Page 105 of Ruthless Serenade
Maron’s expression remains stoic, but I see the muscle in his jaw working.
"You may not understand what Rachel’s been through, but I do," I press on. "That’s why I’m asking you not to hurt her."
The silence between us grows heavy, charged. I can feel the rage simmering beneath his careful control - the primal need to destroy anyone who dared harm our daughter.
"What about Sharon?" His voice is dangerously low. "Rachel has to pay for what she did to her."
I reach for his hands, gripping them tightly. "No, Maron. Rachel’s already broken. What she did was unforgivable, but... please let it go. Be the better man. For Sharon. For us."
He’s silent for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he wrestles with my words. Finally, he speaks, his voice raw. "I don’t know if I can forgive her."
"I'm not asking you to forgive her," I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. "I’m asking you to let it go."
Maron releases a harsh breath, his eyes squeezing shut. His chest heaves as he fights to contain the fury I know still burns inside him.
I take his hand again, my voice soft but urgent. "Listen, Maron. This is your chance. To be the father Sharon needs. To show her that strength isn’t just about violence - it’s about knowing when to choose mercy."
The silence stretches between us as he absorbs my words. Then, never breaking eye contact, he reaches for his phone and dials. I hold my breath, my heart pounding as I listen.
"Pavel," his voice is firm, final. "Change of plans. We leave Rachel Anderson alone. We’ll hand her over to the police."
Chapter Fifty
Maron
Dawn creeps through the curtains, pulling me from sleep.
My body aches in all the right places from a night of claiming my woman. Mindy. She lies naked beside me, her face peaceful in sleep, golden hair spilling across my pillow like ink. My eyes trace every curve of her body, drinking in the sight of her - those perfect breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, the intimate territory I spent hours exploring.
Blyad, she’s beautiful. I could watch her breathe until the world ends.
But there’s someone else I need to check on.
I ease out of bed with stealth, careful not to wake her. The hardwood floor bites cold against my feet as I move to the next room. The door opens on silent hinges.
There she is.
Sharon. My daughter. Curled up like a little wolf cub, her chest rising and falling in the quiet rhythm of deep sleep. The sight punches me in the gut - how fucking close we came to losing her. How close I came to never knowing this piece of my soul existed.
I ghost to her bedside, fingers barely touching her hair. She stirs and I freeze. "Everything’s ok," I whisper. "You’re safe here."
I'll die before I let anyone hurt you again.
Not wanting to wake her up, I slip out like a shadow, easing the door shut. The mansion holds its breath in the early morning silence as I make my way to the kitchen. The coffee maker’s quiet hum is the only sound in this suspended moment between night and day.
Coffee in hand, I head for the garden. The morning chill attacks my bare skin, but I drop into a chair anyway, letting the steam from my cup thaw my frozen face. I close my eyes, the first hit of caffeine lighting up my veins.
When I open them, a ghost materializes from the mist.
Maurice.
My half-brother, back from the fucking dead, walking toward me like some risen phantom. My muscles coil on instinct. He looks... different. Clean. Sharp. Not the strung-out mess I remember. But then again, it wouldn’t be the first time his appearance deceived me.
I shut my eyes, half-hoping he’ll vanish. When I look again, he’s there, solid as a bullet. Seems I don’t get a vote in this reunion. He drags over a lounge chair, settling in with his own cup like we’re about to have a fucking tea party.
"Maron." His voice carries seven years of weight.
"Maurice."