Page 126 of Ruling Scar
There’s a high ceiling and there are more plants and a fridge full of magnets and pictures. No one would ever assume Boris, bratva royalty, gets his orange juice out of that fridge.
A pot boils on the stovetop and Gia rounds the island, placing herself right in front of it.
This is how I remember her from my childhood days. Kids running around while she cooked. It was replaced by something more akin to the Wicked Witch after the butcher knife incident but for the first time, I wonder if we’re beyond that.
I know we are.
We have to be.
Based on how Gia stares at me as she checks the pot, she knows it too.
“So you’re dating my daughter.”
I nod, slipping my hands into my pockets. I showered and slipped into a pair of sweats, providing the Akatovs with a rare sighting of me in comfy clothes.
Gia adds pasta to the pot, stirring it. “I suppose you think I’ve been hard on you all these years.”
Yes.
“Tell me Elijah what would you do if a boy scarred your beautiful baby girl?”
Cut his balls off.
Perhaps there’s some merit to her desires after all.
I clear my throat. “I suppose I would’ve made the boy disappear.”
A puff of laughter escapes her. “Oh, you think.” She grabs a squash and begins to chop. “You knew about this stalker?”
“Yes.”
Her movements grow quicker. “Your man took a bullet for her.”
“Yes.” The word takes a bullet to my own chest as the image of Ivan slumped overcomes me.
I had to call his brother and tell him the news.
“She was taken anyway.” But the accusation is softened when she adds, “Boris said good things about Ivan. I’m sorry you lost him.”
I won’t miss him just because it’s hard to find loyal men these days. He joked in Russian and watched the Rangers. I’d known him since my Oxford days, recruiting him from Dad’s team. I’m a man with few friends but I can truly say he was one of them.
All I can think to say is, “He was a big fan of haikus.”
“You went to my daughter without a second thought.”
“Yes.”
She rubs the back of her hand against her nose. “You love her?”
“Yes.” Very much.
“I apologize for thinking your heart wasn’t capable of love.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” I say quietly. At times I feared my own father believed the same.
She sticks the tip of her knife into the cutting board, wiping her nose again. “This is real?” she asks, staring at me point blank.
“Yes.”
