Chapter 57 Percy
Percy’s POV
The city feels different when you’re looking at it through the bulletproof glass of a moving SUV because Ilya Kozlov is still out there, and I'm not taking any chances on my safety. My security team is running shifts around the clock, while Adeline is fraying at the edges with every shift and phone call that leads nowhere.
I got a break from all that now as I sit with my mother in the quiet corner booth of Le Coucou. I feel a strange sense of peace.
For thirty years of my life, I have been Richard Akilov’s son and heir with all the baggage that comes with it, but with Lucia, I am just Percival, or rather, I am her Marco’s son.
"He had your hands," Lucia says softly with a sad smile and a nostalgic expression on her face that makes her look younger. "Strong and capable. Marco could fix anything. Give him a wrench and a broken engine, and he would work his magic."
I look down at my hands. They are daintily fixed, hands made for handling bikes and signing contracts, not holding wrenches or fixing engines.
"I don't think I inherited the mechanical skills," I admit with a dry laugh. "I hire people for that."
"No," she corrects gently. "You fix things, Percy. You fix problems. You fix lives. Adeline told me how you saved her. How you fought for her."
She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "Marco would have been so proud. He always worried that without money, a man is nothing in this world, but look at you; not only do you have the money, but you are also compassionate."
It has to be embarrassing how easily I blushed at a few kind words from my mother. I am a grown man and owner of one of the most reputable law firms in the city, yet deep down, I still craved my mother's approval.
"I’m just doing what I have to do." I say gruffly.
"You are doing more," she insists. "You are generous. With how busy you are, you still take time out of your day to have lunch with your old mother? When do you have a law firm to run? You are a good son and a good person."
The waiter arrives with the check and hands it to me, but to my surprise, she snatches it out of my hand.
"No," she says firmly. "I invited you, so I'm paying."
"Lucia," I smile in amusement. "I have an open tab here so you don't have to worry about it."
"I insist," she says, pulling a standard debit card from her purse that's worn at the edges. "I may not have the Akilov fortune, Percy, but I can buy my son lunch. Let me have this at least."
I want to argue with her, but something in her voice stops me, and I lean back. "Thank you."
She beams and hands the card to the waiter. Surprisingly, she asks me questions about the firm that let me know she has done her research on how a law firm works.
"I..." I'm interrupted by the waiter's return. He looks uncomfortable as he places the card down and murmurs.
"I’m terribly sorry, Madame. The card was declined."
She went pale as she looked from me to the waiter. "Declined? That's impossible because I called the bank in Rome yesterday."
"I tried it twice," the waiter apologizes, holding the folder out to me. "Perhaps another form of payment?"
She stares at the folder before opening her purse to rummage through it frantically. "I... I don't understand. The exchange rate or maybe the hold from the hotel... "She looks up at me, trying her best not to be humiliated. "Percy, I... I am so sorry. I must have miscalculated the weekly limit, and Pierre requires such a large deposit, and..."
"Mom, it's fine."
She stops. "God, this is mortifying. I wanted to treat you. I wanted to show you I could..."
"It’s okay," I say immediately. "Again, I have an open tab here. Henry, take a 20 percent tip for yourself."
"Yes, Mr. Akilov." The waiter vanishes.
"No," Lucia whispers, looking down at her lap. "I didn't want this. I didn't want to be the poor relation asking for handouts."
"You are not a poor relation. You're my mother." I tell her firmly. When she lowers her head, I study her dress. Her outfit is clean but incredibly outdated. She's trying her best not to appear poor, and now with the declined card, she must be really humiliated. To think Adeline thinks she's manipulative and looking for a handout. All I see is a woman who is afraid to even ask for help.
"Mom, talk to me. The hotel—can you afford it?"
She hesitates, biting her lip. "It's not that I can't afford it, this city is just expensive, coming from Rome with the flight and the hotel. I emptied my savings to be here so Richard won't think I still don't deserve to be in your life."
"What?"
Tears well up in her eyes. "He always said I would end up with nothing. I didn't want him to be right."
Anger flares in my chest at Richard. How could he say that to her? Make her feel so small because she's poor? Now she's bankrupting herself just to maintain an image of dignity in front of her son.
"He’s not right. You're not what he says you are. Here." I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my wallet and slide her a black American Express card across the table. "Take it."
Lucia stares at the card. "Percy, no. I can't."
"You can," I command. "You are not going to worry about money while you are in this city, when you are in my city. You will continue to stay at The Pierre and order room service. You can buy Adeline a wedding gift if it makes you feel better, but what you will not do is count pennies."
"Percy," she sobs, reaching for my hand again. "You are too good. I don't deserve all this. I left you."
"You left so you could give me this life. You made a sacrifice, let me pay you back."
She picks up the card and tucks it into her purse. "Thank you," she whispers. "I will pay you back every cent."
"Don't worry about it," I say, and I mean it, too. Money could never be a problem for me, but for her, it's her dignity, and if I can protect my mother’s dignity, then I have done something right in life.
Later that evening, I walk into the lobby of my penthouse, feeling lighter than I have in days knowing that I helped my mother.
Adeline is suspicious of her intentions, and I don't fault her for it. She thinks she's planning something, but that's honestly her traumas projecting on someone else. Having a mother like Melissa can make you suspicious of a loving mother and just how far a mother will go to protect her son.
I step off the elevator into the house to find Tiny waiting for me by the door. Usually, his face is blank, but today, he looks shifty and uncomfortable.
"Boss," he rumbles. "Got a minute?"