A week later
Unknown's POV
Each morning is harder than the day before.
Each day I am reminded of why I sleep alone and a smile can't reach my eyes. Guilt and regret weigh down on my conscious more and more each time I blink. The picture frames are faced down because I physically can't handle seeing their faces.
Today marks 22 years since I lost them.
I haven't taken out the clothes from her side of the closet or cleared out her side of the bathroom. Her perfume still lingers if I inhale hard enough.
The baby crib still is in the same place it was 23 years ago. So are the bottles and nursery paint that started chipping long ago.
They said time heals all wounds and I was foolish enough to believe them.
I dream about that day most nights. The nightmares never let me forget. They haunt me like a plague that kills me slowly every day. My own conscience wants me to suffer and I know I deserve it.
I walk through the vast halls, their pictures on the walls were covered to the edge. No one in the building, including me, couldn't bear to see their once alive and happy faces. While I walk, people look at me with pity with a forthright gaze. They haven't forgotten this day either.
The day that they were taken from us.
And what was also supposed to be my daughter's birthday.
She would be 23 today.
Old enough to take over the Bratva and leave me and her mother to retire on a tropical island of some sort.
But, sadly, it was something that would never happen.
I entered the dark and dusty room. The mobile laying deadly still above the white crib. The minimal sunlight peeked through the soft linen curtains, lighting up the dust in its path. The velvet rocking chair dangerously unused.
Flashback
My wife looked at me through her long umber lashes, her bright emerald eyes sparkling in the morning sun. Her luxuriant onyx hair cascading down her shoulder as she sat in the velvet chair, holding our daughter in her arms as she held a bottle to our newborn.
I walked behind her to have a good view of our little flower's pure chartreuse eyes glinting at me. I kissed my wife on the crown of her head as I smiled at our tiny creation.
How could someone so small be...so perfect...
She was too pure... too good for this world. That much, I knew for certain.
She'd been born with a head full of thick blonde hair like me, but with the rest of her mother's features. I'm glad she took after her mother, Stella was the better half of me.
"She's got your eyes," I smiled, admiring the two pairs of emerald eyes that now looked at me. As our little flower finished her bottle, Stella removed it and put it on the dresser next to us.
"I bet she'll get your attitude," Stella smirked, chuckling as I narrowed my eyes at her. Our little flower gave me a gummed smile that had my insides melting, almost as if she agreed with her mother.
"Haha...I'm laughing so hard," I spoke dryly, sarcasm dripping from my voice as Stella continued to laugh and our daughter continued to give me her precious baby smile.
"I'm going to get back at the both of you," I warned as a smirk played on my lips.
"What's the big, bad Pakhan going to do hm? Tickle us?" Stella questioned, mocking me.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do. I might not even think about sparing you both," I smirked, a smug look on my face.
Stella lifted our small baby in front of her, almost as if her cuteness would shield her from me. Nonetheless, it worked.
I grinned, taking our daughter in my arms, my hand almost as large as her whole body. She's too precious to be real, I'm afraid I'll break her with one wrong movement.
Adorable baby noises came out of her bright pink lips that formed into a baby smile. Her small baby hands grasping my face as her little green eyes grew small with her smile. I almost melted right then and there.
I'm glad I told Stella about my baby fever. But I didn't expect her to say "well why don't we have a baby then?"
"We still need to pick a name," Stella spoke, looking adoringly at the interaction between father and daughter.
We had picked her middle name, all we needed was her first but nothing felt right for her.
"How about Ella?" I suggested. A hesitant sound came from my wife.
"What about Aria?" she added. It still didn't feel right.
"How about we combine the two?" she suggested, as I cradled our little flower in my arms, her eyelids getting heavy.
"Ariella? I like it," I smiled, looking at our daughter.
"Ariella Lilac Volkov has a good ring to it," I spoke, moving a blonde strand away from her face as she slept.
End of Flashback.
We looked all over the world for them both, not resting one moment. The mafia was determined to get their queen and princess back.
But all hope was killed when we received Stella's body 4 years later.
I kept looking for Ariella, and I still am to this day. Every morning, I look out the gates hoping that she'll walk through but I know it probably won't happen. Part of me is still looking so I can still hang on to the hope of bringing her home. But the other part of me knows that she's long dead but refuses to believe it.
But there is a vow that I will fulfill no matter how long it will take me.
To kill the person who took my wife and daughter.
To kill the person who killed my family.
~~~~~
Ariella's POV
I have grown to hate my birthday.
It was a day that my father convinced me to hate. I have pushed those memories down deep so that they wouldn't resurface.
I can't remember most of my childhood. I pushed the memories so far down that they were now just...nonexistent. It was blank and a part of me is grateful for that.
But I refused to let him see that he'd won; how badly he shattered my heart.
I used to stand in front of the mirror, ridiculing my reflection and asking myself what I needed to change so that my dad could love me. With blood dripping from my wounds and bruised skin, I asked myself why he didn't love me how a parent should love their child.
The first man to ever break my heart was my own dad.
The only happy birthdays I remember were the ones spent with my mom. Somehow, she'd sneak out in the night, and bring me back a cupcake that I could wake up to. Those were the memories that I didn't want to forget and forced myself to remember.
She'd tell me to cover my ears as she disappeared with dad, but I never listened. Her screams echoed all throughout the house.
The birthdays after my first 5 years of life, were filled with envy of my mom. Why did she get to leave when I didn't? Why didn't she take me with her?
But that was before I knew what death meant.
I remember the night of my 14th birthday, he had hurt me worse than before. I had belt marks on my back, shoulder dislocated, bruises on my neck from his hands, glass sticking out of bloody knees and arms, face bruised, and a concussion on the way. I remember running as fast as I could to the police station in the dead of night, my feet going numb halfway there. I couldn't feel my legs yet I kept running even though the headache got worst and all I saw were blurs.
I remember reaching the station, being so relieved and ready to leave that place for good.
That was before I realized that my dad was already there, filing a "missing person's report" for me. He acted so worried and relieved to see me there as he hugged me, making sure to clutch my wounds extra tight.
He put on a good show for the police, I'll admit.
He made me say that I'd been in a car crash and got lost in the woods for a few hours before I found the police station. That was when I knew that there was no way out. There was no escaping my dad.
After that night, I wasn't able to move my body for a week. And that was after the police insisted to escort me to the hospital. He took me to the house after I got treated and made the hospital visit meaningless.
When Lucas found me, he'd swear he'd never let anything like that happen again. But sadly he couldn't do anything to stop my father's abuse without getting hurt in the process. That's why Lucas became a detective...to help young people who were in the same situation I was in. But that night, my 14th birthday, was the night that I truly regretted my existence.
So today, I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary.
You could imagine my surprise when a trail of candles and rose petals leading up to the terrace were sprawled out on the marble floor. I told him he didn't need to go to any trouble but I don't think he listened. A few hours later, I find a note that says to follow the trail and wear the dress that was on the bed.
The dress was made out of luxurious satin in a soft blush pink color. It fit just right around my body and was too comfortable for its own good.
I followed the trail of red rose petals and candles with curiousness radiating off of me. I reached the terrace and found his back facing me, a black blazer hugging his herculean build and showing off the tattoos on the back of his neck. He turned around once he felt my presence, his eyes glinting with an unknown emotion as he held a bouquet of lilacs and white daffodils.
Behind him was a candle-lit table dinner that overlooked the busy yet bright city, slow piano music playing quietly in the background.
His hair was left in its natural bed-head style, his lush waves styled effortlessly with his thick obsidian locks. His cheekbones were high while they hollowed out, showing the precision and sharpness of his features. His lips etched in their natural fullness, slowly spreading into a smirk -just enough so a single dimple could form-and leaving behind the scowl.
His eyes taking me in from head to toe, not leaving out anything from his gaze almost as if he was afraid he'd be cursed if he left out any detail. His gaze was absent of concupiscence or physical attraction, it was deepened with something more...something genuine.
I didn't know what that meant, but I knew it was unerasable.
I was sure it was present in my eyes too.
A smile found its way onto my lips as he made his way to me, taking both of my hands in his much larger ones as he kissed me tenderly after kissing the back of my hands.
I was internally squealing at this point.
He pulled out the bouquet of lilacs and white daffodils and handed them to me.
"Lilacs for my Lilac," He smirked, clearly excited about saying that line.
I took them in my hand while a quiet laugh made its way from my chest, my smile getting wider.
"You've been waiting to say that, haven't you?" I asked through the light laugh.
"Yes, I have," he smirked, pulling me closer to him.
I craned my neck up to give him a gentle yet genuine kiss as I cupped his jaw, the other hand holding onto the bouquet. He responded immediately, wrapping his hand around my hip and tilting my jaw upwards.
The amount of effort he put in just to make me happy could make me tear up. All my life has either been spent alone or fighting for my life, and this was one of the first times where I felt like I wasn't alone and didn't have to fight anymore.
I felt undeniable, utterly happy. I don't know how I could ever thank him and show him how much it meant to me, but I don't think I'll be able to put it into words or actions. It means more than he realizes or even thinks.
For most of my life, I've been scared of getting hurt again. How my dad hurt my mom in many ways and how he hurt me. I've been scared of men who I knew could have the power to break me if I let them. To get hurt after I got attached.
I'm scared of getting my heart broken again after my dad.
I'm scared of being underwater and then being forced to breathe when I know I chose to go in the water in the first place. I'm scared of getting hurt when I put myself in that situation in the first place.
I was scared of breathing around the wrong people.
But I don't think I need to be scared of him.
At this moment, I felt truly cared about. Like someone who understood and cared about my happiness and well-being. Like he wasn't just doing it because it was the right thing to do. It was like he was doing it just to see me smile no matter what he had to do to achieve it.
I felt loved.
Even if he didn't love me...I felt loved.
This wasn't a feeling I'd get with Lucas or anyone else. This was a feeling I'd only get with him. I didn't feel like he was obligated to make me happy or I troubled him because that was how I felt if anyone else did this for me.
With him, I felt like he actually fucking cared.
He didn't know about my childhood or how I got the scars, but that didn't stop him from kissing every single one. He made me feel special...happy.
He made me feel like my mom was still alive.
I knew it would feel like heaven even if he destroyed me. It would feel like heaven if I fell in the wrong direction.
I would give him the power to break or make me...and I would never regret it.
I would never regret giving him ice cream that day. Maybe I did at one point, but I don't anymore.
I would never regret meeting Cameron Noctifer Dark.
I would never regret falling.
I would never regret living anymore.
I would never regret.
~
(A/N): WD-2522