I met Oleg in junior school, and we clicked right away. Despite our fathers being rival mafia bosses, we never fell apart. But my feelings for Oleg changed with age. I felt frightened because I was torn between the comforts of friendship and the thrill of something more. My dad was very homophobic, so it was even more difficult to express how I felt. I was faced with wanting to be truthful but endangering our families’ fragile peace So, my feelings stayed hidden, and I was just happy to be with Oleg. Yet I couldn’t help but hope that Oleg would feel the same. Perhaps he was too scared to say anything. That hint of hope was what gave me the courage to take action. And I did but things went terribly wrong. our worlds collided and exploded. It left us with nothing but hatred and resentment between our families. If I could turn back time, I would be content with the friendship we once shared, not the hurt and anger which we now have. We parted ways with hatred in our hearts,a wound that never healed,years later,our path crossed again......
ดูเพิ่มเติมELVIS POVMy father rose from his chair, and I followed suit, instinctively mirroring his steps as he paced the room like a caged lion. His cane tapped rhythmically against the floor until he halted abruptly.""From what I gathered," he said, eyes fixed ahead, "it was Oleg who leaked that video…?"His tone was a loaded verdict masked as a question.Words caught in my throat, stuck between denial and truth.Without warning, his walking stick snapped against the back of my knee. The blow was so sudden, I collapsed with a groan, my leg buckling like it had been yanked out from under me. Pain shot up my thigh as I clutched the floor.you stupid boy, what a waste!! he hissed, like spitting poison through his teeth. “I wasn’t trying to—”. I exhaled shakily, burning hotter than anger.His eyes scanned me.“That footage going around... only you and I knew about it when it was sent to me three years ago,” he stated, leaning on his cane. “It came from a burner number. I made sure to wipe every t
ELVIS POVI pushed myself off the chair and dropped to my knees before my father. My entire body was racked with a violent shiver that I couldn’t stop, my gaze glued to the floor.“The contract. The partnership I bled for,” my father said slowly, each word dripping with seething resentment. “All terminated, because of some filthy little film my son should never have even imagined, let alone allowed to exist.”He muttered the last part under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck like the very mention of it gave him a migraine.“Bitterness surged as I pressed my lips shut“A son who drags his father’s name through dirt.” His voice darkened. “Tell me, Elvis... what punishment fits a son like that?”I was drenched in sweat now, heart pounding like fists against a locked door. It all felt like a repeat, like dejà vu all over again, of that time the video first ended up in my father’s hands. The story I spun. The fallout that followed. And the warped command he etched into my mind to tak
ELVIS POVI stood in the doorway like a ghost exhumed from a life I’d buried long ago, hands tucked deep into my pockets, yet nothing could shield me from the cold that seeped from the walls, making my bones ache as if they remembered the pain before I did."The room hadn't changed in the slightest. The same green sofa where my father once lounged like a king, meting out punishment. The chandelier still hung above like a monstrous steel spider, its harsh light splintering across the polished table—the very one where I used to count reflections, dazed and bleeding, after another 'lesson.' My muscles tensed involuntarily, phantom bruises coming alive beneath my skin. Even the scent hadn't faded: a nauseating blend of cigars, dried blood, and aged whiskey, woven so deeply into the furniture that it seemed to exhale pain."Young Don," a voice called out.I looked up sharply, dumbfounded by how distant I’d become in my skin. But no explanation followed. Instead, I found myself frozen on th
ELVIS POV"Present Moment""Was it Oleg?!"Luca’s voice tore through the strained atmosphere, eyes frustrated, blazing with webs of too many unanswered questions. but his words barely pierced the fog in my mind. I sat hollowed out, like my soul had slipped from my body and drifted somewhere far from this confined room."Elvis!" he snapped again, blistering this time, like a slap to the face. I blinked, dragged back to the present by the raw urgency in his voice."At this rate, you’re signing your death sentence. Get your head on straight, “we’ve got fires to put out." His voice cracked, not from anger, but from a panic that slipped through.Still, whatever concern he had for me faded into the backdrop of the wreckage I’d become."It was that fucking psycho, Oleg, wasn’t it?" he cursed bitterly, pacing now, hands flexing restlessly at his sides.I didn’t respond. My head hung low, fingers digging into my hair, as if the pain could stop me from slipping away entirely. The "family room"
ELVIS POV“Mama!” I called out. My frustration rang out, filling the mansion.She turned to me with an easy smile. “Oh, Ivan, meet Oleg. You remember Sergei mentioning his son at the funeral, right? He and Luca were hanging out this evening, so I picked him up.”My stomach coiled tight. “He shouldn’t be here. Father will be furious.”"I invited him, so there shouldn’t be an issue," she reasoned softly. "Besides, he’s practically your brother. You should be welcoming him, not pushing him away."I snapped my head toward Luca, who shifted uncomfortably under my glare. He faintly murmurs, “We’re just gonna play games and chill, that’s all…”I ignored him, turning back to my mother with a scowl. “No, he’s not. And he never will be.”Oleg merely curved his lips, undeterred by my hostility.“Ivan, don’t be a brat,” Mama scolded, then turned to Oleg, her tone immediately softer.To my annoyance, his expression switched instantly—his usual arrogance replaced by a performance “almost pitiful”.
ELVIS POVBrushing off his comment, I met his eyes, "We are not exactly on brotherly terms to be sitting close to each other," I queried.A hint of mischief glimmered in his eyes. "Sitting in front of someone doesn’t necessarily mean anything, you know that, right? Oleg said smoothly."If you’re talking about going all the way from your class just to sit here with me, then no, I had no idea," I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.He tilted his head slightly, then leaned back, resting both hands behind it as if he had all the time in the world. His relaxed composure suggested he was impressed that I’d caught on to his game as he casually folded his arms.I actually came for her," he responded at last, jerking his chin toward a group of girls fawning over him. Without sparing them a glance, he added, "Right?"A chorus of eager voices rang out in unison, each girl scrambling for his attention.I sighed, propping my head on my hand, secondhand embarrassment creeping in."Point taken,"
ELVIS POVAfter the funeral, thoughts of the boy I had met lingered in my mind. His image remained with me, but as time passed, the memory gradually faded. By the time I turned eleven, he had become a distant recollection. That changed when Sergei Petrov's family moved to our town. Word of their relocation spread rapidly, but I paid it little mind, "confident our paths would never cross, and even less concerned with their peculiar son". Unbeknownst to me, fate had other plans. When I was in middle school, the Petrov siblings joined my school, causing subtle ripples to spread almost instantly among students. Just like when they moved, their presence became the center of attention. Stories circulated about their years in the U.S., their impossible good looks, and their remarkable ability to excel at everything they touched. They became the kind of people others admired and envied from afar. Everyone knew our fathers were rivals, entangled in a war across both global business and th
ELVIS POV"Seven Years Ago"Despite having visited Chicago a handful of times during school breaks, I was still unaccustomed to its brutal winters. The cold was relentless, even in the early afternoon, slipping through the heavy wool of my black coat as if it sought to settle in my bones.My mother stood a short distance from the open grave, speaking softly with Sergei Petrov, while his men lingered nearby, keeping their distance. Their conversation faded into the background, my mind too consumed by the emptiness of the moment.As the ceremony concluded, the mourners, draped in shades of black, began to disperse solemnly toward sleek luxury cars now dusted with snow, engines purring softly against the funereal atmosphere. Among them, I spotted familiar faces—figures of influence—men I had seen on television or in the company of my father.Beyond the cemetery gates, reporters swarmed like vultures, cameras flashing against the dull gray sky, desperate to capture any piece of the moment
ELVIS POVI nodded toward Luca and Pavel, signaling them to fall back. Pavel complied, retreating slowly, but Luca hesitated, keeping his weapon trained on Oleg. He didn’t lower it until the very last moment before finally stepping back.Oleg yanked me forward by my shirt, his grip tight, his face mere inches from mine.“What exactly are you trying to prove?” he spat, his voice biting. “Just because I didn’t put a bullet in your skull when I had the chance, you think that makes you special?” His gun pressed against my forehead, his icy stare cutting through me.I exhaled sharply, fighting to keep my composure. “You know, that far from the truth,” I countered, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. His breath was heavy, fanning against my face as he kept his hold firm.“Shut up.” His voice was sharper this time, a bark of anger. “Just like you did to my brother, I could return the favor right here, right now. So don’t test me.” His tone dropped to a near whisper,
ELVIS POV I stood on the balcony of my penthouse, the glittering view of Montenegro stretched out before me. The city was alive with lights and movement, a masterpiece of modern elegance framed by ancient history. But tonight, I couldn’t appreciate its beauty. My mind was too preoccupied with memories I’d rather forget. It had been three years since I was forced to leave Russia—a place that was no longer my home. My departure had been swift, cold, and unforgiving. Montenegro had become my gilded cage, but the chains of my past still clung to me. I could vividly recall the disappointment on the faces of those I cared about. Especially *his* face. The hatred in his eyes, the venom in his words—they haunted me. *"Don’t you dare touch me again. The next time you do, I’ll break more than your jaw,"* he spat, his voice shaking with rage. *You disgust me*. You can’t even own up to your actions. You took me for a fool because I tried to let things go. But now? Now I see you for what you ...
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