𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐦

TWENTY-ONE

"Wish that you would love me gently."

21
Reign I Gusev.

A well disciplined businessman knows when to use his power, when to disguise it, when to intensify it if needed. I come from a long line of determined money hungry men who sought to violence first questions after.

It's never about the money, it's about the sacrifice and the will to take extreme precautions to keep your respect. This business was built off sacrifice and blood. I was strictly taught how to shoot a gun at seven, killed my first man at eight— many years later the empire fell into my lap. 

Rolan Gusev, my father, was quiet, calculating, and always focused on his "creations." Men like him—you watch them, you learn to fear them.

One night, I snuck into the kitchen for chocolate milk, the warmth offering a delightful comfort. As I drank, voices caught my attention. I hid in the pantry, leaving the door cracked, watching.

Through the gap, I saw my father have two men, dragging a familiar figure into the backyard. Something urged me to move, but curiosity held me still. I stared, heart pounding, knowing this moment would haunt me forever.

I proceeded to open the door to run to bed. However, it was as if my shoulder was being tugged— at that vulnerable age, intrigued is what a child is.

I remember trying not to get caught, I bent the blinds peaking out then in came all the fear. The familiar man my father would laugh with in his home was on his knees begging for mercy, my eyes shot open when his pleads became silenced. Blood splattered onto my father's white shirt as he repeatedly smashed away at the limp body with a hammer.

My father wasn't satisfied enough, he screwed on a silencer on his gun before unloading the entire clip with little to no emotion over the bloody corpse.

I was numb, I could hear the rate of my heart beat I panicked covering my ears. My breathing was unbalanced I thought my heart fell to my stomach. I didn't know the reason he did it, you never ask about what you saw— I was only five.

The shock felt paralysing, I ignored the urge to cry or scream. I calmly walked back to my room, pulling the covers over my head, unable to stop replaying those graphic events. I hold that night with me forever.

The time I saw my Ami in that club, for the first time I had a foreign sense of wonder. A krasota so rare, innocent and ingenuous she enticed me to know more. Her smooth skin I constantly crave to kiss, those light freckles traced along her nose. I knew I wanted her for myself.

That night she first ran away from me triggered my urges to torture and kill.

She was pregnant the whole time and executed what would have been my first born. I've made peace with the rage wanting to desperately snap her neck in two. These past couple months are excusable, however her disrespect can only go so far, I will not tolerate certain things.