KING : Children of Wolves Book 1 - MC Romance Series | Dark Romance

Chapter Nine - Serafina

"Mister Markovic," the police officer looked at my father with disgust, "we found your wife's skull in a forest in the Everglades. Do you know what she would have been doing down there?"

The air was sucked out of the room on those few simple sentences. I didn't exactly have a normal childhood, but that was the first time I remember having an anxiety attack. It's not how it seems in the movies. At least not for me. It's just a rush of overwhelming thoughts. It's like drowning in your own brain.

I desperately wanted to gasp in a breath, my lungs were burning, aching for air- but I schooled my face just like Papa taught me. My expression matched his. Blank, cold, impassive.

My hands trembled from the moment the police stepped in the door. I knotted them together in my lap. Never let them see you afraid. Papa taught me that too.

Papa is old school Russian- he trusts no one. Least of all the police. When they knocked and he willingly invited them in, I knew something was wrong. I'm not dumb- and I wasn't back then either. I know about the Royal Suns, I know my father does bad things. He wouldn't let the police in our home... Now we're sitting here like some kind of fucking tea party of horrors.

Mama died when I was really young. At least that's what I told myself. She left when I was eight. For the first two years, I let myself believe that she would be back. Then when I realized she wasn't coming home, I pretended she was dead. It was easier to think she died than she was just missing. Or worse, that she left and didn't take me with her.

"No," my father clipped, answering their original question.

He has no idea why Mama's in the Everglades, but maybe you could do your fucking job and find out. I glared at the officer, keeping silent, but hoping my grim expression shared my thoughts.

There was nothing but silence after that. They watched him. He watched them. And I watched the tip of my black Adidas sneakers. I studied them. I memorized the round curve and the little nicks from their daily use. That day I learned what deafening silence meant.

After they left, I finally let myself break. Biting my lip hard, I tried to stifle my tears. I kept them silent, but they still fell. My father gripped my chin, standing over me as he raised my head to his.

"What is your name?" he asked me in Russian.

"Serafina Markovic," I said, swallowing thickly.

"Da, Serafina Markovic," he repeated. Now, in English he said, "and you never let them see you cry."

I nodded my head, blinking away more tears. It was like they formed in reverse, sucking back into my body. Never let them see you cry. It was his version of a hug I guess, I don't know.

There's no one here but us, Papa.

That was the day I learned that he was included in the list of people who were never meant to see me cry.