Reign of a Billionaire : A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Chapter 14Liana

“You took her from me.” Mother’s blurry face was distorted. “I need her back. Understand me?” I nodded, despite not comprehending what she meant. “Very well, Liana. Let’s start.” The screams rang in my skull, refusing to cease. The shocks came, wrenching screams from my throat until it bled.

My body startled awake and I sat up straight, my ears ringing. I breathed heavily as sweat covered my skin, making my nightgown cling to my skin. I shook until I realized they were my own screams.

I brought my weak hands to my face, pushing drenched strands away from my forehead.

The ringing in my head made it difficult for my lungs to work, and I felt myself start to heave. Whispers that plagued my dreams, speaking faster and faster, taunted me.

You’re too easy to break. You’re too weak.

I squeezed my eyes shut, chasing the nightmares I didn’t understand far away. Memories.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. They weren’t memories, they couldn’t be. That never happened. The cracks in my chest and my skull deepened while a dull ache drummed behind my temples, lingering for hours as I lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to remember.

Trying to forget.

A week later, my mother and I were back in the motherland. My birthplace.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on me. I’d barely slept a wink over the past week, each night a new dream plaguing my sanity every time I dozed off. They didn’t make any sense. There was no rhyme or reason behind their recurrence, but nonetheless, each one rattled me down to my core.

Frost settled into my bones, drawing a shiver out of me. Gosh, how I hated the cold and snow.

The first snow of the Siberian winter covered the landscape, stretching beyond what my weary eyes could take in. Ironic really, since every inch of Mother’s property was drenched in crimson, the invisible blood of innocents coating every corner.

The metal gates of the mansion opened ahead, my mother’s house—my prison—looming stark white against the gray sky. No matter how clean and pristine it looked, there was no hiding the sins beyond the property line.

My mother was the first woman in her family to sit at the head of the business. She was a Pakhan—well, to some. If you asked others in the underworld, that title belonged to Illias Konstantin.

I didn’t know—nor did I care—who the rightful leader of the Russian mafia was. I wanted to burn it all to the ground.

I sometimes hoped my mother would come to her senses and see what her place in this world had cost us. I used to think my mother loved me. My twin and I had grown up wanting for nothing. We had the latest technology at our disposal, the latest fashion and gadgets and cars, but we never had our mother’s love or affection.

It was pretty early in life when both my twin and I learned that our mother loved only one child—Winter Volkov. Our father, on the other hand, wasn’t much of one. He wanted to be, but Mother had him by his balls. Edward Murphy, an Irish mobster, couldn’t do much but leave us at the mercy of the Russian underworld.

I couldn’t forgive either one of them for my sister’s sad ending. They were supposed to protect us, shield us, or at least cajole us into a false sense of safety. All they managed to do was break us.

The car pulled up in front of our home manned by four guards just as my mother’s phone rang.

“What?” she spit out angrily. “How could you lose another shipment?” A heartbeat of silence before she spoke again. “Do we have any leads?”

Two “lost” shipments of flesh in such a short timespan were bound to raise flags and hurt the business Perez and my mother had going. Not that I gave two shits about it. My goal was to crumble their empire from within and let it burn as I held the matches and a gas can.

“I’m dealing with it.”

A bead of sweat rolled down my spine, knowing exactly how my mother would deal with me. It’d be time for another one of her “sessions,” and I wasn’t sure how many more of those I could take. I hadn’t broken…yet.

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to bolt out of the car. Instead, I folded my hands in my lap and begged my heart to stop thundering in my chest. I listened to one side of the conversation, my gaze trained out the window.

I sat upright, keeping my eyes trained on the guards waiting for the signal to open the door. It had to come from my mother.

“Does Perez know?” Her voice was steady, but I knew what she was masking. Could feel it in the space between us on the leather seats. She sounded calm, collected, and poised. “Keep it that way. See if we can organize a shipment for the Tijuana cartel.”

Santiago was the head of the Tijuana cartel who worked with Perez and all the scum in the underworld.

My lip curled with disgust as she ended the call and gave a signal to the guards. The minute the gates swung open, I got out of the vehicle and started walking toward the front doors. The walls couldn’t be seen from here, but I felt them.

They were slowly closing in, suffocating me.

I started to climb the grand staircase that I used to play on with my twin, taking the turn toward the wing where my rooms were. The old paintings stared back at me, frowning at my state of mind.

“Where are those girls, Liana?”

My mother’s voice came from behind me. The memory of the dreams that plagued me lingered in the back of my mind. I wanted to remember the faceless man. I wanted to remember the details of my sister’s death. But I couldn’t ask her.

I knew enough to know I wouldn’t get the truth from her. Over two and a half decades under her thumb had hardened me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother.” I kept my voice cool, nonplussed. “I’m tired. I’m going to⁠—”

“What were you doing in the Port of Washington a week ago?” I ignored the accusation in her voice. She was fishing. She didn’t know I was in the port. The tracker she thought she had on me had been removed a long time ago, and it now lived in my clutch. The one that stayed behind in the hotel room right next to hers in D.C.

I resumed walking, my mother’s heels clicking behind me as she followed me down the corridor.

“I’ve never been to the Port of Washington,” I lied, then feigned curiosity as I added, “Where is it?”

“Nowhere.”

Stopping in front of the door that led to my bedroom suite, I turned to face her. “Why do you ask?”

My heart pounded as I locked eyes with the woman who gave me life. She was a bad mother, but an even crueler criminal. She protected us from her enemies, but not from herself.

Mother sighed. “Never mind.”

I nodded. “Good night, then.”

I entered my suite and shut the door firmly behind me, dreading sleep and my nightly visits with the ghosts that just wouldn’t let me be.