Chapter 4
AVALINE
“Ziven, do you doubt the security of this estate?” I crossed my arms.
“As he should,” said Papa, who I hadn’t even noticed wasn’t home earlier; he just returned now.
He ascended our front door entrance stairs.
Early in the morning and he had already done some “business.”
His hair was messy. He wore a navy blue shirt and low-rise jeans. His leather jacket hung on his forearm, concealing whatever bruise or blood might be on his skin.
“You should always be doubtful, Ava. No matter how safe an environment feels. Being trusting is an opportunity for threats to strike.”
“I know that, Papa. But we have tight security here. And it’s not like I'm going far away; if there’s a breach in security and I'm under threat, you’re just so close by me anyway. Just allow me freedom this one time.” I pleaded.
Papa looked so ready to shoot me with his thousand reasons why his answer would be no, so I interrupted.
“One time!” I raised my index finger. “One time, Papa. That’s it.”
He sighed deeply as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Treat this as my bachelorette party. Just instead of men, you’re giving me a day of freedom. One freedom won’t hurt when the rest of my life will be spent in the clutches of my cruel husband.”
My subconscious wore a smug smile at my defiance.
Of course, the implied bitterness and sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed by Papa. He shook his head at my behavior.
“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll allow this one small rebellion of yours today. There will be no next time.”
If only you knew.
“Thanks, Papa,” I kissed his cheek and giddily started walking down the estate. I even stretched as I walked to make it more believable that I was just going jogging.
Once I was far enough for Papa not to see me, I began to look around. The estate is large—like half the size of a big subdivision. Okay, not like; it literally used to be a subdivision before Papa bought it, demolished it, and built this enormous estate.
I hacked into our security system yesterday. I know my way around it and what to avoid.
I climbed the wall at the spot where there are trees and bushes. This way, I'm more hidden.
When I made it to the top, I looked around just in case someone was watching from outside. There was no one. I looked down to see where I could fall. There are bushes outside our walls. I think I can handle a bit of pain. No pain, no gain.
I jumped and let myself fall into the garden.
I eyed the flowers and their ruined petals and internally apologized, hoping that just looking at them would convey my message.
I winced when I stood up. It wasn’t a smooth fall after all—I think I even scraped myself. I felt that familiar sting like when I was a child and would trip while running.
“Aw!” I rubbed my knee and quietly continued on my mission. I wouldn’t be able to breathe easy until I stepped onto the main road.
After living in Samara for so long, I never really considered myself a local of this city. Tourists probably know their way around here better than I do.
Even though I felt a bit uncomfortable knowing there was no guard with me now, I held onto the fact that I'm a De Greco. In Yekaterinburg, our family name holds power. Papa owns the police, politicians, and even corporations here. They’re all on his payroll.
It’s morally questionable, but it’s something I have to live with. Even if I don’t agree with Papa’s methods, I can’t just convert him. And walking away is not an option; Papa’s men would just chase after me.
Once you’re in this world, there’s no way out. It can only go two ways: live with it or die trying to escape.
I savored the morning breeze. There’s something special about the wind blowing in the early hours—it’s like us; its day is just beginning too: calm, fresh, without any traces of life’s chaos yet.
When was the last time I appreciated my surroundings? I missed transforming everything I saw and felt into words.
When the path I’d been walking on grew more crowded, I chuckled. It seemed impossible to be dramatic here; so early in the morning and already noisy! In movies, the main character has the road all to herself—a stark contrast between fantasy and reality.
The scents of perfumes from those passing by blended together—some were strong perfumes while others had sweet scents, especially from girls. At this point, it felt like I was showering in every mist from their wet hair as they hurriedly combed through their locks to catch their rides on vehicles.
And I felt like I was one of them. I just went out wearing something simple. A dark pink contrast t-shirt. White around the neckline and at the edge of its sleeves. There are also three white stripes from the shoulder to the end of the sleeves. On the bottom, I’m wearing gray jogger pants.
"One more can fit, are you getting on?" called the jeepney barker to me.
I waved my hand and shook my head.
I wanted to take advantage of this day and go to the mall. I feel like it’s been ages since I last visited a bookstore. But it’s only six thirty in the morning.
I’m not going to buy anything. I just want to read some unwrapped books there.
“How do I love thee?” the wind blew my whisper to the sky. Something about being outside makes me… imaginative. My chest hurts from the height of romance I feel.
“Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height—”
“Who the ghost are you saying your confessions to, poet?”
A warm presence enveloped me from behind. I felt like I was being embraced. My entire body froze—not out of fear, but because I knew who it was.
“Or were you practicing your wedding vows?”
I turned and met cold, brutal blue-gray eyes that glinted with an underlying amusement.
“But you could’ve just written an original. Not steal from other poets. Makes your vows of deep devotion look fake—”
“I’m not practicing my wedding vows. And what the hell are you doing here?” I snapped.
A disbelieving chuckle slipped from his lips before he could stop it, which he quickly coughed off to conceal. I haven’t seen him in so long. I want to close my eyes and open them again on repeat to see if he’ll disappear.
He has always towered over me. But he got taller this time. And he is larger, no pun intended. His face is angular. Everything about him is sculpted like a statue of a perfect man—externally, at least. Because this man is insane, and not in a good way.
“So the poet curses now,” he commented.
“Yeah, a poet’s gotta update her vocabulary,” I glared at him. “And stop calling me that.”
“Monteval will be pleased—”
“For the last time, I'm not reciting my vows. And how did you know this isn’t my original?” I asked uselessly since it was far from our conversation.
“Because you used to recite the same piece non-stop in high school. I can even continue it now because I've memorized it,” he mocked.
I was about to challenge him to continue it, but I stopped myself because there was something more important I wanted to ask.
“Why are you here? Roaming the city like it’s yours. This is not Saint Petersburg, Czar. You could get shot in the head in a few seconds.”
“I’ve been here for longer than a few seconds,” he looked at his wristwatch to confirm. “One thousand two hundred seconds to be exact and still not shot.”
I groaned. Talking to people like him gets you nowhere. Always spitting nonsense.
“Have faith, poet. I’m the best in this field. I could take down the entire De Greco organization if I wanted to. Starting with you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me,” he replied without remorse. “I don’t care if you’re a woman.”
“I wrote your poems for you. Take note, you were in grade 12 and I was in grade 11. What would the world think of you, then?” I provoked him.
I observed to see if his expression would change. But it’s like a ghost just walked through the wall instead of hitting it. Not even a reaction.
“All the more I should end you. So that you won’t be able to tell the world,” his lips curled.
“Let it be in the records that the capo of the Levesque—”
“La Archante,” he corrected me.
“Capo of the La Archante…” I repeated. “…Got too intimidated by a woman’s threat that he resorted to killing her instead of dealing with her.”
“I’m a man with priorities, poet. I could write a poem if I wanted to. But I found it useless, so I made you do it. I don’t waste time on things that are not beneficial.”
I stared at him skeptically. “Denial.”
“Denial?” he echoed.