Page 78 of Ruthless Serenade

Her brow furrows as she tilts her head. Her expression shifts to confused, her lips pressing into a thin line. She studies my face, clearly baffled by what I’m asking, as if I’m speaking a foreign language she doesn’t understand.

"You’re kidding, right?" She asks. "Do you really not know the answer to that?"

"I’m her father, Mindy. It was my right to know. And you kept her away from me," I tell her, struggling to control my rising temper.

"What the hell are you talking about, Maron?" She snaps and something flickers in her eyes. "In case you forgot, I thought you were dead!"

"You thought?" I bark, my temper rising further. "What about my family? Timofey? My mother? Don’t you think you should have reached out to them?"

She gapes at me in disbelief, but I’m past caring. I can’t believe she’s done this. She stole the last seven years from me and Sharon. She kept us apart all this time. And if I hadn’t found her and Sharon in that fucking hospital room, she’d still be keeping my daughter away from me.

"Are you fucking serious right now, Maron?" She asks, her face contorted by confusion. "Don’t you think I wanted to give Sharon the father she never had?"

"My fucking point exactly!" I fire back. "Sharon deserved to know her father just like I deserved to know her. And never once did you think to try to find me?"

"I thought you were dead, you maniac! How can you not understand-"

"Don’t you fucking maniac me," I roar. "You kept my child from me for seven fucking years! You fuckingstolethat from me and Sharon!"

Mindy suddenly goes quiet and she stares at me. Her mouth opens and closes. She shakes her head. "I can’t believe you’re doing this," she whispers, but I’m not having any of her shit.

There’s no excuse for what she’s done. She stole all those years away from me and my daughter. She could have had a father. And I could have had a daughter. We could have gotten to know each other and be in each other’s life. We’ll never get those years back. They’re gone.

Ublyudok!

"Get out of my house," I growl, struggling to keep my rage at bay. She stands frozen, staring at me like I’m speaking gibberish. I can see the confusion and hurt in her eyes, but I no longer give a fuck.

"You don’t mean that," she whispers, not even trying to hide her distress.

My response is eerily calm. "Get the fuck out of my house. Now."

Chapter Thirty-Four

Maron

Blyad!

Perhot’ podzalupnaya!

I make my way back to the living room, cursing under my breath. The house feels empty without her, and I fucking hate it. But more than that, I hate the pain of knowing that I missed the first six years of my daughter’s life. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so excruciating. Or maybe I did. When Cordelia died. Or when I saw Mindy and Maurice together. When I learned that she betrayed me.

She betrayed you, mudak!

And now, there’s this bullshit. Sharon, my daughter, whom I could have loved and cared for since the moment she was born, was kept hidden from me. It feels fucking unbearable, clawing at my insides like a caged beast desperate to break free.

I need a drink. I need a fucking drink, right now. It’s the only thing that can numb this motherfucking pain.

I tear open the minibar, my hands fumbling for the open bottle of Stoli inside. I rip off the cap with ferocity, then raise it to my lips. The searing burn that courses through me immediately dulls the ache inside. It’s been too long since I’ve given in to this urge.

But one sip of vodka is nowhere near enough to numb what’s plaguing me. So, I drink more. And more. And even more. By the time I gulp down half the bottle, the room begins to spin.

Fucking woman betrayed me.

Again.

I tell myself this over and over again, as if I’m trying to fill the unbearable void she left behind. I keep drinking until the expensive bottle of liquid slips from my hands and shatters against the ground, spilling its remaining contents on the floor.

What a fucking waste.

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