Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 23

23

ALYA

I’m lost in a beautiful dream. Mama’s fingers are combing through my hair, her voice whispering my name. Weeks without her have felt like an eternity, and I’m drowning in how much I miss her.

After this mess with Akim and the Russia Bratva blows over, I swear I’ll go see her. Give her a big hug. But for now, I cling to this dream, nuzzling deeper into my pillow, savoring the phantom touch of her fingers in my hair.

Her touch, her scent—it’s so real, so vivid.

“Al…”

Wait. That sounds too real. My senses start to awaken. The familiar scent of her signature Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium wafts around me, and I feel the warmth of skin nearby. My heart starts to race.

Shit. This isn’t a dream at all.

My eyes fly open, and there she is. My mother, hovering right above me when I turn around. Her face is so close I can see every worry line, every freckle. The longing in her eyes mirrors the ache in my heart, and suddenly I’m wide awake.

Without a second thought, I launch myself from the bed and throw my arms around her, clutching her like she might vanish any second. “Mama!”

She wraps me in a bear hug, squeezing so tight I can barely breathe. But I don’t care if I’m deprived of oxygen; I’m so excited I feel like I might combust at any moment.

“Yes, baby,” she whispers, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” I choke out, sniffling to hold back tears. It still feels like a dream that she’s here with me. I bite the inside of my cheek and count to ten, an old trick to make sure I’m not dreaming. Pain. Still here. Still real.

It’s not a dream. It’s really not.

Mama is the first to pull away from our embrace, but she doesn’t let go completely. Her hands find mine, squeezing tight as her eyes scan me from head to toe. “You look so good, sweetie. I was afraid you’d waste away without me.”

I can’t help but chuckle, even as I sniffle back more tears. “Look who’s talking. You look even better, Mama.”

And she does. Her red hair has grown into a chic pixie cut that frames her face beautifully. Her skin has regained its usual olive glow, and she looks... healthy. Alive. Almost as she was before cancer tried to steal her away from me. My mama is a warrior, and my chest swells with pride.

She cranes her neck, looking past me, and I follow her gaze. There’s Mikhail, standing in the doorway like a statue. He’s watching us intently, his face still the same unreadable mask. But there’s something in his eyes… is it curiosity? Longing? I can’t quite place it. But it’s almost like it’s the first time he’s seen a mother and daughter hugging. The thought makes my heart ache for him.

“You didn’t tell me you got married,” Mama says, her voice carefully neutral, but the disappointment lurks in the edges. “And to him of all people.”

My pulse skyrockets, and I swear I can feel each individual hair on my scalp prickling. I brace myself for her disappointment, and honestly, how can I blame her? Her only daughter, married while she fought for her life, and to her husband’s murderer no less.

But then it hits me—Mama is here because of Mikhail. He must’ve set all this in motion after I told him she was in danger.

A warm surge of gratitude fills my chest, and I smile at him. I’ll have to thank him later, when we’re alone. And I know just how he likes to be thanked.

I clear my throat and turn back to Mama. “It’s… well, it’s a long story.”

One I’ll have to heavily edit. No way we’ll ever get her approval if she finds out the whole truth—that Mikhail essentially forced me into this marriage… well, not essentially. Literally.

“Well, make sure that long story is worth it, young lady.” She cups my cheeks and smiles sweetly. “It feels so good to see you again.”

“You have no idea, Mama.”

After the horror show at last night’s party, seeing her is a much-needed distraction from the memories of bloodshed and dead bodies. The gnawing fear that Mikhail could have been outmatched and killed weighs heavily on my mind.

A cough from the doorway pulls our attention back to Mikhail.

Mikhail leans out from the doorframe. “I’ll leave you two ladies to catch up. I have a lot of work to do.”

I nod, wondering if he’s referring to Arsen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was still out cold from yesterday’s beating. His face was barely recognizable when I last saw him… a reminder of how brutal Mikhail can be.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I’ll skip it. See you two ladies later.” He gives an awkward wave to Mama and leaves. It’s clear that being nice, especially to people who don’t like him, isn’t his strongest suit. But he’s making an effort, and that’s enough for me.

Mama scrunches her face. “How old is he again?”

“Thirty-three.” A decade older than me. But you’d never guess it looking at him.

“He has some good genes,” she muses. “I think you two will make beautiful babies… if you ever choose to.”

Heat floods my cheeks. I’d never really thought about having kids with Mikhail before, but now that Mama’s mentioned it… A mental image of Mikhail playing silly games in the garden with our kids flashes through my mind, and it works its way down to my lips.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m not just smiling; I’m beaming from ear to ear. “Does that mean you’re giving us your blessing?”

She shrugs, but there’s a warmth in her eyes. “You look genuinely happy, and that’s all that matters to me. Though I still want to know why no one told me my only daughter was getting married, and why you chose him.”

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, considering. For a split second, I’m tempted to lie, to spin some fairy tale about love at first sight. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to worry her, but I also can’t bear to lie. I’m getting sick of it.

I settle for a middle ground—honesty, with some strategic omissions. “Akim wanted me to marry him.”

She frowns. “You mean?—”

“That Akim. Papa’s best friend,” I confirm. “He?—”

I trail off as guilt shadows Mama’s face, and the weight of the truth comes crashing down on me again. Akim isn’t just Papa’s best friend; he’s my biological father.

What happened between him and Mama? Why didn’t she ever tell me? For some reason, I doubt Akim even knows I’m his daughter.

I sigh, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Thinking about it all drives me to the edge of insanity. My papa was a monster, just like Akim, maybe even worse. But at least he loved me. Akim doesn’t seem capable of love, or caring for anything besides his ambitions. I still can’t believe that I have his blood running through my veins. How can I share blood with a monster like that?

Questions burn on my tongue, but I swallow them back. This reunion is too precious to taint with ugly truths. Maybe I’ll ask in a few days, when she’s settled in. Or maybe I should just let it all go and pretend I don’t know. But my curiosity is a relentless itch I can’t ignore.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Mom says suddenly, placing her hand on mine. Her eyes are clouded with emotion, and my stomach drops. “It’s about your papa.”

My pulse races. I know what’s coming, and God, I’ve been dreading this.

“I know,” I blurt out, unable to bear the suspense.

Her eyes widen. “You know?”

I nod, steeling myself. “Akim’s my biological father. I found out not long ago.”

“Are you mad at me?” She huffs and lowers her head. “Why am I even asking? Of course you’re upset. You have every right to be.”

I squeeze her hand, trying to offer comfort even as my own emotions churn. She feels so thin and frail, nothing like the strong woman who dedicated her entire life to raising me. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

We sit in silence for a moment before she lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Akim and I grew up together. He was kind once, but the Bratva changed him. He had feelings for me, but I only saw him as a friend. One night, we… it happened just once. And when I found out I was pregnant, I knew I couldn’t marry him. What he felt wasn’t love. He would never truly respect me.”

Tears prickle my eyes. “Did Papa know?”

She nods, a sad smile on her face. “Your papa and Akim were best friends, and I always loved your papa. After I got pregnant, I tried to run away. Your papa found me, and when I told him everything that happened, he took us in. Made us his. I feel Akim always suspected, but he never dared to ask outright.”

“If he suspected… then he… he must know I’m his daughter.” The tears are flowing freely now, hot tracks down my cheeks. “He knows, yet he’s always treated me like I’m nothing but a pawn in his sick games.”

Mama gapes at me, horror dawning on her face. “What did he do?”

“He threatened to stop your treatment and kill you if I didn’t marry Mikhail.”

“Is that why you married Mikhail?” Mama’s frown deepens. “Because Akim forced you?”

“No, Mama.”

And I spill it all—Every detail of my encounters with Akim, from his threats to his connections with Papa’s death.

By the time I finish, Mama is shaking with rage. I swear I can see the fumes pouring out from her ears.

“That bastard,” she seethes. “I had a chance to kill him years ago, after your papa died. I suspected him then, but I was afraid I might be wrong.” She pauses and inhales. “Your papa wasn’t a good man, but he loved us. He accepted us, and he loved Akim like a brother. And this is how that snake repays him.”

A horrible thought strikes me. “Do you think he killed Papa because of us?” Unless Akim had been greedy all along, maybe he killed Papa for revenge... But then why would he want to be Pakhan too?

Mama opens her mouth to respond, but I’m already on my feet. “Mama, I’ll be right back. I need to talk to Mikhail.”

I dart out of the room, sprinting down the stairs, mind whirling. I find Mikhail in the parking lot, about to climb into his SUV.

“Mikhail!” I call out, running towards him.

He turns, brow raised. “Alya?”

I skid to a stop in front of him, gasping for breath. “I need to tell you something…in private.”

He nods to Alexei and Semyon, and they take the signal, moving away. “What is it?” Mikhail asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I think I have an idea why Akim is acting the way he is.” I pant, still trying to catch my breath. “He and my mother, they sort of had…”

“A relationship?”

My eyes widen. “How do you know?”

“Well, unless he forced himself on her, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

My forehead creases into a frown. “You could try to be less of an ass about it. No need to rub it in my face that I’m that monster’s daughter.”

He throws his hands up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

I wave him off, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it came. “It’s fine. But listen, what if this is all about revenge? He believed Papa took something from him, so now he wants to take everything Papa ever had?”

“That’s one way to look at it, but we can’t know for sure,” Mikhail says. “If he was that concerned about you and your mother, he would have tried to have a relationship with you after your papa died. Not use you like this.”

The truth of it stings, even though I know he’s right. I may hate Akim, but knowing he’s my father—that he knows and still doesn’t give a damn about me—it cuts deep. Even monsters like my papa had the capacity to love and protect me.

“Does it upset you?” Mikhail asks, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes my face.

I shrug. “I couldn’t care less.”

It’s a lie, and not even a convincing one, but I refuse to seem any more pathetic than I already do. Part of me feels resentful towards Mama, wants to scream at her for her mistake, but I understand her. And I also don’t want to blame her and risk making her health worse.

There’s just too much to process, and honestly, I wish I could just shut down my mind and pretend I never learned any of this.

Warm, rough hands cup my cheeks, bringing me back to the present.

“You hate this situation, don’t you?”

I open my mouth to lie again, but he presses a finger to my lips.

“Shh. Don’t lie to me.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Do you want him to be your father? I hate him, but I won’t kill him if you don’t want me to.”

Despite the tightness in my chest, I know with absolute certainty that as much as Akim doesn’t consider me his daughter, I will never consider him my father. He killed my papa, threatened my mama, and used me like a disposable chess piece.

I might feel a flicker of sadness for what could have been, but there’s not even an ounce of pity or softness towards that man. My gaze meets Mikhail’s, and I hold my head high. My answer is final, and there’s no part of me that wavers as I say, “I want him dead.”