Melissa
"Cards on the Table"
"You didn't expect this, did you?" I whispered my question as Roman's body froze like a statue. "Then go. Face Kirill now that you know the truth." Roman growled and backed away from the living room entrance, heading to the hallway to our right. I hissed as he suddenly let me drop to the floor, pinning me against the wall with his whole body. His left arm was around my waist, and the other was around my neck.
"Talk," he breathed into my mouth, his face flushed red with anger. "Right now."
"Calm down. I only realized this recently," I replied, looking at my bare feet. "Apparently, I think better barefoot."
"And with a bare ass too, huh?"
"Oh? I thought you didn't notice."
"Your ass? I always notice." His gaze made me clear my throat. "Now open that pretty mouth of yours and talk."
"I realized Leah is a traitor. She's clearly involved in this too."
"Explain."
I exhaled. "The kids. That's how Alex found out about them. It's what he told me before his psycho girlfriend sent me to the hospital."
"Go on."
"Kirill? Simple. I was in his way, so he got rid of me. Honestly, I suspected for a while, but I got curious when you said all this money trouble started right after I escaped."
"Got rid of you?" His eyebrows furrowed.
"Now you know about the kids. Even after that, I didn't run. I wanted to be strong, Roman Kirillov, and I became strong. But then I told myself-if I'm not safe with you anymore, I'll leave." I exhaled as his grip on my neck loosened. "Someone kidnapped me, beat me, and brought me back. And you didn't even notice I was gone. I packed my things and ran away."
"Fuck it," he growled, letting go of me and stepping back. "Fine, I get it. I'll be begging for your forgiveness my whole life. But your mother?"
"She wanted this. And the money. She wanted me out of your world, Roman Kirillov. Strange, right?" I laughed. "Because of her and my father, I ended up in your hands. But somehow, it stopped being convenient for her."
I admit, that's the one thing I still can't figure out. The motive. Odd, isn't it? But when I checked her accounts and saw far too much money for someone like her-that was a clear sign Kirill's hands were involved.
On the other hand, if I was the reason Kirill couldn't carry out his plan... maybe money was the motive. And Kirill needed someone else's bank account.
Money plays a central role in modern life, significantly influencing motivation, behavior, and goals. Its universality makes it a powerful tool for driving action, but it also brings emotional and moral dilemmas.
One key function of money is its ability to serve as an incentive for achieving goals. The desire to improve living standards, provide for family, and achieve financial independence motivates people to work hard, pursue career growth, and engage in entrepreneurship. For many, money symbolizes success and recognition, fueling ambition.
In the workplace, money often determines career choices, employment levels, and company preferences. High salaries and bonuses incentivize productivity and skill development. For businesses, money acts as a success indicator, enabling growth and competition.
Money also represents freedom for many. It allows for travel, education, relocation, personal development, and access to quality healthcare and services, reducing stress caused by uncertainty. However, without financial literacy or with excessive materialism, money can become a source of anxiety.
Additionally, money is seen as a symbol of power, status, and influence. This can lead people to invest in luxury items as markers of success, but the pursuit of status can turn into a trap, fostering dependence on societal approval and disconnecting individuals from their true values.
Money's impact on morality and behavior cannot be ignored. It can drive compromises in ethics or personal beliefs for financial gain, raising questions about the boundary between healthy motivation and greed.
Ultimately, money is a multifaceted motivator. While it provides freedom and opportunities, it requires responsible handling. True value lies in using money to improve life, not as an end goal. Balancing financial aspirations with spiritual needs is key to maintaining harmony and happiness.
And my mom wanted to has this but in easy way.
The sound of a slap pulled me from my thoughts. Roman's face loomed over me, his heavy breaths matching the intensity of our locked gaze.
"And now what?" Roman swallowed. "Did you want us to go in there and kill him together?"
"No." I scoffed. "That's not our style." I adjusted my hospital gown, every nerve burning with anticipation. "And don't forget, even if we know the main traitor, we still need those people and their numbers."
"And what's the plan?"
"Why are you letting me take control here?" I frowned.
"Because I messed everything up." His finger brushed my lips. "And I'm willing to do anything to make you feel good. With me. Again."
"I never..."
"Shut up." His hands gripped my throat as he pressed his lips against mine.
Kissing against a wall is a moment filled with passion, tension and a deep sense of intimacy. The gesture is both vulnerable and powerful, as the space enclosed by the wall seems to shrink around the two, creating an intimate microcosm in which there is nothing else but them. Roman and I are no exception. I want this. Only now, when there is too much going on in my head.
I feel my back touching the cool, smooth surface of the wall. This contact contrasts with the warmth emanating from his hands, which are now firmly pressed against my sides. With one hand he supports the back of my head, his fingers squeezing my hair a little tighter, as if afraid that I might pull away. But I can't, because he also has power over me. His other hand is already on the wall, because it seems that it is no longer felt on my body, creating a feeling of closed space that does not cause fear, but, on the contrary, gives a feeling of security.
His gaze is burning, his breath is heavy and warm. He pulled away so quickly that I didn't even feel the full kiss.
"For what?"
"I want to kiss you one last time before you start your plan because after your clinical death, I'm afraid that I'll forget what your lips taste like, krasavica."
His eyes linger on my lips, and there is a barely perceptible pause between us, filled with anticipation. This moment seems eternal, as if the whole world freezes, giving way only to this moment. I feel my heart beat faster, resonating with his heartbeat, which seems to echo dully in the closeness of our bodies.
And now he is approaching again. For the first few seconds, our lips barely touch each other, as if checking if I am ready for this again. My breath catches, my lips tremble with anticipation. Then the kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. Our bodies instinctively reach for each other, but the wall remains behind, adding a fine line between freedom and restriction.
His kiss is tender, it's so strange, but there's also something uncontrollable about it, even a little demanding. It's not just an expression of love or affection - it's an impulse caused by an internal storm of emotions, a desire to dissolve in each other. I respond to this impulse, rising on my toes to get closer, feeling nothing but his hot breath, the increasing rhythm and the slight tension in his hands.
The sounds around us fade. We hear nothing, no people, no loud voices. Just the faint pounding of blood in our temples and the sound of our own breathing. The wall behind me becomes an anchor, supporting me as my emotions swirl, eclipsing everything else.
Our bodies merge in this gesture. It is not just a kiss, it is a silent vow, full of promises, doubts and passion. Each of our breaths is like a sip of life, each exhalation is a confirmation that we are here, now, at this infinite point in time.
When the kiss ends and our tongues are no longer intertwined, we both remain motionless for a moment. Our breath hitches, our gazes meet again. His hand is still on the wall, my fingers lightly touch his shoulder. This moment, so simple and natural, remains in the memory as something infinitely close, like a secret that we confided only to each other.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Now I can breathe for a few minutes and feel calm."
"Roman... I told you that I'm not going to forgive you." I don't know how I'm able to speak after that.
"I know." He dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. "But know this - I'm all yours. Do whatever you want. Order me. I'll do anything, krasavica."
Get a grip, Mel. No need to melt into a puddle now. I blinked and pursed my lips.
"Excellent." I also moved away from the wall. "First of all, no war, when my brother arrives - I will solve the issue with the children. Until the end of the plan, they will live with us."
"Okay." Roman nodded.
"Okay." I nodded too, but more slowly. "Now, find Misha, make sure Dean is in the car, and when Alex arrives, tell Misha right away to tell me."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I'll talk to Kirill."
"Alone? Never." His jaw dropped, hard. But when I narrowed my eyes, as if reminding him of his own words, he let out a long breath and raised his hands. "Fine. I'm your personal servant, krasavica."
"A good husband."
"I owe it to them right now."
He silently turned and walked away, leaving me surrounded by emptiness. It's too late, Kirillov. It's too late for us to be husband and wife who love each other.
***
In a large room with dim light coming from a table lamp, Kirill was sitting on the couch, holding a glass of whiskey on his knee with one palm. Until that moment, while we were silent, I sat on the golden couch opposite, covering myself with a blanket so that my pussy was covered. There was a tension between us that seemed almost tangible. Contempt and cold fury were read in our looks. But my plan was to pretend that I didn't know anything.
Kirill was the first to break the silence. His voice was low and poisonous, like a cold winter wind.
"Do you even realize that this is your fault?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
I raised an eyebrow, smiling skeptically.
"Oh, sure. Of course, everything is always my fault. You're a saint, Kirill, and all the others do is ruin your grand plans." So that's why this rooster wanted to talk to me? To blame everything on me?
My voice was sarcastic, with a clear challenge. I crossed my legs to ease the pain of the wound, giving him a sharp look.
"Do you ever take responsibility for your failures? Or do you always find a scapegoat?"
Kirill chuckled, his face becoming even more tense. Yes, please, be nervous, puppy.
"Says the one who turned a simple task into complete chaos, I mean being a wife, that was your job," he snapped. "You can't even listen to anyone. You have your own way, right? And then you wonder why everyone hates working with you. Being around you. And then you run away and not them."
I raised my head, my eyes flashing brightly with anger.
"Maybe because I don't run around begging for someone to do my job for me like you do?" I retorted. "Are you even capable of finishing anything yourself? Or are you just good at giving orders?" Eat that, bitch.
He put the glass on the table and leaned closer.
"Better to be the one giving orders than the one breaking everything he touches," he hissed.
I laughed, but there was no joy in my laughter. It was a laughter of contempt, almost a mockery of Kirill's very existence.
"Breaking?" I repeated, as if tasting the word. "You have no idea how many times I've had to correct your mistakes. If it weren't for me, you would have been thrown out long ago."
"What do you even know about me?" Kirill asked defiantly. Too much, baby.
"Enough to despise," I replied sharply.
Kirill leaned back on the couch, shaking his head. His lips twisted into a bitter smile.
"It's funny how you always make yourself out to be a hero," he said. "You're just jealous, really."
I made a short, almost contemptuous sound.
"Envy? You?" My voice almost hissed. "Don't make me laugh, Kirill. Envying you is like envying a broken ladder. All you know is how to climb on other people's backs to somehow stay afloat."
"And you?" he pointed his finger at me. "You just like to put a spoke in the wheel, just to prove that you're better than everyone else. You think you're special, right? Because the boss of the gang loves to lick your pussy."
"At least I don't pretend to have morals," I snapped. "And yeah, I have a pussy and you don't. Too bad, huh? I'm afraid no one wants to lick your dick."
"Principles? You?" Kirill chuckled, ignoring my jab at sarcasm. "Your only principle is to do everything to spite others. You don't care about the result, as long as you prick someone."
"And you don't care about anyone around you," I interrupted. "The main thing is that you are praised. Well, that explains a lot, Kirill. Maybe if you weren't such a narcissistic egoist, you would have at least someone on your side."
These words hurt Kirill more than he wanted to show. His face distorted, and he seemed to start thinking, do I know more than he needs?
"You talk like you have more friends," he said mockingly. "Does anyone even put up with you?"
I fell silent, my jaw tensing. I stood up slowly, throwing the blanket aside as I approached him.
"I can do without friends," I said quietly, but with obvious menace. "I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me. Unlike you, I know how to stand on my own two feet."
"Noticeably."
I sighed, turning sharply towards the exit.
"That's enough. I'm not going to waste my time on idle chatter with a man who thinks the whole world owes him something."
But before I had time to slowly walk to the exit, Kirill managed to add.
"Running away? As always. Your weakness is all I need to know about you."
I saw Misha's face appear from the corner of the corridor and then nodded, clearly saying - my brother is here. I stepped into the corridor but before that I also said my last words, without looking back.
"My weakness? It's being the mistress here. So as the best dog here - throw a party in a week, because I'm coming back here. And yes, tell everyone..." I swallowed. "Melissa Kirillova is coming back here again as a wife and as your queen of bitches."