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27 | Clara Saint

"𝐣𝐞 𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐢 𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐞𝐧-𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞.."

𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐧

I hate it when he pities me.

The way the emotion waves into his eyes, the way he suddenly stills for a moment, the way he continues to think of something to say back to me. I knew he was slightly surprised, I could tell by the way he slowly fidgets.

He hasn't taken his eyes off me.

"Clara-I...I had no clue." He whispered.

"How could you?" I grab the whiskey bottle sitting on the counter, trying my hardest to unscrew the lid as the memories slowly find its way crawling to my mind. I watch his eyes, he grabs the bottle from me after watching me struggle and unscrews the lid before handing it back.

I take a large sip, hissing at the way it makes my throat tighten.

I wanted to cry, to break down in front of him and release it all. For him to take me into his big arms, and love me again. He looks away from me, his eyes now pointing to his shoes.

I push the bottle of whiskey away from me, now disgusted of the thought of red wine.

Just as Vincent was about to speak, the doors suddenly open and Niko walks in with an iPad. "She's on her way to Romania." Niko speaks, handing Vincent the iPad as I stand up straighter.

"What do you mean she's on her way to Romania?" I question Niko, but he doesn't reply to me. Right. He answers only to Vincent. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Get the plane ready." Vincent murmurs, making his way to the door. I follow after them both, watching as they exchanged the iPad with one another- leaving me like a clueless puppy behind them.

"Vincent!"

My hand finds a way of its own, and I grab onto Vincent's arm. He turns, looking down at me.

"Answer me!" I could tell Niko doesn't like me, the way he stared at my hand that was now touching his don.

Vincent sighs, and I shake my head.

In hushed tones, I inquire, "Vincent, why is she headed to Romania?" Vincent silently motions to Niko, granting him permission to step away and prepare for the impending ordeal.

"You don't want to know Clara." He whispers.

"Where's my son? Where is he!"

"Your sister is attending a human trafficking event," he reveals, causing my eyebrows to shoot up in disbelief.

"What?" I barely manage to whisper.

Vincent's eyes darken as he discloses, "she's orchestrating Christian's sale to the highest bidder. It's all part of her plan. She wants us to bid for our son."

The revelation hits me like a sledgehammer, and I feel the insides of me spill out. My hands instinctively clutch my heart as I desperately search for the door. Suddenly, the air around me becomes suffocating, and I struggle to draw a breath. It's as if my lungs refuse to cooperate, and I collapse to my knees, releasing a torrent of anguish that engulfs my entire being. The pain in my heart is unlike anything I've ever experienced.

Though Vincent continues to speak, his words fail to penetrate the overwhelming grief enveloping me.

"I want my son!" I scream, the raw agony echoing in the room. Tears stream down my face as I repeat the desperate plea, "I want my son!" Vincent, sensing my anguish, pulls me close, pressing my head against his chest.

"I'll get him back, Clara," he reassures, his words offering the only semblance of solace in a moment shattered by heartbreak. The vision of my son being sold haunted my thoughts, a grotesque image that fuelled my determination.

"Why is she selling him? Who would buy a child?" I asked, my voice strained with disbelief and anger.

"Enemies of mine," he responded, "he's an heir to the Russian Mafia, and the Kovak empire. Our son is the heir to a powerful legacy. The enemies want to weaken the Kovak family, strike at its core by taking away its future."

I couldn't fathom the ruthlessness required to target an innocent child for vendetta. My son, the heir to a dangerous world he hadn't chosen.

"We have to go now." I whisper, pulling myself up. "We need to leave!" I grab onto Vincent's hands, pulling him up. His brows furrow in sadness, "we have to get him. Come on Vincent."

VINCENT

She boarded the plane, heading up the stairs in front of me.

She hasn't spoken to me the entire way to the airport, neither has she looked at me. She only held his shoes in her hands. His tiny shoes. I watch as she slowly settles down onto the leather seats, the last time we were on this plane-we also had problems.

The pilot shakes my hand, willing me a good trip as I settle down in front of her.

She continues to fiddle around with his shoe. Niko and a couple of my men board the plane, settling down beside us-on the other side. They continue to get to work to track the exact location of where the bid is happening.

I didn't know what to do?

What do I do?

Do I give her space? Is that what she wants?

You never told me his name..." I whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air. "Or his birthday... what he likes?"

She looked up at me, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. I regretted asking about him, especially when he was missing. I cursed myself for being so thoughtless, expecting her anger. But instead, she gently placed the shoe on the table between us.

"His name is Christian," she began, her voice soft and vulnerable. "I gave birth to him on June thirteenth. He was a chubby baby, with big cheeks and his eyes... his eyes are exactly like yours." A delicate smile spread across her face, memories flickering in her eyes. "He has a small dimple on his left cheek, but it hasn't faded like yours... his hair is dark brown, and his skin is just like mine. He loves pulling onto my hair and holding onto my thumb when he sleeps... he adores strawberries but despises blueberries – he makes this face when he eats them. And today, he took his first steps... he walked."

I could see the tears welling up in her blue eyes.

"At first, I hated him when I gave birth to him," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hated him because he looked so much like you... like his father. And it wasn't fair, my first pregnancy... and I was forced to give birth in a basement, unable to scream, knowing my husband was above me."

"Why didn't you scream?" I asked softly.

"Because they held a gun to my stomach, Vincent... would I risk my child's safety because of fear?"

I felt the weight of her words, the pain and sacrifice she endured for their son. I wanted to know more, the entire story, every detail. But I wouldn't force it out of her; she needed to share at her own pace. I reached for the shoes on the table, attempting to lighten the heaviness in the room.

"He's got big feet like his dad," I said with a faint smirk.

"I know, trust me... I know," she replied, her chuckle breaking through the tension. I stood and settled beside her. My hands reached for hers, expecting her to pull away, but instead, she allowed it. Her hands settled on top of mine.

"I will kill her for you. I will ensure she dies a slow death beneath your feet. I will make sure you have the final word... I will bring back your son."

"Our son," she corrected me in a hushed murmur. "Our son, Vincent."

Progress.

"Bring me back our son," she pleaded.

And that, I vowed silently, I would do for Clara Kovak.

And nothing would stand in fucking my way.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫: 𝐝𝐮𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡....𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞!!!!