Page 72 of Ruthless Kings of Havoc

“Yes,” she agrees quietly. “She will discover when she’s eighteen and choosing the academic institution she wishes to partake in. I doubt it’ll be Prescotts.”

“Due to the circumstance ahead, yeah.” I wouldn’t put it against her. “Joaquin’s?”

“If that’s where she wishes to commit to,” Mother declares. “Do you actually want more teatime with me?”

Having her ask with that tiny hint of disbelief makes me give her a softened gaze.

“Only if I get to see photographic evidence of the finger.”

“I have it in 4K and HD video,” she declares like it’s some sort of mastermind secret. “And I’m coming to realize you’re into either suspense or horror because the fact you wish to see an image of your chopped father’s finger leaves me wishing to ask several other questions.”

“For another tea date,” I say with a wink.

Since the beginning of this confrontation, it’s the first time she’s smiling from ear to ear.

“Shall I at least do my job and enlighten you with your duties?”

“Only if I’m allowed to slap, punch, or belittle Domino at least once this year.”

“You’ll have plenty of time and chance to do that and more,” she assures me. She totally has no problem with my ‘obvious’ need to get payback. “I’d suggest, if you want payback, to strike him where he’s most vulnerable.”

“Which is where exactly?”

“In his favorite sport,” she suggests. “Hockey.”

“Hockey,” I repeat the word, knowing how Domino takes the sport so seriously.

Man wanted me to come sick to his game so he could get sponsorships. Of course, he has a complete obsession for the sport.

“And doing that without getting arrested, charged, or banned from the rink I almost perished on forever?” I offer to her. “Trivial, but I do enjoy a challenge.”

She smirks at that, though my words settle into her mind.

“What exactly happened?”

I give her a one-minute summary because I don’t want to waste my valuable time on the ruthless betrayer. I still want to respect my mom’s level of curiosity. It could come in handy one day.

“So, yeah. That’s how we landed in Turkey with Matteo.”

“Leighton isn’t going to be too happy about that,” Mother huffs.

“He’ll be mad? He hates me.”

“The real Leighton, the main personality you’ve probably never truly met in your youth, wouldn’t like it one bit,” she reveals.

I can only imagine how she deals with a man who has so many sides to himself. Managing my own mental health is exhausting at times, but how do you manage with a man who rules your world and can go from loving to a menace in a heartbeat?

“Wanna see a glimpse of that man you’ve yet to meet?”

I pout my lips at the offering, wondering how she’s going to show me such a rarity.

She lowers her tea once more and reaches under the chair to retrieve a small purse. Pulling out a lavender phone, she taps on the screen a few times and presents me with a single video.

My eyes widen as it begins to play, leaving me in surprise because there’s little me when I’m just a baby. I know it’s me because of the color of my eyes and how wide they are. I’m giggling like crazy, trying to walk while there’s Leighton with the biggest smile on his face, holding my hands as I try to walk.

“That’s our little girl. Look at you go!” Even to hear his praise feels like I’ve wound up in a different dimension. How youthfully he looks. As though the world hasn’t truly swallowed him whole with nothing but stress and troubles.

His eyes twinkle with so much happiness and pride, and to think that was directed to me.

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