Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
“Well done, Demyan,” a brigadier praised, his hand clapping down to Demyan’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll have no problems with the bastards now that they know our little prince is just as tough as his father.”
Anton tensed right along with his son. It was then he knew how Demyan was really feeling—a lot like he was. Shitty. Awful. Torn up inside. Struggling in a private way, but keeping that strong front for the people around him.
Fuck.
His boy was just like him.
Ivan hesitated at the door as he was leaving. “I’ll call you in the morning, Anton.”
“Sure,” Anton murmured, keeping his sharp gaze on Demyan who continued staring at the floor. “Is Gia—”
“I don’t know,” Ivan interrupted.
The door slammed shut, leaving Anton and Demyan in private.
“Where is Ma?”
“Sleeping,” Anton said quietly. “I let her know we were going to have guests and asked her to go back to bed, that it wasn’t important.”
Demyan swallowed thickly, grimacing. “What about—”
“You are never to tell your mother about what happened tonight. Ever, Demyan. It will hurt her and frighten her. She will worry constantly. She will be so angry at me, at you, the world ... everyone. I promised her a long time ago I wouldn’t lie to her, but I wouldn’t tell her if something like this happened. Those are our rules. When we leave this room, we leave what happened here, too.”
“Okay.”
Anton took a deep breath, watching his son clench the cell phone in his hands like it was his lifeline. “Talk to me, Demyan. It’s just you and me now.”
“I didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t give me a choice.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“What am I going to do now?”
Anton’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“She hates this shit, Papa. Hates it. Hates that I might be a part of it. And now she’s seen it—watched me do the things she hates about this life—I can’t take it back. She’s never going to forget. How do I fix this?”
“You’re talking about Gia.”
“Yeah.”
That’s what his son was worried about?
Anton couldn’t wrap his head around that. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his son’s relationship with Ivan’s youngest daughter. They were an on again, off again thing. Too rocky to be even remotely stable. Gia despised the thought of a gangster lifestyle, and Demyan was jumping knee-deep into the mob every day.
But, ever since Demyan was fifteen, they’d been coming back to one another over and over again, only to separate for a short time before getting back together.
“Is this who you want to be, Demyan?” Anton asked, waving a hand at himself. “Not me, I don’t mean ... be me, but the man I am. The things I do. Who I have to be when I leave this home. Is that who you want to be?”
“I’m always going to be this,” Demyan said quietly.
Not that he was eventually going to be Bratva, but that he already felt like he was.
Anton didn’t miss the distinction.
“Not every woman is going to be like your mother—accepting, understanding, and supportive. They won’t turn their cheek to your sins and behavior. They’ll demand and ask questions. They’ll want changes. You can’t expect Gia to be someone she isn’t, Demyan.”
Anton bit his cheek, adding, “Just like she can’t expect you to be someone you’re not.”
“I tried calling and texting but she won’t—” Demyan stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching.
“She won’t answer you back,” Anton finished.
“No. I really fucked up with her, Papa.”
The smallest tear slipped from the corner of Demyan’s eye, slipping down his cheek. He didn’t move to wipe it away, but no more came after that one.
For the first time, Anton realized something else about his son. Demyan’s relationship with Gia wasn’t some teenaged fascination and he wasn’t thinking only with the head between his legs. It was a lot more than that. Demyan loved the girl. Another snapshot to add to his life for Anton to remember. His son in love.
Unfortunately, Anton wasn’t sure what this one looked like—a broken heart, maybe.
“I don’t know how to help you,” Anton said, his emotions wavering and tone struggling. “Tell me what you need.”
“Can I just stay with you in here for tonight?”
Anton blinked, surprised. “That’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
Well ... “Okay. You can stay in here with me. For as long as you need.”
Raising a Queen
Foreword: Raising a Queen was done by special request. A reader wanted to see Anton and Ana as she grew up.
Raising a child like Ana Christina Avdonin was a tricky endeavor.
She had always been a little difficult, but that was by her father’s own meddling. Anton made damn sure his child knew she was priceless—perfect—and nobody around her could measure up standing at her side. At least, that what he always thought.
Anton had many things in his life to be proud of. His wife and her love, for one. His business, the Bratva he strengthened to be practically impenetrable. His son, relentless and charismatic right down to his blood and bones—if not a little colder in the heart, now.