Page 28 of Ruthless Serenade

"Very fucking funny, Timo." I roll my eyes. "You can answer my question as soon as you’re done cackling like a hyena."

"Alright, alright," Timofey says, catching his breath. "Get Mom some ice cream. Lots of it. And I need vodka. Even more."

I smirk. "Consider it done."

Despite acting like a dick, Timofey is not wrong. I don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing pushing a cart around Walmart, but here we are. Maron Korolev, Bratva boss, billionaire company owner and investor, grabbing ice cream, fresh fruit, veggies, and vodka at Walmart. It feels strange. Like I’ve been domesticated or something. But somehow, it also feels right. The thought of getting something from a supermarket for the people I care about feels… right.

Suddenly, Willow Heights Elementary comes to mind. The little public school I decided to sponsor a while ago. After a lifetime of dubious shit, I figured it was time to give something back. And a struggling elementary school that is short on funds seemed like a sensible option.

What the fuck do kids like nowadays?

After some contemplation, I pick up three large boxes and start filling them with anything I can get my hands on - food, drinks, books, stationary, you name it. By the time I’m done, there is a heap of stuff in each box. I'll take the boxes to the school later and get Mrs. West, the principal, to distribute them among the children who need them the most.

Once finished, I make my way to stand in line at the checkout. After waiting for my turn for about five minutes, I begin to feel my impatience surge. How the fuck do people do this every day? How do they work their jobs, raise their children, and do chores like food shopping? After another few minutes of waiting in a line that does not move, I decide to switch to a shorter one.

As I round the corner toward another checkout, something makes me stop in my tracks. My eyes go wide and I freeze, my body going stiff as a statue.

There, standing at the register, stands the woman I jerk off to every morning.

Mindy fucking Williams.

My heart starts hammering in my chest. The sound of it is so ridiculously loud that I’m sure the whole store can hear it. I just stand there like an idiot, unable to take my eyes off her, drinking in the sight of her.

Bozhe moy.

She looks fucking incredible.

Like she hasn’t aged a bit.

Despite her good looks, I can see exhaustion etched into her face. There's no trace of the glam make-up she had on the other night at New York High. This is Mindy Williams on a weekday, stripped down, raw, and real.

And sitting in her shopping cart, with her back to me, is a little girl. She can't be more than five or six years old. From this angle, I can’t see her face. All I can see is her long, golden hair, cascading down her back. The kid’s swinging her legs, her little sneakers tapping against the metal of the cart. She’s wearing a purple backpack with some cartoon character I don’t recognize.

As I watch, the girl turns her head slightly, giving me a glimpse of her profile. There’s something familiar about the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek, but I can’t quite place it. Then, she says something to Mindy, and I strain to hear her voice, but it’s inaudible in the busy store. Mindy leans down, listening intently, then nods, and grabs a chocolate bar from the checkout display. The little girl’s whole body seems to light up with excitement.

Who is this child? Where did she come from? Surely, she can’t be Mindy’s. I remember her struggles with fertility, the pain in her eyes when she talked about it. Did she adopt? Or maybe she found a way to have a kid after all?

My eyes drift down to Mindy’s hands. There’s no ring on her finger. Right. Not married. I don’t know why the fuck that makes me inexplicably happy.

But then again, having no ring doesn’t mean anything these days. For all I know, she could be happily settled down with some guy, raising this kid together. A guy I feel like I want to kill, all of a sudden.

Chert voz’mi, mudak!

I push aside the thought and focus on the child instead. She seems happy, well cared for. Mindy always had a nurturing side. I always thought she’d make a good mother. Until she broke my trust by betraying me.

But as I watch her interact with the little girl, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. Something important. The way the girl’s hair falls, the shape of her hands as she reaches for the chocolate… it somehow seems familiar.

I shake my head, trying to snap out of my wandering thoughts. It’s just a kid, maybe not even Mindy’s. Maybe a niece or a friend’s daughter. It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s none of my business. But even as I tell myself that, I can’t stop the flood of questions and the what-ifs from crowding my mind.

Mindy doesn’t see me. She’s too focused on paying for her groceries. For a moment, I’m gripped by the urge to go over there, to say something, anything. But what the fuck would I say to her?

"Hey, remember me? The guy who got shot just after he kicked you out of his party?"

Yeah, that’d go over well.

I just stay where I am, watching them from a distance like some kind of creep. I can’t help it, though. Seeing Mindy, seeing this kid… It stirs up feelings I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

By the time I finish paying for my own groceries, they’re gone. Vanished into the parking lot like ghosts. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I load my bags into the car, my mind still racing.

---