Page 75 of Crown of Hate

I’m lost in a beautiful dream. Mama’s fingers are combing through my hair, her voice whispering my name. Weeks without her have felt like an eternity, and I’m drowning in how much I miss her.

After this mess with Akim and the Russia Bratva blows over, I swear I’ll go see her. Give her a big hug. But for now, I cling to this dream, nuzzling deeper into my pillow, savoring the phantom touch of her fingers in my hair.

Her touch, her scent—it’s so real, so vivid.

“Al…”

Wait. That sounds too real. My senses start to awaken. The familiar scent of her signature Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium wafts around me, and I feel the warmth of skin nearby. My heart starts to race.

Shit. This isn’t a dream at all.

My eyes fly open, and there she is. My mother, hovering right above me when I turn around. Her face is so close I can see every worry line, every freckle. The longing in her eyes mirrors the ache in my heart, and suddenly I’m wide awake.

Without a second thought, I launch myself from the bed and throw my arms around her, clutching her like she might vanish any second. “Mama!”

She wraps me in a bear hug, squeezing so tight I can barely breathe. But I don’t care if I’m deprived of oxygen; I’m so excited I feel like I might combust at any moment.

“Yes, baby,” she whispers, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” I choke out, sniffling to hold back tears. It still feels like a dream that she’s here with me. I bite the inside of my cheek and count to ten, an old trick to make sure I’m not dreaming. Pain. Still here. Still real.

It’s not a dream. It’s really not.

Mama is the first to pull away from our embrace, but she doesn’t let go completely. Her hands find mine, squeezing tight as her eyes scan me from head to toe. “You look so good, sweetie. I was afraid you’d waste away without me.”

I can’t help but chuckle, even as I sniffle back more tears. “Look who’s talking. You look even better, Mama.”

And she does. Her red hair has grown into a chic pixie cut that frames her face beautifully. Her skin has regained its usual olive glow, and she looks... healthy. Alive. Almost as she was before cancer tried to steal her away from me. My mama is a warrior, and my chest swells with pride.

She cranes her neck, looking past me, and I follow her gaze. There’s Mikhail, standing in the doorway like a statue. He’s watching us intently, his face still the same unreadable mask. But there’s something in his eyes… is it curiosity? Longing? I can’t quite place it. But it’s almost like it’s the first time he’s seen a mother and daughter hugging. The thought makes my heart ache for him.

“You didn’t tell me you got married,” Mama says, her voice carefully neutral, but the disappointment lurks in the edges. “And to him of all people.”

My pulse skyrockets, and I swear I can feel each individual hair on my scalp prickling. I brace myself for her disappointment, and honestly, how can I blame her? Her only daughter, married while she fought for her life, and to her husband’s murderer no less.

But then it hits me—Mama is here because of Mikhail. He must’ve set all this in motion after I told him she was in danger.

A warm surge of gratitude fills my chest, and I smile at him. I’ll have to thank him later, when we’re alone. And I know just how he likes to be thanked.

I clear my throat and turn back to Mama. “It’s… well, it’s a long story.”

One I’ll have to heavily edit. No way we’ll ever get her approval if she finds out the whole truth—that Mikhail essentially forced me into this marriage… well, not essentially. Literally.

“Well, make sure that long story is worth it, young lady.” She cups my cheeks and smiles sweetly. “It feels so good to see you again.”

“You have no idea, Mama.”

After the horror show at last night’s party, seeing her is a much-needed distraction from the memories of bloodshed and dead bodies. The gnawing fear that Mikhail could have been outmatched and killed weighs heavily on my mind.

A cough from the doorway pulls our attention back to Mikhail.

Mikhail leans out from the doorframe. “I’ll leave you two ladies to catch up. I have a lot of work to do.”

I nod, wondering if he’s referring to Arsen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was still out cold from yesterday’s beating. Hisface was barely recognizable when I last saw him… a reminder of how brutal Mikhail can be.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I’ll skip it. See you two ladies later.” He gives an awkward wave to Mama and leaves. It’s clear that being nice, especially to people who don’t like him, isn’t his strongest suit. But he’s making an effort, and that’s enough for me.

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