Begin

At four years old, I had nothing: no parents, no siblings, no home. I was alone. I say alone, but men surrounded me—men of all ages, sizes, shapes, colours, and backgrounds. Most abused me, not all, but the complacency was inexcusable. I chuckle to myself. ‘How hypercritically of me? I am just as complicit.’ After enduring years of abuse, the Tsar noticed me at an evening function. I must have been 14 then, almost 15. The function was to celebrate the successful growth of the Magnesium Industry and the opening of a new office down south.

On a metaphorical leash to some wealthy business investor from China, I was a mere pet then. Ho Ming had leased me from the Bratva at around age five. He told me he liked my eyes and how I cried when he beat me. That was all a ruse at this point. The tears were fake, the smile was cold, and I just did what I needed to survive. I had been beside him for almost nine years and was apathetic to his cruelty. I clung to his waist. He was a short man, around 5’6. I hadn’t grown much then, but at 14, I was already 5’9. I laughed at his jokes, drank the beverages he offered and stroked his chest and ego for the evening. It wasn’t uncommon for me to play the doting partner at these events. It was, however, the first time I officially met the Tsar. 

The Tsar, known to those close to him as Emmet Petrov, was a well-built man. He stood at 6’5 and had snow-white locks, cut just so that his eyes were seen. They were a deep, desperate grey. The pain inside of them was immense. The Tsar’s smile was soft, but in an instant, it became cruel, like a mouth full of razor blades, ready to dispose of whoever. My wealthy Chinaman made himself known, addressing the Tsar with utter disrespect. I felt my stomach tighten. 

“Oh, Tsar, finally, nice to see you at an event.” His tone was sarcastic, and his lackeys gave chuckles at his comment. I placed myself just behind him. I could feel displeasing eyes looking through me. As calm and collected as ever, the Tsar ran his hands through his snowy locks and smiled. The toothy grin of someone who looked starved of substance. 

“Why, Ho Ming, the pleasure is all mine!” His gaze met mine. “And who, by chance, is this?” He reached out a hand toward me. I was unsure if I was to speak up or stay put. I clung to Ming’s elbow.

“Oh, it’s-” he’d forgotten my name again. It doesn’t surprise me. 

“I’m Milo, sir,” I bowed slightly, “it is an honour and a privilege to meet you.” I extended my hand to reach for his, taking a knee and kissing the signage ring on his right hand. As I knelt, I felt his hand under my chin. He lifted my face to meet his. His eyes looked like a void with no emotion, no light. He smiled and whispered,
“Leave him, meet me in the car park in ten minutes. This is not a request.” His voice was cold and cutting. I stood aloof and confused. The worry must have shown on my face because he smiled and glanced at Ho Ming. 

“Ming, I must talk business with you. Please excuse us.” He reached out a hand to Ho Ming and took him for a walk. As I watched them walk away, he spoke softly to me over his shoulder, “Ten minutes Milo.” When my name passed across his lips, I felt my stomach drop, and my heart began to race. It was horrifying. The way it rolled from his tongue, through his teeth like smoke. I couldn’t think straight. I needed air. I found myself in the car park. How did I end up here? I sat down against a concentre pillar, my head in my hands. Footsteps echoed behind me. I sat still and waited to see who it was. His voice was cold. It cut through the midnight air like knives. 

“Just toss him in. I don’t care about him. Where is that boy?” The realisation hit me like a truck. It was The Tsar. Who didn’t he care about? Whom was he tossing? I felt a hand on my shoulder. I almost yelled, but a hand was placed over my mouth quickly. I looked up into the eyes of a man. They were soft, almost calming. He gestured to shh while removing a hand from my mouth. 

“I won’t hurt you, but I need to escort you to that car, okay?” I felt tears, hot and salty, streaming down my face. The man was shocked. He stood back in concern, “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” His concern was genuine. I felt it in my heart. The tears wouldn’t stop, and my voice was heavy in my throat. I shook my head. No one had ever asked if I was okay or hurt or if something was wrong in the last nine years of me being in this living hell. Why did he have to care? Why couldn’t he have helped me more and let me leave? I understood why he wouldn’t allow me to escape when he took me to the car sent to transport me to the Tsar sat, idling.

On the car park curb lay a body. His mouth, in true Bratva fashion, was attached to the curb. His teeth shattered around him like droplets of snow, caking the concrete in a deep, red hue. In his back were three bullet wounds. I felt nauseous. My head was spinning. The man held onto me to keep me steady as we walked. The black door of the car’s rear opened, and inside beckoned a large, ring-covered hand. Smoke drifted out from the door, and I felt my feet moving on their own and pulling my body towards this dark void of haze and danger. I was powerless, completely and utterly, at his will. I would have run if I knew what getting into that car meant. I sat beside the man, knowing it was the Tsar, and there was nothing I could do. He reached across me, touching me slightly with his cold hand. His hand went behind my ear, and I felt my breath stop. A smirk appeared on his face as he looked at me, reaching for the seatbelt behind me and fastening it.
“I won’t hurt you, Milo. Don’t be frightened” his hand reached my cheek and gently stroked it. I trembled under the weight of his fingers on my skin. He chuckled softly. It almost sounded genuine. 

The car ride was agonising. I kept my head down, looking at my hands, but I could feel eyes watching me. The driver, who was the man that escorted me to the car, would glance at me in the rearview mirror often. His eyes screamed, ‘I am so sorry.’ The Tsar was on and off the phone for the entire car ride, sometimes yelling in a foreign language. It felt like my heart was tightening every time his voice was raised. During his conversation, he noticed my dismay. I felt a hand caress my head softly. I looked towards him, seeing his soft smile appear in the darkness. It was not reassuring; it was terrifying. Not knowing where we were going or how long I would be with this man caused my breathing to become short and sharp. It felt as if my lungs would collapse at any moment. I hadn’t noticed the Tsar's hand on my thigh in the panic, gripping softly, almost reassuring me if it was fine.

The car slowly came to a stop outside of a large iron gate. Within seconds it was open, and the car pulled up in front of an enormous house. I came to know, later on, that this was the main estate. The car's doors opened suddenly, and I jumped in fright. The vehicle driver stood beside the door, his hand outstretched toward me. I hesitated to reach for him but knew I had no choice. His hands were soft and warm in mine. I felt chills run down to my toes while he held onto me. He placed an arm around my shoulder to steady my movements and guided me into the large wooden doors.

The Tsar had disappeared inside quickly, sitting down in an extensive study on the first floor. That daunting, ominous room, where cigar smoke hung like a thick blanket, would become somewhere I felt safe, familiar. The man I clung desperately to walked us into a small sitting room on the first floor. It was lined with bookshelves and soft couches. He gestured for me to sit, and I obeyed. I sat, holding tight my own hands to avoid shaking. He sat on the coffee table before me, looking deeply into my eyes. He reached a hand out to stroke my face, and I nuzzled into his soft flesh, tears slowly streaming down my face. He wiped my cheek and smiled. 

“You’re safe here, Milo, I promise” his voice was low and gentle, like sunshine on your face after a long winter of snow. I couldn’t contain myself. I threw myself into his arms, dropping to my knees between his legs, and sobbed, tightly clinging to his stomach. He was startled but wrapped his arms around me and cradled me as I cried. He leaned down and whispered, “Milo, you must follow all of my instructions. It’s the only way you’ll survive here. Can you do that?” I looked up, my face covered in tears, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I nodded slowly. “Good,” he patted my head, “excellent, Milo.” I brushed the tears away and sat back on the sofa. He stood, reached for a glass of water, and handed it to me, “My name is Patrick. I will guide you and make you indestructible” his voice was stern, almost as if this was an order, “You’re how old, right now?” I felt my throat tighten, but I managed to squeak out. “14, almost 15.”

Patrick covered his mouth to hide his horror. He shook his head and reached out, touching my cheek. “I am so sorry, Milo. I don’t know the horrors you’ve had to endure, but I can say, right now, this place will look after you.” I felt a sudden blast of air on the nape of my neck. It was as if someone was pouring cold water down my spine. The door to the sitting room opened, and there stood the Tsar, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Patrick hurriedly got to his feet and bowed as the Tsar walked in. A towel thrown at him, Patrick stood behind the Tsar as he sat in the chair across from me and dried the Tsar’s wet hair. I can’t deny that the Tsar was attractive. His body was thick, toned, and scarred from fighting, but he held himself with such conviction that it was hard not to be attracted to that kind of power and malice. Patrick knelt beside the Tsar and whispered in his ear something. Too quiet for me to hear, but I knew it was about me.

The Tsar waved Patrick away, and he left the sitting room. I suddenly felt sick, anxious that he was no longer beside me. The Tsar gestured for me to stand and stroked his chin while looking at me. It was more like inspecting me. He gestured. I turned around, and I did as I was told. When I faced him again, he smirked. “I didn’t expect Ming to have such refined tastes,” he leant forward in his chair and lifted a finger to me, beaconing me to come closer. I rounded the coffee table and stood in front of him. He reached my chin and lifted my gaze to his, “I’ll protect you, Milo.” He was sincere in his words, but he hesitated. “Not now, though; you’re too young. Patrick,” he called, and Patrick appeared beside him, “take him to the secondary estate and ensure he has his room.” Patrick nodded and bowed again. He reached out for my hand, but the Tsar stood between us as he did. His body was stiff and cold. His eyes were calculating. “Patrick,” his tone was sharp, “remember your place.” Patrick lowered his head apologetically. He gestured for me to follow him without touching me. I didn’t understand at the time that this was the Tsar’s way of ensuring no one was to touch me except himself. 

Patrick was a lapdog, a lackey, after all. He had no right to touch the Tsar’s possessions, whether they were things or people. He knew this, and still, he felt an urge to help me. I didn’t understand it. Patrick guided me to the car and placed me in the backseat. His eyes flicked back to me in the rearview mirror, just like the drive here. The main estate, the primary house for the Tsar and his business, was my new home, but not yet. I was too young. In the meantime, I would live in the secondary estate.

Here is when I meet the other members of the Tsar’s operation and other children favoured by the Bratva. At the time, I hadn’t realised how lucky I was to be saved from Ho Ming by the Tsar. The pain I had endured for almost nine years at that man’s side had made me bitter and twisted. I expected the worst from everyone I met. To be cast aside when I was no longer functional, beaten, broken, and bruised by the hands of men who weren’t my lovers. At 14, I didn’t know how fucked up things were. In front of my eyes was a man who looked utterly tortured by his deeds. I felt safe with Patrick. I hadn’t felt safe with anyone for such a long time. I wanted to cling to this feeling, never to lose it. But, this feeling would cause Patrick to become nothing more than a memory to me, and soon enough, the car stopped in front of the secondary estate. My next two years inside this building would begin my plan. To ruin the Bratva from the inside out like a virus. I wished desperately that Patrick kept driving past the long, sweeping driveway and take me somewhere else, anywhere but here. 

But, you can never escape the Tsar, Emmet Petrov, ever. 

Patrick opened the back door and reached out a hand to me. I hesitated but clung tightly to him. We stepped to the main doors, large, wooden, and utterly terrifying. Patrick sighed and knocked on the door; a small woman appeared and welcomed us in. Patrick took the lead, and I followed behind like a small puppy. I clung so tightly to his hand that I thought I could rip it off if I tried hard enough. Patrick stopped in front of a door on the second floor. He looked down at me and lifted my chin to his; looking into my eyes; he spoke softly,  

“Welcome to your new home Milo.”

I collapsed into the large, soft bed. I had been sleeping on a pullout couch for the last nine years with Ming. He refused to let me sleep in his bed, especially after sex. Having a bed to myself was something I had only dreamed of. I had utterly forgotten that Patrick was with me. I sat bolt upright in bed and looked for him. He smiled, leaning against the door. I pulled the covers up around my head to hide my flushed cheeks. I didn’t understand this feeling inside of me when he smiled at me. Was it safety, I felt? Or was it longing? Or something more? Patrick paced slowly in the room, looking at all the novels and pictures. He crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He put his head in his hands and sighed, shaking his head slowly. I felt my body acting on instinct, reaching my hand to his shoulder and slowly grasping it. Patrick looked at me through his fingers and smiled, “I’m in deep trouble, Milo, especially if I stay here with you.” I didn’t understand, but I took my hand back slowly. Patrick caught it midair and pulled it to his chest. I felt his heart beating in his chest. My face was flush again, and I averted my gaze. Patrick pulled me to his lap with such force that I felt myself almost falling. He lifted my chin, looking into my eyes with such pain. I felt a tear trickle onto my cheek. I reached my hand to his face and brushed the tears from under his tired eyes. He smiled, “How can you be so gentle with all that’s happened and will happen?” His voice shook in his throat.
I sighed, “That’s how I stay alive. Being soft and gentle to…“ my words were cut off with lips pressing to mine. Patrick gently held my chin and softly kissed my lips. I could taste the salt from his tears. I felt myself growing warm, being held by him, being kissed by him. He pulled away slowly, and I felt his lips push against my forehead. He whispered desperately, “I am so sorry.” 

He placed me back into the large, soft bed and pulled the covers up my body. He knelt beside me and stroked my hair softly. I felt overwhelmed with emotions but too exhausted to do anything but close my eyes. Before I closed my eyes, Patrick whispered one last thing to me, “I’ll protect you, Milo, I promise. Sleep now; I won’t leave until you do.” His words were earnest in his throat, and I drifted off to sleep. Patrick spoke one last time to me before leaving, “This can never happen again, Milo; I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
He disappeared and shut the door, and I was alone again. 

 End II