55. Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Four

The good thing about being me is the fear I've instilled in people over the years. I don't hate it. It makes me swell with pride. When I walk into a room, there's silence. Both from people I know and don't know. I get looks. Wide eyes. Makes me feel god-like and I fucking love it. I eat up the attention. But at the end of the day, it means nothing. I've realized that since meeting Justin, any look that isn't his means nothing. Because when he looks at me, it's everything.

My father's employees are afraid of him, for obvious reasons. But they're also afraid of me. They're entirely aware of what I'm capable of and may even fear me more than my father because they've seen the blood baths I've left behind. They've asked me torture techniques and fawned over my skills. They've seen me train. Watched me grow up over the years.

Which is why I know I'll get away with what I have to do. That, and maybe a little birdy already gave them the heads up. No, not my birdy. Just the saying.

The bodyguards lingering about are strategically placed around the house. Two stand at each door I have to pass through to make my way to my father, while others hang around here and there. Though I didn't see any men on my way up the private road, I know they're hiding in the trees in their camouflage clothing and sitting behind computer screens that record 24/7. Being the head of the Bratva, you can't be too careful. You also shouldn't trust anyone. Not even your own son.

The guards barely give me a look as I pass. I'm bigger than all of them. A few are as bulky as me, others as tall, but none have both. When my father realized I looked part giant, he used it to his advantage. Considering he's of average height and not at all in shape, I can't blame the guy for being desperate.

The door to his office is open, two of his best guys standing on either side of it. Their hands are clasped together in front of them, feet shoulder-width apart. The suits they wear are clean and expensive, hiding their guns perfectly.

"Evening, boys," I say with a wink as I walk past them. Neither of them responds. Little does my father know, I've already spoken to these two. Made sure they'd look the other way while I do what I do. Money goes a long way in this world. So do threats. Thankfully, I have a ton of money and deliver on threats—to which they know. Meaning, I get what I want. I understand how people get cocky when they have power. It's hard not to.

"Sevastian," my father says with a disappointed sigh. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

He shakes his head, making a sound of disgust. "You've not finished your job. There is nothing to talk about!" He slams his fist on the table, his face already turning beet red. His hair is as dark as mine, and his features used to be as prominent too. Now, there are wrinkles and bags. His skin is the same shade as mine, somewhere around a natural beige. His body isn't inked with tattoos the way mine is though. It's something he always hated that I did. Said it was too noticeable. If I were spotted, I'd be noticed right away. As if my height didn't do that enough.

Adrik Romanoff is a feared man. He's built something for himself over these years. He's been in this position before I was born, and has done it all alone. He's never married, never had a wife beside him. My mother was never allowed into this family. The only thing I know about her is what I read in the obituary. Which wasn't much. Basically a photo with her age, where she was born and died. Something about a heart attack but I know it was my father who had her killed. She gave him an heir and he no longer needed her. I resented him for that for a while but eventually got over it. Having a mother in my life would have done nothing to change who I am.

Back in his heyday, Adrik was a scary guy. He was like me. Ruthless. Forceful. He didn't take anyone's shit. Now, that fear stays due to memories and the reputation he's built for himself. Also, his muscle of a son who will kill you with his bare hands while smiling in your face.

It used to be my thing.

Then I moved on to bigger and better things.

Like piano wire.

Because why the fuck not?

I stand in front of his desk, watching him. His antics don't bother me like they bother others. Everyone is so afraid of this man. Everyone but me. They don't want to piss him off because he will have you killed without thinking twice about it. But he can't do that to me.

He gets up, planting his hands on the desk and leaning toward me. "What do you have to say for yourself? Do you know the trouble you've caused me?"

I keep watching him, my mind circling around how I feel about all this. The answer? Nothing. I used to have respect for the man. Hung on his every word. Wanted to make him proud. And for some reason, that all just disappeared. And why? Hardly anything has happened since the last time I saw him. We've spoken a few times. He gave me shit about not doing my job, but it was hardly anything bad.

The only thing that happened was Justin. The man who made me feel something. The man I found myself caring about. I have Justin now and I don't give a fuck about anything my father has to offer me. Why do I care what someone like my father thinks about me when I could care what Justin thinks about me?

I feel nothing for this man in front of me. Nothing. And I need nothing from him.

But Justin truly is everything. His smiles. His laughs. His voice. His touch.

It makes me feel alive. It's something I could live for. I don't feel like I'm just going through the motions when I'm with him. It's different. Better. Fucking addictive.

"You think I don't know what this is about?" he shouts. He's pissed that I'm not answering him. The buttons on his white button down look like they're about to pop. He's put on a few pounds since I last saw him. Or he changed dry cleaners, and they shrunk his shirts. "You've been gallivanting with that man. What have I told you about that?" he bellows.

That gets a rise out of me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my stomach twisting into knots.

My father doesn't approve of my lifestyle. He's not okay with me being gay.

Something I never cared about before because it didn't matter. I did what I did and kept it a secret. I never planned on getting serious with anyone, so who the fuck cares what he thought? What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. I kept that part private, and it's not like I gave into it often anyway. Sex with anyone wasn't high on my to-do list. It was never an issue before. In the grand scheme of things, I don't care if my father approves or not. But his hatred for it does add to the list of reasons I'm happy to kill him. Not that I didn't have enough already, but the more the merrier. Anyone who disrespects Justin can choke on shit. I'd gladly defecate in their mouths to help the process along.

"Not to do it?" I say with a smile.

"You're damn right! What will people think of me if they see you all over a man the way you've been doing? Those states are not a good place for you to be." He shakes his head. "You're not taking jobs there any longer."

Sweat dots his hairline. The guy can't even yell at me without breaking a sweat? Shit, he should really have been working out or something.

But also… He said if I didn't get the job done he would handle me the old-fashioned way. The man is softer than my dick around a bunch of women. People fear this man? Christ, that's pathetic.

"You're making a fool out of me for what, Sevastian? For a hole to put your cock in?"

I can't help but laugh at my father saying the word cock. It's weird. Kind of gross. Makes me think of his and I don't like that one goddamn bit.

"And now you're laughing?" he seethes.

"Yes, Papa. I am. Want to know why?" I step closer, putting my hands on the desk, which has us about two feet apart now. "Because you are a funny man."

Confusion passes in his eyes before they flip back to rage.

"If this is one of your sick jokes—"

"I assure you, it isn't. I'm actually here on very important business." I keep my words calm and quiet.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I move quickly. I grab the piano wire from my back pocket, and with perfect practice, lean forward and wrap it around his neck.

Adrik Romanoff's eyes widen, hands going for the wire but it's already too tight around his neck. He won't get a grip. My knee is up on the table for leverage, and I move closer to him, coiling the excess wire around my hands to pull harder. If I'm not careful, it'll cut into my own skin. The more I wrap it around, the more it covers, lessening my chances of cutting myself. The length of the wire is important. I need enough to get around their necks and my hand, while not having too much that it tangles. It took me a while to get the wrapping part right. Especially quickly enough that they can't fight me off. I swear I've got some kind of record now. Pretty sure I could behead someone like this in less than five seconds.

My father is trying to breathe, his face turning into a plum. Panic surges in his eyes and all I can do is smile. They're pleading back at me, but it means shit.

"Your time on this earth is done. And the last thing I want you to know is that I'm going to marry that man you saw me with. I love him." I grin. "And there's nothing you can fucking do about it."

I squeeze tighter, his eyes widening a bit more, and the wire digs into his throat, blood dripping down almost comically. He grasps onto my shirt, tugging, but there's barely any strength. One more hard pull and I've gone through his esophagus. The wire is halfway through the front of his neck now. The metallic scent of blood fills the air. I close my eyes and breathe it in. Never has blood smelled so sweet before. Never has it had such a wonderful meaning.

Freedom.

How it smells so delicious.

When his body gives in, I let go and watch him fall to the floor. He cracks his head on the table on the way down, which makes me laugh. Oops.

I crack my neck as I get off the desk, then grab my father's cell phone from his front pocket. Knowing his password, I go in and take it off so there is no longer one on it at all. I unravel the piano wire from his neck, coil it back up and shove it in my pocket then walk out of the room. I don't bother cleaning myself of the blood just yet. I want to revel in it for a while. I'm proud of what I did here today.

"Sir, what are we supposed to do now?" Dmitri asks, glancing at Maxim, who is beside him. They both look much more at ease now that my father is dead. I'm sure they hated him as much as I did.

I shrug, tossing him my father's cell phone. He fumbles for it but catches it.

"You're in charge now. Do whatever the fuck you want but leave me out of it."

I throw up the peace sign over my shoulder as I leave them.