Cross Streets

By EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

He is strength and power, he grips the world tightly. And there is no greater happiness for a beautiful doll than to become his wife. What then? They don't leave the crime bosses, you can't stop loving them, much less thinking about betrayal or treachery. But priorities change, and the passion that arises for the other is inexorable - it tears the soul to pieces, it rages with the impossibility of being together. First you have to grow beyond yourself, learn to resist and stop being a pretty doll.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: EDGARS AUZINS
• Release date: Apr 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215150481

EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Dzimis 1989. gada 22. decembrī. Absolvējis Rīgas Juridisko koledžu. Profesijā nav strādājis, bet apguvis programmēšanas prasmes un pašlaik ar to nodarbojas. Kopš 2022. gada ir personīgā uzņēmuma vadītājs, kas nodarbojas ar transporta pārvadājumiem, kā arī programmēšanu. Dzīvnieku, īpaši suņu, mīļotājs. Born 22 December 1989. Graduated from Riga College of Law. Has not worked in the profession, but has acquired programming skills and is currently working in it. Since 2022 he has been the CEO of his own company, which deals with transport transport as well as programming. Lover of animals, especially dogs.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

Beautiful doll.

My then-future husband began our acquaintance with approximately this definition, although it seemed to him that he praised: What a beautiful doll!, without putting negative meanings in the phrase. But every year, those words penetrated deeper and deeper into my brain. A beautiful doll, Vanya never makes a mistake about people.

We met at a time when I needed support. I loved him—for the air he inhaled into my lungs. I loved him despite the fact that he was thirty years older—I never seemed to notice it. Ivan Alekseevich Morozov literally wiped me off my feet with a feeling of strength and strength, such young beautiful dolls can fall in love without looking back. I couldn't resist either—I flew into it like an abyss, throwing myself into my stability and happy future.

And, perhaps, such a collapse was provoked by the previous two years of hopelessness. My mother died when I just enrolled in music school. Children, even eighteen-year-olds, are never prepared for such events — and I was less prepared for them than others. I saw my father at the funeral, but he hurried to express his condolences and quickly disappeared on the horizon—just as he disappeared into it almost immediately after I was born. And I was left alone. The Moscow apartment, of course, gave me an advantage that many others did not have, but I did not cope with the pressures of life. I had to leave my studies, I was afraid to rent an apartment—I had heard enough horror stories about other tenants destroying furniture or cheating payments. Who will I turn to if I am let down? Looking for your father, dissolved on the horizon? So he won't cope—a coward who once couldn't even bear the weight of an unplanned child, what can we take for him? Psychologists are partly right — all problems are from childhood. No wonder on a subconscious level I can not stand the signs of male weakness.

However, I managed to find a job — I was accepted into a small modeling agency. Fortunately, nature helped: I took after my mother in appearance and blonde hair, but only got height from my father. I used to feel awkward and angular as a teenager, being the tallest in the class, but then this trump card played its role. Having got a job at an agency, I involuntarily began to dream that life would get better — I would earn money and go back to school. I hardly have an unsurpassed talent, but I learn music from an early age and quite diligently. Or I will earn so much that I will not need diplomas, and I can study vocals and solfeggio at home, with the best tutors from the same music school or even a conservatory. I fell asleep with such thoughts, repeating to myself that I just need to wait a bit. Wait a little is the stupidest misconception that everyone faces until they realize that waiting is not life, but always its threshold.

They paid pennies to appear on the podium, but sometimes the girls got through: some went to metropolitan shows, some got to the state of famous designers, some had already gone abroad to get there, and some the most successful. they've gotten into advertising. We, who expected happiness to turn in our direction, barely made ends meet, but realized: otherwise fate would not see us. After all, there are so many of them that I have already seen. The illusion of proximity to a dream greatly confuses the goal.

Vika, for example, had been in this illusion for seven years, but still believed—as if she didn't understand that after a short while and even small pedestals would not shine on her, there would always be fresh blood. A naïve fool. We were all naïve fools. But it was Vika who was the first of my girlfriends to give up on escorting. I learned about this way to quickly earn money a week after joining the agency. The boss did not force anyone — on the contrary, it was presented as something like a bonus: rich customers were willing to pay dearly for a beautiful model to brighten up their evening. The girls went to banquets, but I still wasn't so naïve as to not understand—not just to banquets. It wasn't for banquets that rich guys paid our boss large sums. And I couldn't descend to such an income.

And after a few months, a revelation came: it was not happiness that chose the lucky ones, but the bravest, who somehow made their way. And they certainly didn't hesitate to go out as an escort—especially in places where they could get useful connections. So Vika gave up. And somehow I immediately felt fresher, as if I had gotten enough sleep. Perhaps this is exactly the effect if a distant dream is replaced by real plans. A fire appeared in her eyes, as if she had stopped bothered by her age and inevitable write-off. I was silent at the time—I didn't say that in less than five years she would be released for scrapping and without escorts. Wealthy old men, corrupted by money and power, hardly need thirty-year-old runs.

But one day Vika persuaded me to go with her to such a banquet.

I'm serious, Lisa, she whispered. «You just sit and laugh out loud.» There are a lot of people there, but models are invited to create an atmosphere — a great way to turn out in front of friends. Then, of course, the bathhouse and «You're here for the first time? Will you show me the house?», but I will teach you to talk with your teeth. And you're signaling to me—I'm going to show the customer the house.

«And what will they pay me for if I just laugh?» I frowned incredulously.

— They will pay. Not so much, of course, but you need every penny, right?

Had to. i sighed. I knew it was dangerous, and if I got into trouble, no one would help. Although indignation of this level almost never happened, as the escort said. And Vika was pretty much the only one we always communicated with—supporting each other as much as we could. She convinced me not in vain—she wanted me to look at it from the sidelines and get used to it mentally. And then, after five or ten banquets, I too went to show off the house. But she only planned it out by taking care of me. And I agreed—gave up, even recognizing her thoughts. I was just tired of the problems that were happening, completely tired and allowed myself to at least look with my own eyes.

And nothing terrible really happened there. Unless one of the guests was too tight during the dance. But he was pleasant and polite, and at the right moment it was easy to get lost. And the boss paid—pennies, too, but at least some plus to the other pennies. I went to the next banquet easier. There I was touched by a drunken bank director. And I survived again—I got out of it, stepped back, and the laughing Vika almost imperceptibly took my place. There was always a risk in such events, but I was sure that I had greatly exaggerated it in the past. Don't I risk anything when I walk home through dark streets late at night? Yes, even more! Here, guests hold their face in front of each other so as not to completely lose it, but to give way to a whale in a sauna or private premises.

And at the third banquet I met Ivan.

— What a beautiful doll! — he started whistling on my back. — Would you like to join the old man at the table? Otherwise, they landed me with some politicians, as if some were nice!

He wasn't an old man—a very broad man, a physically resilient, muscular man around the late fifties. The expensive suit did not reduce his age, but forgave respectable. Ugly, to my taste, too cumbersome features and a rather flimsy hairstyle with short brown hair, but one that is always in the center. Even if he stands on the stairs. I didn't notice the time that night—I sat down next to him at the table and laughed out loud as expected. And I did not understand how I began to talk about what is not customary to discuss with customers. But it was easy—as easy as ever in the last year. Ivan was rude in his interaction, sometimes he missed swearing, but it came out somehow naturally—he himself clearly didn't notice it. Or, on the contrary, he noticed and deliberately shocked the pretentious politicians on the other side. I just liked him—nothing and all at once. That air that was concentrated around him. And the viscous relaxation of the lion, which only the king of beasts can afford. Nevertheless, I slipped on time—I went to the ladies' room and didn't go back to the table. He didn't look too interested, but still could make a specific suggestion about sex.

Ivan arrived at the agency the following week with a rose hand and a proposal:

Lisa, are we going to go to a restaurant?

And I went—almost recklessly, stunned by the happiness that my sudden feelings were mutual. At that point, I would have gone everywhere he called me: to a restaurant, to a club, to a hippodrome, to his bedroom, and to get married. Everything happened too quickly, but I could only rejoice. My head spinning like a whirlwind from what was happening. I never knew such a life, but Wang showed it to me. We had nothing in common, and even then I was not deceived: he perceived me as a beautiful doll, which, to great pleasure, turned out to be capable of talking. He married me, partly following fashion—all the men of his wealth and bow got new wives and even younger mistresses. It didn't bother me—I was grateful that the dark days with the agency were in the past, and my fervent love for his character, personality, radiated strength, directness, and rare smiles left no choice. I was also inspired by his attitude towards me, which was a clear sign of warmth and care that only became more important with time.

I was baffled by something else—Ivan never openly let me into his affairs, but it was as if he wasn't really hiding it, so it wasn't hard to guess the details. From short conversations, from fragments of phrases, from their own people and bodyguards, who always carried weapons. While still a bride, I already realized that I was marrying a criminal boss. But this, too, did not stop me — on the contrary, I was able to convince myself that such a person could not appear from a different environment. I loved him so much that I was willing to ignore my internal dealings.

Wang didn't pretend to be romantic, but he gave me everything I needed. Work issues were never discussed in front of me, although living in the same house, I still caught some topics, not wanting to go into them. Ivan worked not only in the drug market, huge criminal structures flowing from each other were built under him. A beautiful doll shouldn't know the details—I didn't know them. But she quickly learned to be just an appendix to existing abilities. Now they took me to exhibitions and receptions, were proud of me, showed me as a great accessory, loved and cared for me. And I tried to justify it—every day I reminded myself how lucky I was to meet Wang once. And I only sang to him—old romances, accompanying him to the piano. He asked for it when he returned from a business trip—usually tired, exhausted, and unshaven. He poured vodka into a glass and asked:

Lisa, aren't you singing?

And I sang, forgetting for half an hour who he was. I liked these moments especially strongly, because Ivan looked as if he himself had forgotten who he was.

There have never been serious disputes between us. Though he sometimes lost his temper—I heard him yelling at his people through the walls. In a huge house, more like a palace, I had separate wards—almost like a royal sleeping room, which my husband visits only when necessary. Wang turned out to be a gentle lover—pretty and attentive. But after a year of family life, sex began to interest him less and less, he ate the young beauty, again immersed in worries. Then I started to miss him. I suspect he didn't take any mistresses. I just guessed—by his character and temperament. For Ivan, his whole life consisted of a black market, he had enough communication with his subordinates. The faithful Kosha certainly knew more about my husband than I did. And my task was to look good and not annoy me with intrusion when my beloved spouse does not have time for me.

Once I was incredibly happy about our wedding, and I did not have time to think about what happened after it. It turned out that nothing. Now I had jewelry, branded clothes and stuff of any kind, I just had to look at the showcase with interest. I dreamed of getting out of poverty, but I jumped right to the top of existence—and now, the whole world is under my feet... and there is nothing to take from it. She mentioned returning to music school — and then received her first sharp refusal:

You can't, Lisa. You have to understand that I have a lot of enemies. Do I have to surround all seven floors of the school with guards so I can play with my toys there?

I understood the validity of the arguments and did not argue. And for some reason, there was no longer a need for the tutors I had dreamed of before—I just wanted to go out, get away from the top of this world, at least for a while, and communicate with humans, not armed robots. At the time, I was so upset that I accused him of banal jealousy, but Vanya only laughed without taking the reproach seriously in this particular context. But he's right—he'll never have a reason to be jealous, and I almost immediately recognized his trait when, after our first night, he admired that I was a virgin: for him, innocence turned out to be important. an attribute that instantly increased my value. His jealousy was in no way connected with complexes, like many other people, he simply divided everything in the world into his own and his own. Ivan Morozov is jealous, but not only at his woman, he is jealous of his people, his districts, markets — and perhaps that is why everything is so successful for him. Ivan Morozov does not share with strangers — this can be called his personal brand. Anyone who dares to take even a penny from Ivan Morozov without asking for it, will prefer to knock out his teeth. And the other side of his character is that he is infinitely generous to those in whom he sees loyalty.

I tried to be friendly with the servants and the many guards of the house—they responded to me politely, but avoided communication. I'm a cooks' mistress. And for bodyguards, a beautiful doll of their master, which at times emits sounds. I knew everyone who lived in the house, but, of course, I had no idea about the true number of Ivan's subordinates. More often than not, I saw Kosh, her husband's shadow, but even about her, if you think about it, she didn't know anything. I didn't even risk looking at him, just in case.

I haven't seriously thought about pregnancy yet. But Wang didn't insist, he has two grown sons from a previous marriage, whom he only refers to as excusers. The boys also preferred to keep their distance from their father. But in case of financial necessity, he knew who to turn to. Ivan was sometimes infuriated by the fact that this need arose three times a week. He doesn't want a child from me either, but I still couldn't decide if I wanted a child at all.

I spent the first two years of my family life on social networks and tv series, finally turning into a doll, as I should be. Sometimes I read forums where poor women complained about alcoholics or poverty, and each time I repeat to myself how lucky I am. There is nothing to complain about at all! I spent the next two years of my family life in a random education—I bought myself expensive webinars and lectures, studying either design, psychology, or the intricate science of cross stitches without thinking about it for a long time. I simply filled my time with short entertainment—and thus calmed down the internal cockroaches. There's nothing to complain about, brainless young girls dream of my life, but I got it for free—I just had to be in the right place and at the right time. The melancholy of loneliness and anxiety sometimes took over, but it never found an external way out—I have time to grow up because I'm very lucky in life.

The four years spent together made me a completely different person, even though I was only twenty-three—a slight difference from those nineteen when I met Wang, and as if I had been reborn during that time. I began to understand the types of silk and forgot what synthetics are. I fell in love with horses and became fascinated with dogs. I could play one tune on the piano for eight hours in a row—and during that time I was supposedly asleep. I called Vika sometimes, but eventually we had nothing more to talk about. She, to the surprise of both of us, married a simple engineer and left the agency. But her problems seemed to be from another world—like another episode of the series, a bit distant and unnatural. And I couldn't answer her with the same revelations, because I didn't have any problems. At least the ones that can be discussed.

For a while, only one episode bothered me—it happened shortly before we celebrated our third anniversary. I already noticed that when there are problems, Vanya changes: on such days he often yells at his guys, I did not test his patience, preferring to sit in the room. He also drinks a lot during periods like this—he'll scatter everyone, even Kosh, sit in the living room on the ground floor, pour in a sniff—drink, pour—drink. And so on until he gets insane to the point of insanity. But he didn't approach me in that position; The exception occurred only once.

After a few lingering problems, he returned with a visitor—already tired. I went out to greet him, and Vanya, as usual, was proud of me as his achievement. I completely forgot to introduce a stranger—I was so drunk. A man of about forty years old with a drunken gaze greasy touched me, and as soon as my husband noticed this close attention, he asked me to leave, which I was only happy about. They still didn't have enough to sing and play—Wang could have asked for it, and I wouldn't have found a reason to refuse.

They laughed and drank until late at night. It would seem that some useful person. But already at four in the morning, the door to my bedroom opened with a bang.

Vanya?

I jumped up, sternly clinging to the blanket to my chest. The scary thing was that his strange guest broke into the room after her husband. Ivan hugged her sweetly, leading her to my bed and drunkenly asking:

What did I like? I have such a small face that I like it, right? Well, my beauty, why do you look as if you are not happy to see me? — And again to the visitor: — Did you like it?

— Beauty, Ivan Alekseevich! Such a beautiful lady can brighten up any life!

His eyes are somehow strange, blue, translucent and sticky. They smear me, undress me, straight to the bones. I noticed it in the living room, just like my husband. But I couldn't imagine Ivan wanting to make sure it wasn't his imagination. And the husband began to say completely unthinkable:

So what are you waiting for? Take it! Lisa is very obedient, and she will not refuse my friend. But not for long, so be a friend! — and laughed drunkenly. — Decorate your night, your face deserves nothing more.

My breath formed a lump in my throat. I seemed to dream it all—I saw it in a sick fantasy from idleness. From the day we met, I felt protected—I could say a lot about my doubts, but I was sure of it. And it didn't occur to me that no one would protect me from Wang himself... Even worse was knowing that they wouldn't let me run away, and if I infuriated them, they would kill me. First you will be raped, given to this greasy drunken useful person, and then killed.

And the visitor approached me with a vile smile. I rushed uncontrollably from the bed to the opposite wall and screamed and howled almost wordlessly:

"Wang... Who are you...

No one heard me. The man unbuttoned his shirt without taking his eyes off me because he had been given permission. But after another step, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him. And the man's voice sounded cool and utterly sober:

That's the way it is, isn't it? Which wife are you stabbing your dick, you're suicidal?

He turned around in disbelief and immediately received a fist across his face. Vanya grabbed the falling body by the chest and prevented it from collapsing, giving another blow. And over and over again—powerful, convincing. The man smoked and screamed, and I covered my head with my hands and screamed too. The man just chuckled:

Don't dare to look at mine like that! Did you hear, carn?!

He beat her so brutally that I was left unwell. I squinted so as not to see, but it seemed that I heard the crunching of bones, and over time the victim even stopped wheezing. And suddenly everything became quiet, but I still did not remove my fingers from my ears and did not open my eyes, overcoming with difficulty the desire to vomit.

The silence was depressing—it's hard to say how much time had passed, but a quiet voice pulled me out of opacity:

— Elizaveta Andreevna, will you stay in the guest bedroom today?

I stared at Bright, pursing my lips into painful spasms. He repeated the question and then grabbed me by the elbow and lifted me up. I closed my eyes again so as not to see, and so I stumbled across the carpet with stiff legs. But they held me with an iron grip and dragged me confidently to the exit.

Bright, you... Throw him out later, the man's drunken voice sounded again.

My guide replied as he walked:

— Ivan Alekseevich, what the hell? There is a lot of dirt.

He replied almost inaudibly, leaning back on the door frame:

"Ruslan, at least you're not bored, you're clean. This fool disrupted my Chinese traffic and thought I wouldn't recognize it. And then he decided to my wife... Yes, he's alive. Like. But throw him so far that I'll never see him again. Lisa, Lizonka... Sorry! I didn't want to bother you, my girl...

Go to bed, Ivan Alekseevich, Kosha replied to both of us.

I couldn't speak or understand. And I couldn't note that for the first time, Kosh was called in front of me not Kosh or even Koschai. My husband seems to be out of his mind.

I was pushed into the guest bedroom, after which Kosha tried to go out, but I grabbed his shirt, looking him in the eye from below.

"I'm scared... afraid! — she pleaded, as if hoping to get some support from him.

— Calm down, Elizaveta Andreevna.

He tried to pull me away from himself, but I pinched my fingers even tighter, screaming louder:

Scary! Do you understand this?

Kosha leaned over and repeated dryly:

— Calm down. And you weren't threatened by anything. The worst thing that can happen to you is if Ivan Alekseevich divorces you. Then you will become hysterical.

And at that point, I very much doubted it was the worst. He stayed a few centimeters from my face, patiently waiting for me to grasp and release my fingers—perhaps he wasn't willing or authorized to use force against me. Faithful owner's dog, obeys orders and does not rebel hysteria. He's young, only five years older than me, not the most handsome, a little irregular, smiling, short dark hair, a long neck with a sharp Adam's apple. Only brown eyes can be called beautiful, if they were not so indifferent. I'll let you stop the fact that Kosha never smiles—the heartless shadow of my heartless husband. He does not even have a name, like many of Morozov's bandits, and Ruslan was not renamed Košchey out of the blue.

I managed to overcome the cramps and pull back my fingers with difficulty. Standing next to him was no less unpleasant than returning to his bedroom now.

The next morning, Vanya asked for forgiveness, tried to explain something, and convinced me of the same thing that Kosha said yesterday: he's guilty of me just because I was scared. But no nits would have touched me, otherwise he could not be called Ivan Morozov.

For a long time I was in apathy, but with time everything passes. This event, too, was forgotten, and, moreover, nothing like this ever happened again before my eyes. But it was that night that I finally realized who exactly I was married to. And I am very lucky that Ivan Morozov, who is most often busy with business and unromantic, sees in me only his girl, and not the enemy.

And a year later, everything began to improve — Ivan went into politics. He told me it was time to go out into the world, and he's a brilliant leader—why not take advantage of his talents? I was very inspired at the time—I wanted to be the wife of a politician much more than the wife of a criminal. Even the security guards in our house were partially replaced—and now I'm more likely to see guys in formal business suits who didn't give the impression of people who had just left prison. Kosha hasn't disappeared anywhere, but with Kosh, Wang will go either to China's drug midge, to the abyss of hell, or to politics. It was clear that in one night everything would not change, but it's good that at least a trend was marked — however, Ivan Morozov also needed a reputation for the first time in his life to conquer a new market for him.

Chapter 2

I finally relaxed when people from news channels began to appear in the house. Ivan did nothing in half a word and engaged in politics with his usual fervor. I only now realized the tension I had lived in all these years, afraid to admit my fears to myself—only the frequent nightmares spoke of it. But in fact, I did not ask myself questions so as not to answer them.

But now the new life was no longer imaginary—it was exactly the one that was approaching, but my role hadn't changed in any way, so I decided to change it:

Oh, I'm getting crazy from idleness, she announced one day at breakfast.

The man smiled softly. His gaze is warm—I don't know what his subordinates and rivals see, I don't know what his new political friends see, but he always looked at me that way.

And what did you come up with for yourself as entertainment? Don't say it's a casino! — he decided to joke, which he did rarely and only in the best mood. — You can only have a casino as a hobby if you are its owner.

I laughed:

— No, dear, I can do without such toys! I thought—maybe I should start going to the gym? Your guys registered there—I heard their conversations. There's more security there than at home! Is there really something threatening me there too? Or am I not in danger of anything now?

I asked the last question insinuatively, fearing and hoping to hear the answer. But Vanya thought about it and shrugged:

— Go to the gym if you want. At least for culinary courses, if you have passed them. All that makes you smile, Lisa!

His reaction inspired me to force a little more:

— Why do I need culinary? I still can't learn to cook better than our Yevgeny Prokopyevna! But I would love to apply for design courses.

— Why do you need a design? — my husband looked at me cheerfully. You can't do any better than the feathered that set up our first floor last year.

Who knows? — I smiled cheerfully, for I was greeted not by a cold protest, as before, but by a real playful discussion. Maybe he used to finish the same courses, and now, I waved my hand at the impeccably stylish fresco on the wall, he's making money!

Yes, I gave him about three kilograms of dough at the time, Ivan recalled. «But, daughter, why should you do dirty work when the world is full of cocks with feathers?»

And I continued, maintaining the same ironic intonation:

— Or maybe I'll become a world-famous designer? You're going to be elected president, and your wife has to justify it—I'm going to pump out my butt, improve my English, and gain everyone's world reputation!

Wang laughed out loud and then nodded:

— Register, Lisa, wherever you want. I, an old man, sometimes forget how young you are—you need to live, get the interests of a girlfriend you can gossip with. You're talented, but I locked the talent and kept it only for myself.

You're not an old man! And I don't like it when you say that, I replied seriously and didn't speak at all. Age suited my husband like no other, and in terms of energy, he would put any eighteen-year-old guy to shame. Absolutely everyone around him faded, unable to beat the aura of power.

And he couldn't help but feel that this was exactly what I had always thought. But his gaze became even warmer. I chose the most appropriate moment for such a conversation—Ivan was in a great mood, which I also took as a sign of a change in our lives.

And it's true. Let's live longer, Liz! Now we will live in a way that you could not even imagine. But let us not go too far, let us not take risks. If you have a hair falling off your head, I'll grind this city into powder and sift through a sieve, but it won't get your hair back in place. But there are no safe places — shouldn't I know? — he grinned notably. So just with the safety to have my heart sitting in the right place.

Of course! — I didn't even consider other options, but I became more and more joyful.

— From my guys, I'll look at who has thicker skin so that if something happens, I can let go... Listen, maybe let's hire a bodyguard for you? Well, you know, those jackets and ties, like in movies about scary black women. There is no shame in showing such guys to your girlfriends.

I was already laughing until I cried. I loved my husband, but in that mood I just adored him.

— Let's put on a jacket, Wang. I'll carry it like a handbag.

— They scored, my beautiful girl. — Ivan nodded to Kosha as he entered, who reminded her husband of the meeting with a quiet hint. I'll take a look. I trust my people more, but no matter how many jackets I wear, my gangster appearance still stands out, and it cannot be hidden.

Bright lips stretched out into a skeptical smile after this phrase. In fact, Wang exaggerates a bit—for example, taking off Bright's eternally black T-shirt and leather jacket and dressing him in an Armani suit might call him an intellectual. But for some, like Slavka, no suit will fit—Fame is so swayed that she's only scared by her appearance. The car bursts at the seams as he sits behind the wheel, much less like some Armani.

Wang hurried to the meeting—one of the very important guests had arrived, but I still managed to intercept her and kiss her on the cheek, whispering:

— Thanks.

I wasn't interested in design or English courses, and I hardly needed girlfriends for gossip, but these changes themselves spoke of a global upheaval. It immediately became easier to breathe, as if I had lived under the burden all the years, and it disappeared in one minute. I flew around the house and wondered what I would do first, and after half an hour I firmly decided that I would do everything in order.

The mood was great, and when I heard about Maxim's arrival, I ran into the blue living room myself to warn that his father would be busy for a while. My husband's youngest son was my age, but the relationship between us always remained strained for obvious reasons. In appearance, he behaved after his mother, did not inherit a drop of the brutality of his father, very handsome, but somehow empty, as if life was not hidden under the presentable shell. He was mostly indifferent to me—we just stuck to military neutrality.

— Hi Maxim! — I distracted the guy from looking at the picture above the fireplace. — Ivan is busy meeting an important person.

He always has meetings with important people, the guy replied and only then turned, grimace. Oh, are you still here, Lizaveta? Didn't they replace you with someone younger?

Almost the same greeting every time. His attitude is quite understandable—a childish resentment towards his mother, himself, and brother, whom Ivan simply pushed out of his life. I saw my ex-wife only once, she never came here. A rather beautiful, but elderly woman who did not show any negativity towards me at all. Either too calm, or smart enough to understand: Ivan got married a