36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

My baby really is grumpy today.

I knew taking him twice in the same day wouldn't go over well, but that's half the fun. I love when he gets angry. The fire within him is such a turn on. A good fucking would set him straight, but I almost don't want to give it so he'll keep giving me shit. Him being uptight can go. His panties are in a twist way too often. But his temper? I fucking love that shit.

My cell rings from the other room, so I head in there to get it.

"Privet, Papa."

"Sevastian. I'm growing impatient."

"You know how I do things," I answer.

"No excuses this time. You are well past the date. Each day that passes you are costing me territory, money, men, power." He growls the last word and I can picture his tight face. "I cannot have this. What will they say about me?"

"Papa, with all due respect, things in this country do not work the same. I made this very clear wh—"

"And I am making myself clear now," he seethes in that low tone of his. "If you have not taken care of those twins within the next twenty-four hours, there will be problems. And I will have to deal with them the old-fashioned way."

He ends the call. I slowly lower my hand to my side, my cell slipping from my grasp. My eyes fall closed and I take long, deep breaths. I hate the way my body vibrates when I'm angry. When I'm on the verge of losing control. I roll my neck, cracking it in a few places. Clenching and unclenching my hands, I try to focus on my breathing.

This cabin has been a reprieve for me. A place to think and plan. A place to clear my head. But it's recently turned into something else entirely. There are no more quiet nights. Everything here is so loud. I'm no longer alone here. Because ghosts linger.

Justin is everywhere. In every room, even ones he's never set foot in. His scent stays no matter how much time passes between him being here. Images of him play through my mind like a movie. His voice echoes through each room as if he's calling me every minute of every day.

Justin Lorenzetti means something to me, and he shouldn't. He was never supposed to. He was an assignment from my father.

When I took the job to kill the secret Farina twins, I had no idea I'd get attached to one of them. Now look at the mess I've ended up in.

How the fuck do I fix this?

The head of the Bratva won't take well to his plans being ruined. Even if it's his son ruining them.

There have been many times in my life I've hated being the son of such a notorious man. As the years went on, I learned to accept my life. That I would never have a typical father or family or life. There were no family vacations and movie nights. No Sunday dinner gatherings and pet dogs.

There were trainings. Combat. Death. Hunts. Fights. Missions. Tests.

Oh, the tests.

My father trained me to be a perfect killer. To be meticulous. Precise. To pay attention to everything all the time.

It's why I never get caught.

He made the perfect killing machine.

Except I don't think he ever expected that machine to turn on him.

They say a dog doesn't bite the hand that feeds him, but what happens when that dog learns to feed himself?