Chapter 22 - Alexei

My head is pounding with a heavy migraine before I even open my eyes.

What the fuck?

I roll over, onto my back, realizing I am on a bed.

Where?

What the hell happened?

What the fuck is going on?

My eyes feel so thick and stuck together that I am struggling to open them. I'm exhausted and groggy.

What…the…hell…happened?

I press my fingers against my eyelids and massage them for a moment, then slowly open them and wait for the blur to fade into actual images that I can understand.

The downstairs guest bedroom.

What in the world—

I try to sit up, but a wave of nausea hits me.

I lie back down again.

Oleg. That mother fucker. Oleg did this.

Anya and Oleg were insisting I let Clara go and I refused, and that fucking asshole did this to me…

The nausea and blurred vision are suddenly no longer my primary concern.

Clara.

Where is Clara?

I push up off the bed, woozy, almost losing my balance. How much fucking shit did that asshole drug me with?

I hold on to the wall as I hurry out in the passage.

"Clara?" I yell into the house. "Clara?"

No answer.

Nothing but silence.

On unsteady legs, I rush upstairs. All of her things are still here, but she is gone.

Oleg and Anya convinced her to go with them.

She left.

She left without saying goodbye and without wanting to speak to me—she was totally fine with just… leaving .

My mind aches as I try to process this truth.

Clara is gone.

My heart begins to crack, deep fissures forming, pain shooting through my chest.

She left me without a care.

All of this was some fucking game to her? A waiting game until she could really get away? She took the first chance she got—

Fuck that.

She is mine.

How dare she fucking assume that I would let her just walk away like that. I didn't give her permission. I didn't agree to this.

I will get her again and she will be chained to my side.

I grab my car keys and rush out to the driveway.

Shaking my head, I take gulps of cold afternoon air, trying to clear my mind of the drugs Oleg used to take me down.

Fucking asshole. He will have to deal with me later.

The car growls to life and I rev a few times.

Then I'm off.

I'm racing towards the city. Towards Giorgio Vitali's house. I don't care what I have to do. I will get her back.

And this time—this time, I won't be so lenient. I won't be so kind.

She belongs to me.

I control where she goes and what she does.

The anger forms a thick layer of protection over my heart, blocking out the hurt. Blocking out the trauma of losing her. Anger is easier. It's something I understand. Something I can work with.

I drive way to fast, but I don't care. I don't care if something happens to me. I feel dangerous and reckless.

I can't believe she did that to me. Was it all fake? Was all of it some fucked up bullshit, biding her time until she can get away?

I will find her again, and I will get her back, and she will learn to love me.

A car swerves in front of me, and I shout angrily, dragging my steering wheel to he left to avoid a collision—and veer right off the road into a muddy ditch at the edge of the forest.

The other car is reversing up the road towards me, and I push my door open, the anger surging even worse than before. I want to smash this person's face in.

It's Oleg's car.

It's fucking Oleg, back to cause even more shit.

His car comes to a stop, blocking mine. Not that I can go anywhere right now—my tires are sucked into the mud.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I scream, slamming my fist against his window.

"Get the fuck in the car," he snarls as the window drags open.

"Not a fucking chance. I have to go get her back."

"I figured that's what you would be trying to do. Get. Into. The. Fucking. Car, Alexei. I'll take you to see her, but not a chance in fuck are you kidnapping her again."

I kind of have no choice. My car is out of action. I'll send one of my guys to drag it out of the ditch. But I don't want to wait around here for that to be sorted out.

I yank the passenger door open. I want to slam my first into the side of his face.

"You fucking drugged me," I snap.

"I had to. You left me no choice. And you are still so fucking blind you can't see why."

"I don't care why. Family doesn't do that to each other."

"What about what you are doing to your family?" he snarls.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I fold my arms across my chest as he pulls out into the road heading back towards town. Towards Clara. That's all I care about.

Oleg doesn't answer. His eyes are on the road, dark and brooding. His grip on the steering wheel is so tight it's as though he's wringing the life out of it.

I don't give a shit if he's upset. He should never have interfered in the first place.

Finally, we drive into town. Clara is close now. I don't have my car. I don't know what I am going to do.

Maybe I should get Oleg to drop me at my place in the city, then I can get my other car.

But he has some ideas of his own, and we turn off the main road towards Yefim's place.

"What are you doing?"

"We're making a stop. You need to—"

"I don't fucking need to do anything except get Clara back." Fury erupts from me.

"Calm the fuck down, you fucking idiot."

We are swearing at each other at full volume when we pull into Yefim's driveway. He comes outside, his eyes narrowed as he sees the commotion inside the car.

Oleg practically kicks his door open from the inside and storms out of the car in a disgusted mood.

I do the same.

Then, I turn straight towards the gate to leave.

I'll get an Uber. I'll walk, I don't give a fuck. I'm leaving. I am going to find Clara.

"What the hell?" Yefim says, and Leon arrives behind him.

"Alexei is the one who took Clara," Oleg says, betraying me.

I spin around in anger. "So fucking what?" I yell, waving my hands in the air.

Yefim walks down the stairs onto the driveway, Leon close behind him.

I want to fight. I want to fight them all.

I'm so angry I want to tear down the whole world—just to get her back in my arms.

"Alexei." Leon is pissed off. But Yefim—Yefim looks like he wants to start a war with me.

He grabs me and shakes me hard.

I shove him and he staggers backwards.

"You knew I was out there searching for her the whole time, and you had her?" Yefim comes at me with his fists clenched.

I shove him again.

Oleg and Leon are between us, trying to separate us.

"What the fuck do you even care?" I snarl.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Giorgio is on a mission to tear apart the person who kidnapped his niece, and—you fucking asshole—he has vowed to take down the kidnapper's entire family. Your family, Alexei."

His words slam into me.

I stop, dead still, frozen in place.

"He's—he's after the family?"

" Your family, " Yefim repeats.

Guilt floods into me. Thick, like oil, clogging my veins, suffocating me.

What the fuck have I done?

I didn't ever mean for my family to be involved in this. I didn't ever mean to put them in harm's way. This isn't what I wanted.

I take a few steps backwards, my mind ringing loudly. I can't seem to pull my thoughts together.

"Alexei, are you ok?" Oleg steps towards me with his arms out, a submissive gesture. Leon and Yefim are watching closely.

"How could you not realize that, man?" Leon asks.

"I—I didn't think—" I mumble.

"Yeah. Because you always act impulsively. Fuck, man. We don't want anything to happen to you, and we need to take care of our family. Us. Anya."

"Yeah," I nod, mumbling, falling into a heavy silence.

My heart is so heavy I place my hand over my chest to try and hold it in place. It feels like it might topple right out of my chest.

"Can someone take me home?" I ask after a long moment.

"Alexei, we can't…"

"No, it's fine. I won't do anything stupid. It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid of me, guys. I am so sorry. Honestly."

Leon nods. He can see the genuine pain of my guilt.

"Take him home."

"My place in the city," I mumble.

Oleg pulls his car door open again and I climb inside.

I don't say a word as he drives me home.

Clara is lost to me.

I can't put my family at risk to have her back. So I have to figure out how to let her go.

***

Over the next two weeks, I realize just how impossible that is.

Day after day. Hour after hour. Minute after agonizing minute. All I can think about is her. She is everywhere. She infects every single thought I have.

So I start drinking.

I spend the nights in clubs, hoping that the music will be loud enough to block the thought of her. Hoping that the alcohol will numb the heartbreak. Hoping that the stench of sweat and smoke will make me forget those beautiful nights in the forest.

But nothing is working.

No matter how much I drink. No matter how much I sit there in the chaotic noise of the nightclubs. No matter how many different places I go.

I can't forget her.

I can't stop this devastating pain in my chest.

She hasn't even tried to reach out.

She hasn't asked about me or tried to see me.

She really doesn't care.

I am such a fucking fool for thinking that what we had was real—in any way.

I slam the empty shot glass down on the top of the bar.

"Another," I demand.

The barman eyes me skeptically.

"Are you driving, man?"

"No, fucking pour it."

He pulls his mouth tight and pours another tequila.

I down it and let it singe my insides. I haven't been eating properly. I haven't been sleeping properly.

I stand up, staggering drunkenly. I make my way to the bathroom, bumping into people and swearing at them as though they are the ones in the wrong.

Leaning over the basin, I feel sick. I'm not used to this lifestyle. My body hates me. I grip the edge and take a deep breath, then look up at the reflection of the man in the mirror.

It doesn't look like me.

Fuck—he looks like shit. He looks like someone dragged him behind a truck for a mile or two and then dunked him a pool of misery and self-pity.

I squint, peering into my own eyes.

"You fucking moron," I mutter with hatred.

The man in the mirror glares back at me.

She will never love you. That's what he's telling me.

You aren't worth shit.

She'll find someone else. She'll be happy.

I swing my fist back and slam it into the glass, shattering the entire mirror. A big spider web of cracks splinters through it and chunks of glass dislodge and shatter on the floor. I stare at them, detached, separate from all of this. As though I am not me and I am not here.

Then I turn to leave, warm blood dripping from my knuckles.

Fuck this place.

I'm going home.

I need to sleep.

I need to…

I need Clara.