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“Hey, motherfucker.” Damien snaps his fingers at him. “Shut the fuck up and fuck the fuck off.”
“I’m far from pitying you.” Her expression is determined, hard, and holds no doubts. “I want to murder him for you.”
“What’s your deepest, darkest desire, Damien?” “Aside from spilling your brains on the ground and pretending to mourn at your funeral?”
Kirill, Damien, and me in a meeting all on our own? Yeah, this needs a word stronger than disaster.
Damien uncaps the bottle, ignores the glasses, and drinks straight from it like the savage he is.
“Holy fuck, that must’ve hurt.” Damien barks out a laugh. “You okay there, Kirill? Want me to get you something for the burn?”
“Say, are you betrothed?” “What’s that? Some type of food?”
“I’m offering you my daughter’s hand in marriage.” “Why would you do that to her?” Damien stares incredulously, then whispers, “Is she not really your daughter, so you’re punishing her?” Abe laughs, the sound genuinely amused. “I like you, Damien Orlov.” “Believe me, your daughter won’t,”
“How about an affair?” “Maybe if you’re the last man alive, Damien.” “I can make it happen,”
“If you’re a boy, don’t you dare mistreat women. If you’re a girl, don’t you dare let men mistreat you just because you don’t have balls.”
“The first rule in the father-son manual says that you don’t cockblock your dad, Nikolai.”
If someone had told me I would ever be sitting in a toddler’s bed, telling them bedtime stories, I would’ve shot them.
