Adrik Volkov, a significant figure in the Russian Mafia known for his cunning and strategic mindset, is on a mission to avenge his family's tragic death. To fulfill his vendetta, he enters into a marriage with Grace Amber, the daughter of Michael Am...
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My mother always used to say that revenge is the dish best-served cold. I know, this is a common saying, but for me it's my mother's saying. She controlled the monster in me, stopping me from killing my father in his sleep when I was nine, as he had hit my mum.
Age 7:
" You piece of shit, marrying you is my greatest mistake," Daddy shouted hitting Momma.
I hated it when they fought. It made Mommy cry and hurt, and I couldn't stand seeing her like that. Every time they fought, Mommy's face ended up all bruised, and it made me so mad at Daddy. He was hurting my mom, and I hated him for it. I hated him so much.
"Mama!" I screamed, rushing to Mommy. She was on the floor, crying, after Daddy pushed her.
"Mama, are you okay? I hate you, Daddy. I hate you for hurting Momma," I sobbed, hugging Mommy tightly, my tears falling like rain.
"I hate both of you for ruining my life!" Daddy shouted, throwing a bottle across the room and storming out. Mommy flinched when the bottle shattered.
"Grace, honey, what are you doing here? I told you to look after your little brother," Mommy said, her voice shaky, as she wiped away her tears and stroked my hair.
"Why did Daddy hurt you? Why don't you leave him, Mommy? He's making you sad," I asked, sitting on her lap, my small voice full of worry.
"Sweetie, because I love him, and leaving someone you love is the hardest thing in the world," Mommy replied, hugging me even tighter.
"But he hurts you, Mama."
"It's okay, sweetheart. Daddy had a bad day at work," she said, cradling me in her arms.
"Mama, I want to hurt Daddy too, for hurting you."
"Grace, what you need to do is sleep, okay?"
"But, Mama—"
"No 'buts.' Goodnight, my love," she said, kissing my forehead.
An hour later, I still couldn't sleep. I was thinking about Daddy and how mean he was to Mommy. I didn't like it at all.
So, I went to the kitchen and found a shiny knife on the counter. I grabbed it and went to Daddy's room. The door wasn't locked, so I pushed it open quietly. Daddy was lying on the bed, snoring loudly.
I stood there with the knife, my tiny hands gripping it tightly. I wanted to make Daddy stop hurting Mommy, so I raised the knife, ready to do something.
But just as I was about to, Mommy appeared out of nowhere and stopped me. She carried me out to my room.
"What's wrong with you, Grace? What were you doing here? You were about to hurt Daddy, the man who is your dad," she scolded me, her eyes filled with worry.
"No, Mama, I was going to stop him from hurting you," I whimpered.
"Grace, sweetheart, revenge is the dish best served cold."
