most of what your father left me,” she admits through gritted teeth. “But it was all in the service of keeping the family business afloat. You can’t possibly understand the sacrifices I've made.”

I can't help but let out a sharp laugh at her justification. “No, I guess I didn't realize Louboutins and Birkin bags were crucial to our day-to-day business operations,” I retort, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her response is quick and bitter, suggesting I've struck a nerve. “Maintaining appearances is important, Maura, as much as you might scoff at the idea. It's a part of the game we play; it’s necessary to ensure that our position and influence remain unchallenged.”

Sharon, seeing no way out, decides to lay her cards on the table. “I've burned through most of my share of the inheritance; it’s true,” she confesses, frustration and desperation etched in her voice. “And now, I need access to your portion to keep the Flanagan businesses above water.”

I cross my arms, her plea leaving me cold. The idea of her squandering her share on luxuries and now eyeing my money is infuriating.

She continues, her tone earnest, “Maura, you have to understand. I can't just go out and get a loan. If our competitors—or worse, our enemies—catch even a whiff of our financial troubles, it'll be like blood in the water.”

She pauses, looking me directly in the eyes. “There are other Irish families, powerful ones, waiting for a chance to snatch away everything the Flanagans have built in Chicago. Your father's legacy, our family's legacy, it's all at risk.”

Her words, though self-serving, carry a weight of truth that I can't entirely dismiss. The precarious position of the Flanagan enterprises isn't news to me, but Sharon's direct plea, admitting her failures and desperation, puts the situation in a stark light.

However, her words fall on deaf ears. I stand firm; my resolve is unshaken. “I'm not interested,” I assert, the newfound confidence in my voice surprising even me. “As far as I'm concerned, the Flanagan “legacy” as you call it, died with my father. And frankly, I'm more than happy to see it buried along with him.”

Sharon's face contorts with frustration as she tries to sway me with more pleas of hopelessness, but I'm not having any of it.

“You can’t do this, Maura,” she says. “Think about your father; think about everything he worked for.”

I cut her off, my tone making it clear there was no room for negotiation. “The matter isn't up for discussion,”

Turning away from her, I call out for Svetlana, who quickly arrives. “Svetlana, could you please bring two members of the security staff? It's time we escort my stepmother and her bodyguard to the front door.”

Sharon looks taken aback, her schemes crumbling before her eyes. For the first time since her arrival, she's speechless, realizing she can’t get her hooks into me any longer. As Svetlana nods and heads off to fetch the security staff, I feel a surge of empowerment.

Sensing the finality in the situation, my stepmother attempts to salvage some dignity. “There'll be no need for security,” she says, her voice strained but composed. “Rory and I will leave without causing any trouble.”

“I certainly hope that's the case,” I reply, watching her closely. Despite her acquiescence, there's a sense of unfinished business lingering in the air.

As she and Rory make their way to the door, Sharon can't resist throwing one last barb my way. She pauses, turning slightly to toss a cryptic comment at me. “I'll be back, my dear. Just to make sure you're being a good little wife,” she says with an ominous tone.

I watch silently as they leave, my gaze following them until they've left the mansion. Then, going upstairs to the second floor, I peer out the window, ensuring they’re really gone.

Seeing them leave, I can't help but feel a surge of pride for standing my ground against Sharon. It was a confrontation I hadn't anticipated, but in facing it head-on, I'd taken an important step in defining my independence and embracing my new life.

However, even as the taillights of her car fade into the distance, I know deep down that this isn't the end. Her parting words, veiled in a sinister promise of return, infer that our paths will cross again. For now, though, I've shown that I won't be easily intimidated or manipulated.

Chapter 10

Luk

Days meld into one another, each passing in a blur of activity related to the vast network of Bratva operations under my control. I oversee the expansion of our territories, negotiating with precision and authority to secure new alliances while reinforcing old ones. I’m regarded in the city's underbelly with a mixture of fear and respect, a testament to the Ivanovs’ reach and influence. Shipments come and go under the cover of night, their contents known only to a select few, each one adding to the Bratva's coffers and power.

But amidst the relentless pace of Bratva life, there's a parallel narrative unfolding—one that's quieter but no less significant. Maura is gradually finding her footing in the tumultuous world she's married into. I watch, often from a distance, as she navigates the complexities of our lives with a grace that never ceases to surprise me.

I know that she grew up in the business, but through observation and conversation, I am also aware that her father shielded her from the worst of it. While she came to me with a base understanding of the mob, the intricacies eluded her.

I see her in the garden, lost in thought among the blooms she's grown so fond of, or sharing a laugh with Lily, whose friendship has become a steady anchor in her new reality. There's a glint in her eyes, a sense of belonging that grows with each passing day.

Sitting across from Grigori in a nondescript coffee shop in downtown Chicago, the hum of the city a muted backdrop to our conversation, I find myself appreciating the normalcy of the moment. We're discussing the operational aspects of our business, the flow of arms, and the negotiations with suppliers—all the usual topics for us but the lifeblood of the Bratva.

Grigori, as always, is on top of everything. His attention to detail and knack for seeing the big picture ensures our operations run smoothly. “Everything's lined up for the next shipment. And the new routes are secure,” he reports, his tone matter-of-fact.

I nod, taking a sip of my coffee. “Good work, Grigori. I always know I can count on you,” I say, feeling a sense of pride in his unwavering competence.

There's a brief pause as he sets his coffee down, his gaze meeting mine with a level of understanding that comes from years of friendship. “I don't mean to pry, Luk,” he begins, his voice taking on a more personal note, “but you know I can tell when something's on your mind. Spill it.”

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