Page 45 of Ruthless Serenade

"Who, Maurice?" Timofey asks. "That was seven years ago, Maron. And it’s probably best that Mom doesn’t remember him."

Timofey has a point. It’s probably best that way. My mother has lost enough. A few years after losing my father, she lost her beloved granddaughter. I don’t know if she could bear the thought of losing Maurice too. Despite the fact that they were not related by blood, she loved him like he was her own.

Fucking Maurice. Even after all this time, his memory still haunts us. After I got shot at the Tramoxine launch party, hewas also taken to the hospital - but with alcohol poisoning. I only know what Timofey told me once I woke up from my coma, weeks after being shot.

That was the last time we heard from Maurice. When we tried to get information about him from the hospital, we hit a wall. We were told the strangest fucking thing: that the patient had denied access to any information about his condition or whereabouts. Just like that, Maurice had vanished from our lives.

I thought a lot about finding him after that. I even called in a few favors from some of my old contacts in the Bratva, but I always got the same information: he’s either dead or doesn’t want to be found.

Eventually, I decided to give up on pursuing him. I accepted the fact that he was gone. I know I could have found him if I really wanted to, but I decided not to. Our relationship was screwed up, to say the least, and he knew that. Even if he’s still alive and out there somewhere, he has good reason to stay out of my sight.

"Time flies,bratok, " Timofey says. "And Mom was in a much better condition back then. Now… she’s just a shell of her old self." He sighs. "I just wish she could have some joy in her life. This isn’t living, this is barely existing."

"I know, Timo." I clench my jaw. I fucking hate this feeling of helplessness when it comes to my mother. "What else can we do to provide for her?"

"Absolutely fucking nothing, dear brother." He looks at me carefully. "Let’s talk about something else. What’s up with the fancy outfit? New date?" He stops for a moment. "Or perhaps… Mindy?"

"Absolutely not," I reply casually. "I’ve been invited to a school event."

Timofey's brow furrows in confusion, "A school event? You? What are you planning to do there, give the children nightmares? Set a negative example?"

"Watch it,pridurok." I fix him with a stare.

Timofey grins. "Seriously, Maron. Who would invite you to a school event and why?"

"The principal," I tell him casually. "I donated a bunch of money, so they invited me."

My brother’s expression shifts and he whistles in admiration, "Look at you,bratok. From Bratva boss to humanitarian." He slaps my shoulder. "I’m proud of you, dickhead."

"Spasibo, Timo." I smirk and glance at my watch. I have less than thirty minutes before the event starts, so I really need to get going if I want to make it on time.

I quickly say goodbye to my brother and head down to the garage. I jump into the first car I can find and turn on the ignition. The engine roars to life, the garage gate opens, and a few moments later, I’m pulling into traffic.

The road is almost empty on my way to town. Everyone is trying to get out of the city, not into it. It takes me just over fifteen minutes to pull into the school’s parking lot.

"Mr. Korolev," Mrs. West, the school principal, greets me with a warm smile as I enter the building. "Thank you so much for coming to our little event."

"Pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. West," I return the gesture, feeling strange about being here. I’m still not sure what the fuck I’m doing at an elementary school, but there’s no turning back now.

Mrs. West’s eyes shine with gratitude as she leads me to my seat. "I have no words to express how much your generosity means to us, Mr. Korolev.”

I nod, feeling a twinge of satisfaction in knowing that my money is being used for a decent cause.

Mrs. West glances at her watch, then back at me with an excited grin. “I hate to cut our conversation short, but the storytelling portion of the event is about to begin. Some of our students will be taking the stage to share their original stories. I hope you can stay with us the whole evening, Mr. Korolev."

I feel a surge of anticipation. "I haven’t planned anything else for tonight, Mrs. West."

As I sit in the audience, watching the kids take their turns on stage and trying to stay as invisible as I possibly can, it’s hard not to feel bored. This is not exactly my idea of a thrilling evening. But then again, what else would I be doing tonight? Thinking about Mindy and jerking off in the shower? At least I’m spending my time with something that makes sense.

After a few children have told their stories, I’m itching to take a break. The room is stuffy, and sitting on my ass all this time feels suffocating. Just as I’m about to get up and go outside for some fresh air, something catches my attention. The next kid to step on the stage is a beautiful little girl with golden hair and an angelic face. Her big blue eyes are wide as she stares down at the audience in front of her.

I strain in my seat to get a better sight.

As she stands there, her eyes wide and her lips trembling, it becomes clear that something’s not right. The seconds continue to pass, but the girl remains silent. Then, a young woman, possibly one of the teachers, approaches the stage and whispers something to her.

"Go ahead, Sharon. Share your story with us," she encourages in a slightly louder voice.

Still, the girl does not respond. She simply stands there, unmoving. The audience begins to grow restless, with some of the children squirming in their seats.

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