Page 24 of Tainted Empire
“Your hair...” she says, her voice tinged with confusion.
I look down, gathering my thoughts, before meeting her gaze. “It was time for a change,” I say.
The air between us is heavy with unspoken words. I take a tentative step towards her, fighting the urge to close the distance in one stride, to take her in my arms and try to mend the broken pieces of our past.
But I hesitate, acutely aware of how much has changed, of how much pain and turmoil we’ve both endured. My heart aches with the need to speak, to apologize, to explain, but words seem inadequate for the magnitude of what’s transpired.
“We need to talk,” she says, piercing my heart with those words. “We can’t keep doing this…”
Taking that hesitant step towards her, the emotions I’ve been holding back begin to surge forward. A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek, a silent testament to the turmoil raging within.
“I wasn’t here when...” My voice falters, and I shake my head, unable to articulate the depth of my regret.
Angrily, I run a hand through my newly cut hair, a gesture of frustration and self-reproach. “I’m a fuck up; I failed you,” I admit, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.
Unable to stand this any longer, I close the distance and drop to my knees before her, an act of submission and desperation. I wrap my arms around her waist, where our future once blossomed. She stiffens at my touch, and for a moment, I fear she’ll push me away.
But then, her hand finds its way to my hair, her fingers gently threading through the short strands. It’s a touch filled with a thousand unspoken words, a connection that, despite everything, remains unbroken.
We stay in this embrace, a moment suspended in time, where all the pain and loss we’ve endured seems to converge. I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of my next words.
“You know, the title of Pakhan and the stars on my knees and shoulders mean I don’t kneel to anyone. The tattoo on my ring finger symbolizes that I choose the Bratva first and foremost, before my marriage, before my own children.” My voice trembles, laden with emotion.
“But right now... Malyshka, I don’t know, I—”
I can’t finish the sentence. The realization of what I’ve lost, of what I’ve done, is overwhelming. In this moment, the insignia of power and loyalty etched on my skin feel like chains, binding me to a path that led me away from what truly mattered.
“I don’t know how to fix this, how to make up for the hurt I’ve caused. I... I should have been there. For you, for our child,” my voice is thick with regret and I swallow past it. “I’ve been so lost in my own head, I couldn’t see what I was doing to you.”
I want to tell her everything – my regrets, my fears, my longing to turn back time and be the man she needed, the husband she deserved.
“Mikhail,” Gabriette whispers, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of our shared sorrow. “You weren’t yourself. I know that now. The man who... the man that night, he wasn’t you.”
“But it was me,” I confess, my voice strained with the agony of acknowledgment. “Drugged or not, it was me. And I can’t... I can’t forgive myself for that. Neither should you.”
Her hand pauses in my hair, a hesitation that speaks volumes. “We’ve both lost so much and I know we’ve been torn apart by forces beyond our control. But here, now, we have a choice. What do we do with this... with us?”
The question hangs in the air, a pivotal moment that could define the rest of our lives. I look up at her, my gaze meeting hers, and in her eyes, I see the reflection of my own pain, my own longing for redemption.
“I...” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know where we go from here. But I do know I can’t lose you. Not now, not after everything.”
There’s so much more I want to say, so much more I need to express. But for now, these words will have to suffice. They’re a start, a small step towards healing the chasm that’s grown between us.
In this moment, on my knees before the woman I love, the titles and the power mean nothing. All that matters is her, the pain I’ve caused, and the uncertain path that lies ahead for us both.
Gabriette looks down at me, her eyes holding a mixture of strength and gentleness.
“Stand up, Mikhail,” she urges softly. “Remember, you bear the stars on your shoulders and knees. You’re a king, don’t forget that.”
Her words resonate deep within me, stirring something that had been lost amidst the turmoil and grief. With a nod, I rise to my feet, feeling the weight of my identity, the responsibility and power it entails. I look down at her, the woman who has been my strength and my weakness.
Taking her face gently in my hands, I fight the urge to kiss her, to bridge the distance between us with the simplest of gestures. “I only kneel to one person, and that’s you, moya koroleva,” I whisper.
Instead, I hold back, respecting the space and boundaries she needs. Her skin is warm against my palms, and she melts into my touch, a soft smile gracing her lips.
“I would do anything to make this right, to not rush what we have,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “So, I’m going to give you now what I didn’t give you before: a way out.”
Confusion flickers across her face, and she starts to speak, but I place a finger gently against her lips, silencing her questions.