My EX's Mafia Twin

5. Accepting reality [Part 1]

5. Accepting reality.

Katarina.

I’m exhausted; I haven’t slept a bit when the door opens and an older woman appears. I don’t even try to ask for help; I know it would be useless. I choose my battles, and right now there’s none I can win.

I just need to regain my strength, so I stay impassive and obedient.

The woman unties me and, in barely understandable Russian, points to the food she left on one of the dressers. And while she cleans up the mess Killian and I left, I eat in silence, making no effort to communicate with her.

I doubt Demyan sent someone who speaks my language. This woman barely knows Russian, and even though I understand it with difficulty, I never managed to speak it—a fact that always annoyed my mother.

With no way to communicate with anyone, I just nod when she points me to the bathroom, and I think I understand the word “shower.”

Does Demyan Ivanov want me to shower and get ready?

Mmm… that’s a battle I can win.

I suspect what he wants from me, and if it’s about my appearance, he’ll have to dress me up in fancy clothes by force.

I wander around the room until night falls. The woman brings me dinner and frowns at seeing me just as ragged as before. I eat again in silence, and when I finish, I move to the window.

I know I’m in Russia; I don’t have to ask to know it. And even though my mother is Russian, I never set foot in the country… until now.

Dropping down onto the small balcony by the window, I hug my legs to my chest as I look at the view before me.

Looking back on my life, I finally understand the rejection I received from both families.

The Campbells never wanted me because I’m not of their blood.

The Volkovs never wanted me because I carry the blood of a killer.

And I guess the Ivanovs don’t think I’m good enough.

I blink, resting my cheek on my knee, still staring outside, trapped in this golden cage. Though, in reality, I’ve always been trapped in a cage: my feelings, my emotions, all of my being were locked in a solid prison, until I became the actress of my own life.

And the man who always saw through me, the one I never knew how to act in front of, who awakened the wild side I always tried to suppress, is right here, pulling the strings like the best puppeteer in the world.

But he forgets something.

Just as he was always the only one who could see through me, I am the only one who can see through him: how screwed up he’s always been inside.

Maybe that’s why we despise each other so much.

Maybe that’s why the attraction between us was always inconvenient.

Maybe that’s why the mutual hatred.

He can read me as well as I can read him, and in our minds, that’s just a weakness.

I need to focus, to see past the indifference he tries to show to find his weak point. Because Killian must have a weak point; we all do, and I need to know what his is.

I close my eyes, thinking.

Right now I wish I could talk to someone, at least one person. But I have to accept my fate: the solitude of my soul. And that no matter how indispensable I am to someone, it doesn’t mean they will be to me. I must face this as I have faced everything in my life.

Alone.

I hear the door open, and immediately, I know it’s him.

I almost always sense it when he’s in the same room; I feel the dark aura surrounding him, and I hate how my skin seems to sync with his presence.

A shiver runs through me, and I focus on looking out the window, trying to ignore him.

“You look like a homeless person,” he says, as detached as ever.

I turn my face toward the window to avoid facing him. My long hair falls down my back and waist, acting like a curtain, hiding almost my entire body from him.

I jump when I feel his hand push my long strands aside from my back and side, revealing my hunched body to his view. Killian takes my hand, which was resting on my shoulder for support, holds it delicately by the fingers, then places it on his lap.

I watch everything out of the corner of my eye, still not facing him.

Then he leans back onto his knees, adopting such a casual posture that I want to grab another glass and stab him between the eyes.

“I know you’re looking at me,” he whispers.

I roll my eyes, and with my hand still in his, I turn to look toward the window while he starts tending my wound again. My arm extends in his direction, but I keep staring outside.

I feel murderous.

The fact that I can’t kill him or seriously hurt him only makes me more psychotic.

It’s strange; I’ve never wanted to kill anyone.

Only him.

No one has ever made me feel enough, so it’s no wonder that this deep hatred can only be provoked by Killian Colleman.

Damn psycho.

He’s turning me into a psycho just like him.

Killian lets go of my hand and leans closer; this time he grabs my hips with strong hands and turns me, tossing my legs toward him. My feet land on his clothed thighs. I dig my thumbs into his skin through the denim, wishing to hurt him… but I only end up hurting myself.

He lifts my foot to his face, making me fall backward, so my elbows press down to catch the fall.

Damn i***t.

He stares at the sole of my foot, seemingly relieved by what he sees, then moves to the other while softly saying, “They’ll heal fast; you didn’t do much damage.”

I fling my leg outward and smash my foot into his face… hard.

He leans back, one hand on his nose, and I can already see a thread of blood running down his bearded jaw.

I squint at him and turn back, giving my back to the window to keep looking outside.

“I swear to God, Katarina…”

“You don’t believe in God.”

“I’ll need to believe in something to deal with you.”

“Go to hell.”

I hear him exhale, but I don’t care. We remain silent for long seconds until the cunning son of a b***h slips an arm under my knees, the other under my back, and lifts me, walking straight toward the bathroom.

“Put me down!”

He sets me on the empty jacuzzi.

In a swift motion, he climbs on top of me, one knee on each side of my hips, holding my arms outstretched with my hands pressed on the ceramic of the huge tub.

I throw my head back, glaring at him.

“Do I need to tie you up again, Katarina?”

“Should I cut your d**k off?”

“Then, tie you it is.”

The son of a b***h pulls a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, and I’m so surprised by his move that, when I snap out of my shock, I’m already firmly cuffed, arms stretched, while he remains over me.

“Killian…” I hiss through my teeth, the sound escaping more like a sibilant whisper.

His eyes drop to my mouth and blink slowly before meeting mine again.

“Do you want to die?”

I look away, ignoring his question.

“Because your father…” he starts.

“Demyan,” I correct.

“Your father gave strict orders that you shower and be dressed quickly. Be grateful he went to a meeting; you wouldn’t want to know what a man of his class does when disobeyed.”

“A man of your own kind, you mean?”

A dark smile spreads across his lips.

“No, darling,” he shakes his head. “I’m worse than him.”

“Idiot.”

“But now he’s in charge, so if you don’t want to anger the boss, damn well obey, Katarina. Don’t make things harder than they already are.”

“I’ll never make it easy for you.”

“Then, you’ll suffer more.”