57. Cooking

Maxim Vasiliev

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It was a good thing I was not the one driving – my men hadn’t allowed me to – because we would have been in some kind of accident by now because of my urgency.

I kept telling the driver to go faster, but it reached a point where he stopped listening to me. This was a character trait most of my men possessed. They listened to me no matter what but when I stopped being reasonable, they stopped giving me a listening ear.

My mind was unsettled and I could barely keep still on the drive back to the house. As soon as we entered the gate and the car started slowing down, I was out before he could pull over properly.

“Boss.” Some of the men acknowledged me but I paid them no mind. I took the stairs three steps at once and it was not long before I was in front of Brielle’s room.

Before I could push it open, Mikhail came out, closing the door behind him.

“How is she? Is she alive?”

He chuckled even if I didn’t find anything funny about the situation. “Chill. She’s fine.”

I l