Page 49 of Baby for the Bratva King

“Powerful?” interrupts my father, his eyes piercing my soul. “There’s no such thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Power is an illusion.”

But maybe it isn’t. Perhaps my father is a weak leader. Perhaps he was never meant to lead in the first place.

My father grabs a packet of noodles from the pantry and empties them into a pan. He heads over to the sink, flicking on the faucet. Water gushes out, the pan quickly filling with water.

I zero in on my father’s wrist. It’s strained, hand wobbling as he struggles to hold the pan one-handed.

He sets it on the stove, the gas clicking as he ignites the flame.

“Want some?”

Plastic noodles from a packet? I think I’ll pass.

Russia will always haunt me, I’ll never be able to shake that image of Yusen from my mind, but the country had its moments. We ate real food. We watched it grow around us, and it took time. Months, even.. People made things last. Villagers respected their local farmers, but everything here gets thrown away.

Halloween is next week. Everywhere I look, I see pumpkins, most of them squashed down to nothing on the sidewalk. Growth takes time, but destruction is instant.

I watch my father stir the noodles in the pot, steam pluming into the air.

People pile food into their mouth without knowing where it came from. There’s no community. No struggle. Everything is too easy. My father might be having trouble with the business, but he has food and women on speed dial.

The Land of the Free is full of ignorance.

Everything is too accessible. Switch on a TV, your central heating; order takeaway pizza. Make yourself feel better after a shitty day.

Where is the real struggle?

Yusen lost his life, but over here, everyone’s already slowly losing theirs.

My father drains the noodles, squeezes sauce from a packet and licks off the excess.

“You should close the textbooks and do something more meaningful with your life,” suggests my father, looking at me grimly. “You look miserable.”

“Two minutes ago, you were telling me to stick to the textbooks.”

“Whatever keeps your heart beating,” he drawls, sucking noodles into his mouth. They almost get tangled in his beard.

He needs to shave, to get back on track. But I fear he may have derailed his life completely.

And that’s all the motivation I need to complete these assignments and graduate from college.

My father is proof that you cannot make a life for yourself, on your own terms.

We’re responsible for our own undoings, and most of us fail to hold ourselves accountable.

Saskia brushes past my shoulder in her maid uniform later that afternoon, flashing me a seductive smile.

My darling Honeysuckle.

My cock stirs in my pants, but I control myself and slip into the living room.

I open the cabinet, select a glass and fill it with aged scotch. I take a seat on the couch and reach for the remote control.

I run my finger over the buttons. Switch on the TV and switch off your mind. Ignorance. Comfort. The human brain is wired to take things easy, and each time I see my Saskia wandering around the house, I want to indulge.