Page 37 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Roma

Dad: Family Meeting Tonight.

I wanted to say no. But Ren’s not going to be around anyway since she’s finalizing the details of selling her business. She kissed my cheek before she left and told me I’d be okay. As if I’m the one facing a more difficult meeting.

I’ve pressed her about why she’s selling. I don’t want to be the reason she lets go of something she loves. Just like she doesn’t want to be the reason I walk away from my family business.

Except I’m finally admitting my goals and dreams. I’ve held back, trying to help Max and Elijah. And deep down there’s a people pleaser in me that’s deferred to Dad.

Selling Aunt Macy's business is different. It doesn’t make sense. I know Ben and her friends are worried about how much she works but they never entertained the idea she’d quit altogether.

I knew she wouldn’t let me come to the final meeting but that didn’t mean I wanted to be available for a family meeting.

The first worrying signs came when Max called me about it. He’s the son continually in our parent's business so if he didn’t know, I certainly didn’t know.

Worse—Elijah didn’t know either. And that bastard knows everything.

When I pull up to the house, Grandma’s getting out of her hired car as well. Dima opens the door for her and I spot Russ and Max.

“Where’s Sailor?” Grandma demands. She smacks a kiss on all our cheeks.

“We left her with a babysitter.” Russ pulls her cardigan tighter despite entering the house. Without the fuss of a party, she and Max hardly show up here.

And it’s unusually hushed.

We wander into the kitchen out of habit.

Elijah and Lennie sit at the square island. Elijah’s arm wraps around the back of Lennie’s chair. Casual but claiming.

It’s not just because the bastard is overly protective of her. He’s currently protecting her.

Because Mom and Dad also stand by the island.

Plenty of family gatherings happen in this kitchen. But not usually when Mom is around. And certainly, never any family meetings.

“Why’s it so dark in here?” Grandma squints behind her thick glasses. Russ pulls out a chair for her, but she waves her away. “You didn’t bring your girl?”

A second goes by and I realize she’s speaking to me.

“She had a work thing.”

“So it’s really happening?” Lennie asks. It’s the first smile I’ve seen tonight. “You and Ren.”

“Is she okay?” Russ asks, sitting down beside her friend. Max claims the seat beside her. I’m tucked in by Grandma. Across the table, Dima keeps eyeing the fridge, probably debating whether now is a good time to crack open a beer .

“You mean is she selling her business because you and Len ganged up on her at Sailor’s party?”

Lennie can’t school her face in time, not that she ever really can. Her mouth tumbles open and Russet purses her mouth side to side.

Max texted me days ago about what was going on. He got tired of Russet wringing her hands, wondering if she’d harmed her friendship with Ren.

“She’s planning an Alaskan cruise.” There’s no point in giving them too much of a hard time. “She’s fine.”

Russet places her head in her hand, shooting me a pouting look anyway.

“What’s going on?” Max asks once we’re settled.

I’ve seen this version of Dad before. Leader of the bratva.

He holds his head up, his shoulders back.

He’s wearing a suit in his own house. The only inkling of friendliness comes when he glances at Lennie or Russet.

Grandma’s too used to her son to be taken aback when he appears in front of us as the leader instead of our Dad.

When he looks over at Mom she doesn’t meet his eye.

Max for all his suffering the past year, immediately looks to her. I know what he sees. What we all see.

A bony woman, her face gray instead of porcelain like it used to be.

But her chin remains tilted up.

“Dad?” Max questions.

Our father is silently trying to convey something to our mother. She pretends she doesn’t understand and in response his eyes narrow.

No one annoys Lev Zimin when he’s in this mood. We all know better.

Mom defies him anyway.

His power ripples, his muscles tensing. He moves to address the room when Mom continues to ignore him .

“Russie.”

She stands to attention when Dad calls her name. Max throws an arm over the chair, borrowing Elijah’s protective pose.

“It’s been brought to my attention that you’re owed an apology.”

Collectively I think all our stomachs drop. Even Dima pulls the brim of his cap lower over his eyes.

Russet sits there, eyes wide.

Dad turns to Mom again, a pointed look dictating what should happen.

As much as I want to help Mom, I can’t defend her in this situation. Especially, when she digs the hole deeper.

“No.” It’s a startlingly simple word.

Dad’s jaw clenches and I notice Max’s mouth tighten.

“Yelena.” Lennie grimaces at the voice Dad uses. “You owe Russet an apology for slapping her. For physically harming your daughter-in-law.”

“No,” she states again.

Grandma makes a noise under her breath. Annoyed and unsurprised by her daughter-in-law.

“We agreed—”Dads voice hardens—“you would apologize.”

“No,” she yet again utters to our collective disbelief. “I did not say I would apologize. I won’t apologize.”

“Mom!” Max growls. Russet grabs his hand but doesn’t look up from the countertop.

It’s like Mom wants to piss everyone off.

“I will not apologize,” she tells us. Tells Russet without more than a glance in her direction.

“Yelena,” Dad says. “We do not slap our family members. It’s unacceptable to treat your daughter this way.”

Mom shrugs. Actually shrugs. I wish her facial muscles would move. The mask she wears is nothing but a long, sad expression.

“I did not slap my daughter. I slapped the bitch Marissa made my son marry.”

“That is no excuse! Once she married Max we accepted her in the family!”

“ You accepted her into the family.” Mom stands, crossing her arms. Not many dare to square off with Lev Zimin. “And how lucky you were she decided to shoot up Marissa’s stronghold and not ours.”

Russet’s lips part. There’s a quick, nervous glance around the island. “I wouldn’t?—”

But she had.

We just got lucky when she finally unleashed her fury it hadn’t been in our direction. When she finally put down her baking spatula and turned off the Real Housewives . When she finally picked up not one but two firearms and marched toward her mark. . . We got lucky we weren’t the intended target.

Dad doesn’t care about this argument. About whether Mom’s caution was justified.

“If you weren’t planning on making amends then why bring it up?” he asks.

That answers one question. We’d been sitting on the knowledge for almost two years because we’d never wanted this to happen.

“We cannot continue this way,” Dad argues. “The awkwardness and the lack of communication. You put Max and Russ in a terrible position. It’s affected our entire family. Bury this argument. Beg Russ’s forgiveness.”

Russ looks like she’d like to disappear let alone hold her mother-in-law’s fate in her hands.

And Mom agrees. The temperature drops. If Mom were made of ice I’d be afraid she’d crack from how tense she holds herself.

“I told you—”her words are lethally low—“because you wanted an explanation as to why our children have started to avoid us. And I gave you an answer. Now answer me.”

We’re straining to understand what she’s talking about when she drags her hand behind her, digs into her waistband, and whips out a gun.

There’s a scramble. Dima’s up on his feet. Max and Elijah cover their respective partners. I’m dodging in front of Grandma who merely slaps me back.

“Let me see,” she demands peering around my shoulder.

Only Dad is completely still as Mom slams the gun on the counter. It’s not lost on me—how the family with a penchant for violence ogles the weapon as if we’ve never seen one before.

“Will it be death or divorce?” Mom waves at him and then at the gun. “Go on. I know what it will be. You refuse to give me a divorce like I’ve asked, so do it. Kill me!”

No divorce is one of our fucked up family mottos. I personally think it’s outdated but Dad and Max cling to it.

Turns out Mom is of my school of thought.

“Yelena.” Dad says her name like it’ll change anything. But it doesn’t calm her down. It won’t change her mind. I’ve been a part of this conversation for only ten minutes and I already know it.

“Pick up the gun,” she challenges.

“Don’t pick up the gun!” Grandma waves her hand like this will all go away. “Sit down, have a stiff drink and talk this out.” She murmurs under her breath in Russian. “You two are adults. You’ve got children. A life. Come to an agreement. Enough with the dramatics.”

“Let us talk of agreements.” Mom may as well be a blizzard sweeping in. Ice clings to her words.

Dad eyes the storm head-on. “We agreed to a marriage, Yelena. For almost thirty years we’ve made this work. We can keep making this work.”

“We cannot.”

“Well not with that attitude,” Grandma snipes.

Noise rattles in Mom’s throat. For all her quiet, pretension she rarely boils over. But her heel slams into the tiled floor. It’s unthinkable, speaking to the matriarch of the family in such a way, but Mom growls.

“Oh, how nice it must be to fall in love with the man you’re forced to marry!” she shouts at Grandma. Dad is too taken aback to interrupt.

“If you’d tried harder,” Grandma yells back, lifting a fist to emphasize.

“Tried harder? Please tell me what this means? How could I have tried harder? Did I not do everything asked of me? Did I not raise his son as my own.”

Lennie takes ahold of Elijah’s hand, anchoring him.

“Did I not give him two more sons!” Mom continues. “Did I not ensure they were fed, and bathed, and knew they were loved as much as they were.”

“That’s debatable,” Elijah says.