Chapter 131 I Hate You

Chapter 131 I Hate You
A few minutes later, we were already in the car, racing toward the outskirts of the city.
No matter how much Dasha asked to come along—we left her at home. This was too dangerous, and we could not risk it.
The dacha settlement we arrived at was nothing like those weekend luxury cottage villages for the wealthy near the capital. This was an ordinary, rundown cooperative where nothing had changed since Soviet times—and likely never would.
Dilapidated houses patched with plywood and whatever materials people could find, crooked fences made from random sticks and scraps, no real road—just a frozen swamp of mud. The bleak December landscape, stripped of any greenery, made the place look even more miserable, like something out of the Middle Ages.
We didn’t drive in too close—we couldn’t risk spooking the kidnappers or triggering any panicked reaction. Mikhail and his team needed to assess the situation and move fast.
We stepped out into the cold, listening to the wind and waiting. Snow began to fall slowly, covering the grayness and filth with a soft white blanket. Minutes stretched into eternity. My nerves were trembling so badly I could barely keep still—my children were in there somewhere. I prayed that insane woman wasn’t hurting them…
I felt someone touch my arm. Snapping out of my thoughts, I saw my father gripping my forearm, looking at me with understanding. He was worried too… and guilty.
And no matter how much Makar pretended he didn’t need him, I knew my father wouldn’t abandon him now. The poor guy just didn’t yet realize he’d fallen into the Yartsev family trap—our brand of suffocating care and justice. There was no escape from it. He’d have to get used to being one of us.
I even snorted quietly at the thought of how furious Nazar would be—he was no longer the eldest brother. He loved that “title.” Too bad for him.
Then, something finally happened.
Amid the silence of empty plots and sheds, the sounds of scuffling, yelling, and curses were impossible to miss. We immediately rushed toward the noise.
Everything went down fast—Misha’s team worked flawlessly. As we reached the scene, we saw three burly men lying face down in the mud, swearing colorfully. They clearly hadn’t expected visitors and had been drinking heavily inside the shack.
Moments later, my crying boys, Andry and Egor, were carried out of the broken-down structure.
I bolted toward them, grabbing them into my arms, thanking every power in existence that my sons were alive and unharmed. My father rushed over too, lifting one of them into his arms.
It felt like a giant stone rolled off my chest. I finally breathed for the first time today when I heard their little voices cry out:
“Daddy!”
I couldn’t hold back tears—and I didn’t try. My boys… how terrified I had been for them.
When I turned back, I saw them dragging out Alexandra, or rather Svetlana.
Hair wild, eyes feral, fighting like a crazed animal against the grip of a massive SWAT officer. But the moment she spotted Makar—she froze, stumbling.
“Makar?” she whispered, shocked, shaking her head in disbelief.
“So it was you? How could you?! TRAITOR!” she shrieked. “You bastard—just like your disgusting father! I should’ve never given birth to you! My friend talked me out of having an abortion—what a mistake! Useless trash! You ruined my entire life, you pathetic piece of shit! How many times I wanted to strangle you in your sleep… should’ve done it!”
Even my heart clenched at those words.
Makar stood there, looking at his mother with pain and humiliation carved deep into his expression. Her words lashed like a whip tipped with metal—cutting straight to the bone.
“You ruined your own life by hiding my son from me,” my father finally said, stepping closer to stand beside Makar. Only then did she notice him—baring her teeth like a rabid animal.
“We would have found a way! I NEVER would’ve abandoned him! If you didn’t want him, I would have taken the boy myself!” he growled, furious, staring at the woman who—whatever she once was to him—was clearly long lost to madness.
“Oh look who showed up—the Father of the Year!” she spat venomously.
Her deranged glare made her insanity painfully obvious.
“How’s your new official whore doing? I regret I didn’t get rid of her—just like your precious little Varvara!”
Those words made ice pour through our veins.
Everyone froze.
My father lunged at her, but I grabbed him, holding him back.
“Mom…” Makar’s voice cracked, tears in his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“What I damn well please, you worthless bastard!” she screamed, shaking violently. “I’m braver and stronger than you ever were! You played around with shit, cried over nothing—while I acted! I HATE you! I hate ALL you Yartsevs!”
The woman descended into a full-blown hysterical frenzy, screaming nonsense and obscenities, kicking out, lashing around, completely losing coherence. She was dragged away, and we were left standing there in the whipping snowfall and the bleak, grim landscape.
Makar stared at a single point, as if dying inside. It felt like his entire world had collapsed in a single moment.
No matter what kind of parent Svetlana had been—she was still his mother, and he loved her the way a child loves the closest person in their life. And everything that had just come to light in the past ten minutes… not everyone could withstand that.
My brother seemed to shut down completely, withdrawing into himself, not reacting to any of us at all.
We returned home, and I immediately called the person I needed to.
Makar entered our house on autopilot and stopped. Dasha appeared with a worried expression and walked up to him right away.
We all held our breath.
“Makar…” she whispered, gently touching his cheek. There was so much feeling in that simple gesture—in her eyes—that no one could doubt their sincerity.
“My love… come back to me… to our boys… to us. We love you so much,” she said softly, with emotion trembling in her voice and tears in her eyes.
She rose up on her toes and placed a feather-light kiss on her husband’s lips.
Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her in return.
With each passing second his hold tightened, pulling the fragile body of the woman he loved closer, while she embraced him back just as firmly.
Burying his face in her neck, he breathed heavily—like he was trying to purge his lungs from all the filth and poison that had collapsed onto him lately.
“Dasha…” Makar exhaled hoarsely, full of pain, not letting go of his wife.
“I’m here. I’m with you…”