Daveia

“Real isn't what you are; it's something that happens. And right now, you need something good to happen to you.”
― Sylvain Reynard, Gabriel's Inferno

“You are the boss’s wife. I’ll call you by your official title.”
I roll my eyes. “You call him Kirill when you are mad at him.”
“I’ll call you by your name when I’m mad at you.”
Geez. He’s an unbending asshole. And yet, I’ve always felt that Kirill is safe as long as Viktor is there. And while I hate it that he could probably protect him better than I could, I’m glad Viktor wouldn’t let anything happen to him. “Where is he?” I search around him as if a six-three muscled man is some sort of a needle in a haystack that can’t be spotted right away.
“He’s checking something.”
“What’s the something?”
He raises a brow, “I’m under no obligation to report his actions to you.”
“You are really an asshole, did you know that? It wouldn’t hurt anyone if you just answered the question.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
I cross my arms and stand taller, which is a bit pointless since Viktor is way bigger in height and in build. “You have a problem with me?”
“My…” he says, in a robotic, dead pan tone, “What makes you think that? The fact that you’ve been spying on him? Or how you nearly got him killed in Russia? Or maybe, just maybe, the fact that you are doing it all over again now?”
I briefly close my eyes. “The Russia incident wasn’t intentional and if I wanted him dead, I would have killed him when I came back.”
“So you just shot him in the arm?”
My lips part. “Did he tell you that?”
“No. He said that one of his soldiers got him. But I suspected that wasn’t the case. He wouldn’t let himself be shot that easily unless it was either someone he was close to or he allowed it. Now, I’ve confirmed that it was you.”
“I thought that…”
“What? He’d married someone else? Tried to kill you and your family? You were so sure without even attempting to talk to him about it.”
I purse my lips, then click my tongue. “I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind.”
“And you think he was? He had just found out you were alive after burying you with his own hands. You believe he was prepared to see you back?”
My gulp gets stuck at the back of my throat and I stare at him for a few beats, not knowing what to say. On one hand, I can’t fault what he pointed out, but on the other, he didn’t experience the emotions I did after I had to go back to Russia. The feelings of betrayal, rage and utter despair, hell, even longing was there. I missed Kirill so much and I hated myself for it every day. Viktor steps forward.
“I’m warning you. If you attempt to hurt him again, I won’t give a fuck that he forgives you. I will kill you and permanently remove you from his life, Alexandra.”
I lift my chin. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Don’t make me. I witnessed how he turned into a ghost of his former self after your alleged death, but I’d rather have that instead of burying him myself.”
“I don’t want him hurt or dead, Viktor.”
“Your track record doesn’t work in your favor. I’m going to need something more convincing then mere words.”
“I’ll prove it to you.”
― Rina Kent, Heart of My Monster

“I'm sorry you don't want to know me anymore. I will spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that I wasted my second chance to know you. And I will always be conscious of your absence.”
― Sylvain Reynard, Gabriel's Inferno

“Gabriel appeared to be the ideal poker player: impassive, unemotional, cold. Oh, so very cold. Not merely cool, like a breeze, or water from a stream in the autumn, but cold. Cold like a rock against your skin in the shade of the setting sun. Rachel believed that his coldness was his worst character flaw -- his ability to say and do things without regard for the feelings of others, including his family. Despite his failings, Gabriel was her favourite. And as the baby of the family and ten years younger, she was his favourite too. He'd never fought with her the way he'd fought with Scott or their father. He'd always and only protected her - loved her, even. At his worst, there was no possibility of Gabriel intentionally hurting Rachel. She'd only been hurt by watching him hurt everyone else. Especially himself. She knew that upon closer inspection Gabriel would make a lousy poker player. He had too many tells, too many ways he revealed his inner turmoil. He shut his eyes when he was close to losing his temper. He rubbed his face when he was frustrated. He paced when he was distressed or afraid. Rachel watched him begin to pace and wondered what he was afraid of.”
― Sylvain Reynard, Gabriel's Inferno