No.
Radmir
The bright sunlight streamed through the window, waking me up, and for a second I looked around, disoriented with my surroundings. Immediately, my hand slid under the pillow for my gun.
The silky, soft slender leg hitched over my thigh stopped me, reminding me that I was in my woman’s bed in her house in the United States and not in some hostile environment. Instantly, my body relaxed as Vivian buried her face deeper between my neck and shoulder as she mumbled incoherently. I rubbed her back in soothing motions up and down, not wanting her to wake up. After a night of lovemaking, she needed her rest. Closing my eyes, I pressed my cheek against her hair and inhaled her vanilla smell that I would forever associate only with her. It calmed the turmoil in my heart, and I prayed to God she would find a way to forgive me. She might have succumbed to her desire for me, but the hurt was still strong, and it was my job to fix it.
The last six years in prison made me a light sleeper, and we had to wake up early, so I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, even though being in bed with my woman was heaven on earth.
Sliding my hand and myself from under her carefully, I left her in bed and covered her with a sheet. Her chest rose and fell peacefully, even though she groaned. I almost laughed out loud at this. In the past, she tended to like sleeping on me more, so it didn't surprise me.
Taking a quick shower in her bathroom, I pulled on my jeans and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. I needed to take care of Bratva business. Several new contracts came in last week, and I had to legally approve them before they could produce a profit. Also, we had some new members from a rival gang joining us soon; the pakhan would need my help.
However, all thoughts about work escaped my mind as I noticed my son wearing huge white headphones as he watched Mickey Mouse cartoons and munched on an apple. He still wore his Spiderman pajamas and kept pushing his hair from his forehead. My kid was fucking cute, but we’d need a haircut soon. His hair was a bit too long for his age, and I didn't like that he was facing any kind of discomfort.
Walking to him, I called softly, “Jake.” Since he didn't hear me, I touched him gently, and he raised his surprised eyes to me. He grinned, displaying his missing two front teeth, then turned off the TV. He hung the headphones around his neck as he said in a rather loud whisper, “Daddy,” and jumped into my arms. I caught him in time, although he took me off guard with his easy acceptance of everything. He squeezed me tight, and I did the same, relishing the feeling of knowing my son and that I wasn't a stranger to him. Vivian, my Vivian, was a remarkable woman who kept me present in their little family of two. I wasn't sure I would have survived if he considered another man a father; it would have killed me. She did all she could to protect me and our child, but it wasn't her job anymore.
My son and woman would be protected by me from everyone, and no one, fucking no one would dare hurt them anymore.
Not if they valued their life.
“How about breakfast, little buddy?”
He nodded eagerly and wiggled to be put down, so I did just that. He sat at the small round table in the corner of the kitchen and looked at me curiously. “Do you know how to cook?” He sounded very hopeful, and I couldn't help but chuckle. I suspected the reason for his hope.
“Yep.”
He exhaled in relief. “I love Mommy, but she doesn't know how to cook very much. We usually go to breakfast at a nearby bakery.” Then he frowned, probably not liking how it sounded, because he added, “Mama does amazing tea and salads and macaroons and spaghetti and—”
Taking out eggs, milk, and some fruit, I placed them on the counter and ruffled his hair. “It’s okay, buddy. I know Mommy’s cooking skills.” She was a paradox when it came to it; she could watch cooking shows for hours or do everything exactly by the instructions, but the minute her hands touched the pan, everything burned, literally. She managed well with boiling something or mixing different stuff, but whatever involved pan and gas… she was a disaster at that.
“What are you cooking?”
“What would you like?”
He thought for a second and then shrugged. “As long as it doesn't have tomatoes, I like it.”
I mentally noted than my kid had an aversion to tomatoes. Then an idea struck me. “How abouttvorozhniki?”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s a Slovenian dish. Delicious.” Plus, it didn't hurt it was Vivian’s favorite. “Want to try it out?”
Jake nodded eagerly, and then joined me next to the counter. “Can I help you prepare it? Mommy would love it!”
Smiling, I hugged him to my side for a second just to make sure this was real and not some fucked up dream I’d been having for the last five years. “Sure, buddy. But first, we need to find good music and an apron.” Searching for a few moments, I found a pinkish apron and put it on, and when I tied it in the back, it resembled more of a ballerina’s tutu on me, and Jake giggled. As long as it made my kid happy, I didn’t give a fuck how ridiculous I might appear.
Winking at him, I placed my phone next to the speakers on the TV and plugged it in through the wire, so I could introduce my son to one of my favorite songs of all time. The music started to play with its light melodic sound, and I clapped my hands and said, “Let’s wash our hands and cook some breakfast.”
Vivian
Startled, my eyes snapped open as I gazed at the ceiling confused, trying to understand the weird sounds coming from outside my room. I glanced at the open window, but it seemed the sound came from within the house.
Then as I concentrated on the music, I recognized the amazing song by the Russian band B2 and Chicherina called “My Rock and Roll.” The soft music of the violin echoed through the house, awakening forgotten emotions inside me, as if last night wasn't enough.
“What does it mean? The last line of the song, they sound so sad when they sing that,” I asked Radmir, who listened to the music with his eyes closed as it blasted through the speakers in the Bratva headquarters.
“Doroga v moi gom i dlya lublvi eto ne mesto.” He repeated the unknown words to me and then translated. “It’s a way to my home and love has no place there.” He swirled the drink in his hand, and the ice clinked inside. “Quite symbolic for our situation.” My heart panged painfully, because I understood the meaning behind it. Rising from my seat next to him, I moved between his legs and palmed his face as he finally opened his eyes for me, and all I could see there was agony and regret.
