Chapter 114 Chapter 114 Family Dinner
I smooth over this stuffy dress, the fabric stiff against my skin. I look like Gabby in one of her “choke me” dresses. A sweater draped over my shoulders, closed-toe stilettos pinching my feet. My hair is pulled into a tight ponytail at the base of my neck. I stop halfway down the hallway and turn around.
“Who the fuck cares if it’s a family dinner?” I say out loud to myself.
I spin on my heel and head back to my room, fast. I’m going to change. Dragon sits up, watching me.
“What are you doing?”
“I am not going out anywhere looking like a fucking stiff!” I laugh.
I slide the dress down to the floor, then toss the sweater after it. Digging through my things, I pull out a somewhat sheer black wraparound dress, loose ruffles lining the edges. I leave my hair down this time, letting it fall naturally, and slide my feet into my spiked Louboutins. My gold chain sits hidden beneath the fabric, attached to me.
Dragon chuckles quietly as I step out of the bathroom.
“Your father will love this outfit. I know I do.” He adjusts himself, blowing me a kiss. “I am rubbing off on you… you’ve been wearing a lot of black.”
“It’s only fitting. I feel like I’m going to my funeral,” I laugh.
I step back into the hallway and nearly collide with Ivan. He falls into step beside me, silent, like he’s following rather than walking with me. We move through hallway after hallway until we stop in front of the same door.
“Family dinner?” What the fuck is my father playing at?
I push past Ivan, not letting him open the door for me. My eyes sweep the room quickly.
This is my funeral.
My aunt. My uncles. My cousins. Stanislav grins at me, his gaze dragging over my outfit. His father, my uncle Plamen, smirks too. My mother and brothers are already seated. She shoots me a disapproving look. Ten Pavlov boys sit across from them.
Where is my father?
Ivan shifts in his seat, watching me. I ignore him and make a beeline for the bar, pouring myself a full glass of vodka. I lift it to my lips, empty it in one go, and pour another.
“Slow down, little Elena!” my uncle Peter urges.
I turn to face him, lifting my glass slowly, giving him a cold smile. Whatever this bullshit dinner is, I need this so I don’t blow.
My father and Illia Sr. walk into the room. My father’s eyes drop to my body, his jaw tightening.
I walk to my seat without missing a beat, sipping the alcohol in my glass. The burn helps. It distracts me.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” my father snaps. My mother shrinks beside him. He is such an asshole. He has no power over me. Not anymore.
“Whatever the fuck I want.” I lean back in my seat. My sister gasps.
“Fair enough.” He smirks. Illia Sr. slaps his shoulder and they laugh together. Maybe they’re drunk. “Her mouth gets worse every year.”
They remain standing, and then my father turns on my sister, cutting into her the same way he always does me. Tearing her apart over her choice of husband. She dated some guy for years, then dropped him for Oliver. My father’s words are sharp, deliberate, cruel—telling her she’s disgusting for hunting royalty like it’s a game.
I glance at her. She’s cracking.
And then I see it.
Gabby is wearing the same diamond necklace I had on at prom.
A chuckle slips out before I can stop it. My father’s hand snaps toward me.
“What is so funny?”
“Gabby…” I lean back in my chair. “Did Roman ask you to wear that?”
“Yes. I know his mother loaned it to you for prom.”
She’s so clueless. But unlike them, I’m not keeping secrets. Not like they did with their engagements.
“I wouldn’t ever put that on if I were you.” Another laugh slips out. “It’s not that it was on my neck—it’s what your fiancé put over it.”
Stanislav bursts out laughing immediately. He got it right away. I cover my mouth, laughing just as hard, leaning into my hand, my elbow pressed against the table. It takes the rest of the men a moment longer, but one by one, they catch on.
My father just shakes his head. Illia Sr. grips his shoulder, laughing harder.
“This is exactly why I told Roman no. He can’t marry you. He asked me!”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t know you, if he thought my opinion means anything to you.”
I finish my drink and stand, heading back to the bar. Helena says something nasty behind me—something meant to sting—because when I glance back, Gabby is in tears. Tears because she gets it, she is number two. She rips the necklace from her neck and sets it on the table.
My father’s head snaps toward Helena so fast it’s almost violent.
“Did you bother to tell your sister that Gabby is engaged to Roman? Gabby, did you tell her when you saw her in Spain? Maybe when your fiancé decided to follow my daughter to a lingerie shop?” He braces his hands on the table. “Helena, you will never talk to your sister like that again.”
Then he looks at me. He reaches behind him and slides a gun across the table.
“Clean your mess, Elena.”
“A little off the top, Daddy?”
Every Pavlov stiffens. Dimitri’s eyes lock with mine. Illia Sr. laughs. “She is perfect. Damn, my dumb sons couldn’t lock her down.”
“You picked the wrong son.” my father says grabbing Dimitri's shoulder like he knows.
I walk back to the table slowly. My aunt demands to know what my father is doing, why he’s setting me loose. I pick up the gun with my free hand, still sipping my vodka.
Something dark stirs inside me.
I lift the gun and point it at my sister, not even looking at her. I pull the trigger.
The Pavlov boys shoot to their feet. The bullet grazes past my sister and shatters the vase behind her.
“Good girl,” my father says.
I slide the gun back toward him.
“You left a mess in Vegas. A mess I have to clean.”
My sister is gasping, barely breathing, panic overtaking her. My father pulls out his phone.
“Him or her?” He looks at me. “Accidents happen in Vegas… doctors drive into semi trucks, professional boxers fall hundreds of feet down elevator shafts.”
Ashley and Mason.
I take a slow breath.
“Her,” I say coldly, and sit.
“Why?” he asks.
I scoff. “She showed no remorse.”
Something inside me has always known exactly who my father is—and what he turned me into. I’ve just never faced it like this.
It’s been a long time since I last heard those words from him. “Clean your mess.”
The last time I shot someone for him, I was eleven.