Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance
The loudest scream in the room came from Anika. She shot up from her seat, looking so horrified and unable to do anything else except scream when the tip of Ivan's little finger was detached from his hand as the cleaver sliced it off. "Papa!!!" Anika cried, slapping her hands over her mouth.
Cynthia also cried out, so very pale as she ran towards her husband. She gaped in horror, pushing the soldiers away. Her hands trembled as she hurriedly wrapped a table napkin around the wounded finger. Then she picked up the detached fingertip from the table and tossed it into an ice bucket.
Blood had splattered everywhere, onto the food and the nearby tableware—the Pakhan's most especially—but he didn't flinch at all, his face looking contemptuous as he watched his daughter and son-in-law.
Ivan looked ashen and when the soldiers hauled him out of the dining room, he tripped on his foot. Ivan was slightly bigger than the Pakhan, but even he didn't dare retaliate as if accepting his punishment. Cynthia wanted to go after her husband, but Matvey Novikov grabbed her arm so tightly she winced in pain.
He harshly spoke in Russian to her and she looked like she wanted to slap her father but thought better of it. Instead, she sat down to his left, the blood of her husband splayed on the table before her.
Apart from the lack of reaction from soldiers, Gael and Aleksander seemed to be holding their shit fairly—but barely. Both of them breathed heavily at what just happened, but neither of them spoke. Aleksander had his hand on his sister's shoulder, his muscles too tight and tense as if he wanted to put his arms around her to protect her, but the Bratva were not supposed to show weakness through affection—even if they were family.
Meanwhile, Angela held Gael's hand under the table in a vice grip. She held him tight, her whole body trembling in fear.
Matvey Novikov had grown a beard of white hair on his chin which was absent when she first saw the man during the Senator's daughter's birthday. But his hair was still shaved and the old tattoos on the backs of his hands and his burly figure still made him scary.
Angela thought she had felt fear before—and she had, but various forms of it. One when Evan had taken her, when she lost her baby, when Gael nearly got killed, when they were ambushed… But this… This was a different kind of fear. Her eyes were wide, looking in the direction of the crime scene but not actually seeing it. Though that didn't matter because she would never forget how it all happened.
How could this old man just chop off someone's finger at breakfast like it was just another Monday morning? What the hell?
Gael squeezed her hand as if trying to calm her down, but it only did so little to make her feel better.
What would Matvey do to her now? To Gael? Or to them both? Or to everyone else at the table who kept the truth from this ruthless mob boss?
"Dedushka…" Anika sniffed, addressing Matvey Novikov. "Pozhaluysta, ne delay etogo." (Grandfather. Please, don't do this.)
The Pakhan shot her with a deadly glare that got her shrinking into her brother's side. "Zakroy rot!" (Shut up!) "Have you forgotten that women are not allowed to speak at my table unless spoken to?!"
Angela found this absurd, but no one objected. She thought she couldn't hate him more, but she loathed him every second that passed. She now thought Ivanovich Volkov was nothing to this man.
As if only really acknowledging her now, Matvey Novikov stared at Angela, and she felt like cold water was splashed on her back. Even so, she scowled at him—and she shouldn't do that, she shouldn't anger this crazy old man, but she couldn't help it. She was angry.
"Am I supposed to be flattered that you sensed some familiarity?" Angela spat, her eyes misty. So he recognized her right away then just like she feared, and he dug her up?
Cynthia gave her an eye as if to tell her to shut up, but Angela didn't spare her mother a glance. Taking the teapot, Cynthia awkwardly poured some tea into a clean cup and fumed as she took a sip.
"You should be," said Matvey, reaching for his own tea and staring at it for a moment, making Angela wonder if there was Ivan's blood in it. He sipped generously, put the cup back down, and turned his gaze to Gael. "So what will I do with you? You are not Bratva, but you still offended me. And I cannot allow my family to be with someone I cannot trust. You've known all along but you didn't care to present her to me? Should I believe that the De Lucas deliberately chose to betray me?"
Family. Angela wanted to scoff aloud. Novikov called this family? If she wasn't so afraid and angry at the same time, she would have laughed at this old man's face for calling this "family". What the hell did he know about that word?
Gael looked unfazed as he stared at the older man with a serious look. "Keep my family out of this. They have nothing to do with it. And with all due respect, Mr. Novikov, that is not your decision to make. You haven't been in her life for all of twenty-nine years. Your opinion is insignificant because blood doesn't make you family. It's Angela's choice who she wants to be with and she's already engaged to me."
His blue eyes sharper than ever, Matvey snapped to his left—at his daughter, the back of his hand striking Cynthia's cheek, her head whipping to the side and blood trickled from the corner of her lips. Anika gasped and sobbed but no longer dared to speak this time, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.
Cynthia merely wiped the blood from her chin and straightened up, looking straight ahead—in Gael's direction, but not really looking at him. She looked so cold and detached now, her poker face could make anyone believe she didn't just witness her husband bleed a few minutes ago.
Matvey raged, speaking in Russian to Cynthia. "This is all your fault! You lecherous potaskushka(whore)—sneaking out and luring men! After everything I did for you and your whore mother, this is what you repay me? I should've married you to the Volkovs much earlier when you were sixteen." He huffed, his face going red. "You call your other son and bring him here immediately!"
Matvey was already so distraught that he was jumping from one matter to another. So angry at everything he didn't know which to tackle first, blaming everyone he saw because he felt so betrayed. At that table, he saw everyone as his enemy and he was calculating how to punish all of them. He looked like he wanted to burn them alive to get rid of all his problems once and for all.
The mention of Oliver angered Angela that she snapped, "You have no right over us! It doesn't matter whose fault it was that you didn't know about us, I didn't even know you existed until recently. My brother and I are adults and we don't have any obligations to you or this family."
The old man let out a mocking chuckle. "You think you have a choice? I'm the law in this household! I make all the decisions. As long as Novikov blood runs in your veins, your duty is to me." Then he glanced at Gael. "I decide who your husband, and your brothers' and sister's future spouse."
Gael squeezed Angela's hand under the table when she opened her mouth to speak once more. Angering the Pakhan wouldn't do them any good. He needed to play this carefully. If he had to sell his soul to the devil to keep Angela safe, then that's what he would do.
"Mr. Novikov. Just the other night, you wanted my family and yours to marry into each other. So here you go. I'm marrying your granddaughter."
"I'm not marrying you because of him! I—" Angela protested but stopped when Gael shot her glare. She wasn't helping their situation. The reasoning didn't matter right now if they wanted to keep breathing and go home in one piece—and not a single finger missing.
Matvey regarded Gael for a few beats. "I must admit. I did admire your skills when you worked for SVR Corp. I believed you would take over after your father's reign. And then you chose to leave and pursue a legitimate career. You're already on the other side of the course, boy, washing your hands free of dirt. You think that's admirable? I see it as disloyalty to your family. Why should I trust you?"
Chapter 517: The Novikovs (2)
Cynthia also cried out, so very pale as she ran towards her husband. She gaped in horror, pushing the soldiers away. Her hands trembled as she hurriedly wrapped a table napkin around the wounded finger. Then she picked up the detached fingertip from the table and tossed it into an ice bucket.
Blood had splattered everywhere, onto the food and the nearby tableware—the Pakhan's most especially—but he didn't flinch at all, his face looking contemptuous as he watched his daughter and son-in-law.
Ivan looked ashen and when the soldiers hauled him out of the dining room, he tripped on his foot. Ivan was slightly bigger than the Pakhan, but even he didn't dare retaliate as if accepting his punishment. Cynthia wanted to go after her husband, but Matvey Novikov grabbed her arm so tightly she winced in pain.
He harshly spoke in Russian to her and she looked like she wanted to slap her father but thought better of it. Instead, she sat down to his left, the blood of her husband splayed on the table before her.
Apart from the lack of reaction from soldiers, Gael and Aleksander seemed to be holding their shit fairly—but barely. Both of them breathed heavily at what just happened, but neither of them spoke. Aleksander had his hand on his sister's shoulder, his muscles too tight and tense as if he wanted to put his arms around her to protect her, but the Bratva were not supposed to show weakness through affection—even if they were family.
Meanwhile, Angela held Gael's hand under the table in a vice grip. She held him tight, her whole body trembling in fear.
Matvey Novikov had grown a beard of white hair on his chin which was absent when she first saw the man during the Senator's daughter's birthday. But his hair was still shaved and the old tattoos on the backs of his hands and his burly figure still made him scary.
Angela thought she had felt fear before—and she had, but various forms of it. One when Evan had taken her, when she lost her baby, when Gael nearly got killed, when they were ambushed… But this… This was a different kind of fear. Her eyes were wide, looking in the direction of the crime scene but not actually seeing it. Though that didn't matter because she would never forget how it all happened.
How could this old man just chop off someone's finger at breakfast like it was just another Monday morning? What the hell?
Gael squeezed her hand as if trying to calm her down, but it only did so little to make her feel better.
What would Matvey do to her now? To Gael? Or to them both? Or to everyone else at the table who kept the truth from this ruthless mob boss?
"Dedushka…" Anika sniffed, addressing Matvey Novikov. "Pozhaluysta, ne delay etogo." (Grandfather. Please, don't do this.)
The Pakhan shot her with a deadly glare that got her shrinking into her brother's side. "Zakroy rot!" (Shut up!) "Have you forgotten that women are not allowed to speak at my table unless spoken to?!"
Angela found this absurd, but no one objected. She thought she couldn't hate him more, but she loathed him every second that passed. She now thought Ivanovich Volkov was nothing to this man.
As if only really acknowledging her now, Matvey Novikov stared at Angela, and she felt like cold water was splashed on her back. Even so, she scowled at him—and she shouldn't do that, she shouldn't anger this crazy old man, but she couldn't help it. She was angry.
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The old man lifted his chin in arrogance. "Do you know how precious your blood is? The Novikovs are noble. We're a long line of descendants that came from the Romanovs in Russia." Matvey shook his head. "I saw you at that party and you look exactly like my mother when she was younger." Then he spoke in Russian but as if he realized Angela couldn't understand, he translated, "I thought I saw her ghost.""Am I supposed to be flattered that you sensed some familiarity?" Angela spat, her eyes misty. So he recognized her right away then just like she feared, and he dug her up?
Cynthia gave her an eye as if to tell her to shut up, but Angela didn't spare her mother a glance. Taking the teapot, Cynthia awkwardly poured some tea into a clean cup and fumed as she took a sip.
"You should be," said Matvey, reaching for his own tea and staring at it for a moment, making Angela wonder if there was Ivan's blood in it. He sipped generously, put the cup back down, and turned his gaze to Gael. "So what will I do with you? You are not Bratva, but you still offended me. And I cannot allow my family to be with someone I cannot trust. You've known all along but you didn't care to present her to me? Should I believe that the De Lucas deliberately chose to betray me?"
Gael looked unfazed as he stared at the older man with a serious look. "Keep my family out of this. They have nothing to do with it. And with all due respect, Mr. Novikov, that is not your decision to make. You haven't been in her life for all of twenty-nine years. Your opinion is insignificant because blood doesn't make you family. It's Angela's choice who she wants to be with and she's already engaged to me."
His blue eyes sharper than ever, Matvey snapped to his left—at his daughter, the back of his hand striking Cynthia's cheek, her head whipping to the side and blood trickled from the corner of her lips. Anika gasped and sobbed but no longer dared to speak this time, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.
Cynthia merely wiped the blood from her chin and straightened up, looking straight ahead—in Gael's direction, but not really looking at him. She looked so cold and detached now, her poker face could make anyone believe she didn't just witness her husband bleed a few minutes ago.
Matvey raged, speaking in Russian to Cynthia. "This is all your fault! You lecherous potaskushka(whore)—sneaking out and luring men! After everything I did for you and your whore mother, this is what you repay me? I should've married you to the Volkovs much earlier when you were sixteen." He huffed, his face going red. "You call your other son and bring him here immediately!"
Matvey was already so distraught that he was jumping from one matter to another. So angry at everything he didn't know which to tackle first, blaming everyone he saw because he felt so betrayed. At that table, he saw everyone as his enemy and he was calculating how to punish all of them. He looked like he wanted to burn them alive to get rid of all his problems once and for all.
The mention of Oliver angered Angela that she snapped, "You have no right over us! It doesn't matter whose fault it was that you didn't know about us, I didn't even know you existed until recently. My brother and I are adults and we don't have any obligations to you or this family."
The old man let out a mocking chuckle. "You think you have a choice? I'm the law in this household! I make all the decisions. As long as Novikov blood runs in your veins, your duty is to me." Then he glanced at Gael. "I decide who your husband, and your brothers' and sister's future spouse."
Gael squeezed Angela's hand under the table when she opened her mouth to speak once more. Angering the Pakhan wouldn't do them any good. He needed to play this carefully. If he had to sell his soul to the devil to keep Angela safe, then that's what he would do.
"Mr. Novikov. Just the other night, you wanted my family and yours to marry into each other. So here you go. I'm marrying your granddaughter."
"I'm not marrying you because of him! I—" Angela protested but stopped when Gael shot her glare. She wasn't helping their situation. The reasoning didn't matter right now if they wanted to keep breathing and go home in one piece—and not a single finger missing.
Matvey regarded Gael for a few beats. "I must admit. I did admire your skills when you worked for SVR Corp. I believed you would take over after your father's reign. And then you chose to leave and pursue a legitimate career. You're already on the other side of the course, boy, washing your hands free of dirt. You think that's admirable? I see it as disloyalty to your family. Why should I trust you?"
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