моя суровая правда твоя милая ложь
Translation: my harsh truth is your sweet lie.
For over 200 years the russian and American mafia have been at war. men, women, and children have been casualties in this seemingly never ending battle. Both sides...
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"War does not determine who is right. Only who is left."
- Bertrand Russell.
Idalie - Not Edited
Jab.
Cross.
Jab.
"Come on idalie we've been training for hours and I'm tired." Vanya complained as she punched the bag. She is dripping sweat and so is Artem but they're right it's been about 4 hours since we started training and I've already been seen by the doctor.
"Yeah come on idalie we arent machines like you, we need to rest and drink some water." Artem cuts in.
For only being 14 you guys sure do complain like 4 year olds.
I laugh at my thoughts and the twins groan, and continue practicing for about ten more minutes. They are young and tired from the constant training I make them do whenever I'm not on a mission even though this is the first day I've trained with them in weeks.
"I've been gone for weeks and you both have been slacking off, think of this as your...reward." I laugh as vanya throws her head back and starts fake crying.
"Vanya that hasn't worked on my since you were 2 years old cut it out." I bark as she smirks and continues punching the bag.
They usually come in to train at 7 AM exactly and they leave when I say we're done. It's been like this since they were 6 years old and it's going to stay like this until I die or until i believe they are trained enough to go on a mission alone. Which will not be long, they are extremely well trained for only being 14.
"Alright, we're done. Go eat and drink water then go to sleep pozhaluysta." I say sternly leaving the two of them to get some rest. I need to as well it is midnight already. But me being me... (Now)
I wrapped my hands in the black tape and moved to the bag, working in a set of jab, cross, jab, jab, roundhouse , continuing until my lungs burned and I could almost slip on my own sweat. My hair had gone from a tight high ponytail to a loose one with small strands laying out framing my face. I could feel my whole body burning and an almost unbearable ache in my shoulder from the bullet wound.
It has only been eight minutes and thirty seconds when the gym door opens and the smell of coconut and coffee hits my nostrils. I recognize the smell anywhere. Mother. She walks over the the bench and takes a seat watching my every move.
