𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

𝟒 | 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐔𝐍

"Уйди с глаз моих," (Get out of my sight) my father releases me with a wave.

I bow my head once, acknowledging and esteeming my father before I rise from my knees and turn on my heel. I inaudibly exit my father's office. The minute I am far enough away to garner some privacy, I leap in the air and fist pump.

"Yes, yes, yes!" I exclaim.

It seems Beau Torres did something for me after all.

It has been a few weeks since the mafia ball, but because of my engagement with the Capo of the Spanish mafia, my name has been circulating the underworld in a positive way. The enigma of my skin tone and disease has gathered enough attention to my name that Ivan no longer has any excuse to keep me behind the closed doors of my Moscow tower.

My bruises have healed, and the damage my father had done to my face is a thing of the past. I skip down the hallway with my hands gleefully clasped behind my back. What I initially thought was a meeting of mere punishment and grunt work has turned out to be a meeting to issue my first mission—and it was to be done solo.

Whether Ivan meant to or not, he unofficially claimed me as a worthy soldier in his army of men. He stated without words that I am resilient and dependable enough to enter the real ins of the mafia world without an escort.

My happiness doesn't simmer, not even when I reach my bedroom door and find Aemon standing outside of it, one sole pressed to the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Brother!" I exclaim, "I have the most wonderful news!"

"I've heard."

I draw my head back, stalling, "You already know?"

"Who do you think gave Ivan the idea?"

I don't allow Aemon to be a damper on my mood, despite the fact that I am slightly irritated that I didn't earn my role in this family entirely by myself. I shove past my older brother and open my bedroom door, only to be met with the annoying face of my younger brother, too.

"Alright, enough, you two," I roll my eyes.

I enter my room and head for my wardrobe, hopeful to find a black enough outfit to go on this mission. Aemon doesn't ask permission as he follows after me and closes the door behind him, shutting the three of us in the same closed space. It isn't lost on me how he chooses to stand on the wall opposite to Aeris and how Aeris shoots him a dirty look.

They haven't spoken since the ball—since Aemon wrongly attacked Aeris.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Aeris asks me.

"Ready for something I've trained my entire life for? I think so," I snap.

"You're still immature in the ring," Aemon states.

What was once a blissful morning soon becomes an intervention that is clearly unwarranted. I pop open my sock drawer and wrap my fingers around a cool, sleeveless switchblade for three seconds before I rotate and send it flying at Aemon.