A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Dmitry excused himself and walked over to answer it. He opened the door to reveal a man in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a weathered face. It took a moment for Dmitry to recognize him as his biological father, Grigory, whom he hadn't seen since he was a child. “Grigory,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “What are you doing here?” “Dmitry,” Grigory replied, his voice wavering. “I...I came to apologize. I’ve missed you, son. I wanted to see you, to tell you that I’m sorry for abandoning you.” Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at Dmitry, searching for some sign of forgiveness. “Get the fuck off my property,” Dmitry growled, stepping back as his biological father tried to close the distance between them. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you have no place in my life.” Olga hearing the commotion in the living room, hurried to the door to see what was going on. She came face to face with Gri

Dmitry drove while Abeni sat next to him in the passenger seat. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other rested high up on her thigh. "Dmitry!" Abeni gave him a playful swat. "Keep your hands to yourself, mister. We're on our way to see Naledi, remember?" Dmitry chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Of course, of course." He moved his hand away with an exaggerated gesture. "My apologies." Abeni tried to keep a straight face, but soon broke into a grin. She reached over and grabbed his hand, guiding it back to her thigh. "I'm just kidding, you know I love your hands on me," she teased.  Dmitry's smile widened as he gave her thigh a squeeze. "You little minx. Don't start something you can't finish." "Who says I can't finish it later?" Abeni teased, leaning in closer to him. The car was growing hot with the weight of their desire, and the scent of their sweat and arousal filled the air. Dmitry pressed his hand harder again

The next day, Abeni and Ada were strolling through the outdoor shopping district, bags of fresh produce and spices in hand. "So," Abeni began with a grin, "Dmitry was talking about paying for your university tuition." Ada looked at her sister with a mixture of surprise and excitement. "Really?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "He would actually do that for me?" Abeni nodded, her expression solemn. "He said that you just beat cancer, and he wanted to help you get your life back on track. He seemed really sincere about it."  "Thank you, Abeni," Ada said, her eyes shining with tears. "I can't believe he'd do that for me. It's...it's so generous." She paused, wiping a tear from her cheek. "You know...dad called me...a few weeks ago. A day after I beat cancer...and he just...he just...said that he's changed. He's going to try to be there for me now. I'm not sure what that means, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at her sister with hop

Later that night, Abeni was lying in bed next to Dmitry, unable to sleep. She kept replaying the phone call with her father over and over in her mind. Finally, she sighed and rolled onto her side to face Dmitry. "Dmitry? Are you still awake?" she whispered. "Mmm, yes," he murmured, shifting to look at her. "What's wrong, my love?" Abeni hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's my father. He...he called me earlier today asking for money." Dmitry frowned. "Money? For what?" "He didn't really say," Abeni admitted. "Just that he needed a loan to 'get out of a bad spot.' But Dmitry, it's only been a few days since we've let him back into our lives. Isn't it too soon for him to be asking for money?" Dmitry stroked her hair gently. "You're right, that does seem rather quick. What did you tell him?" "I said I couldn't just hand over money without an explanation of what it was for," Abeni replied. "And he got upset and hung up on m

The look on Sergei's face told Dmitry he understood exactly what was happening. With a solemn nod, he set off to rally the rest of the forces. Within the hour, two sleek black vehicles were headed across town toward the dilapidated distillery that served as the Morozov's base of operations. Dmitry sat in the back of the car, his bodyguard Sergei driving, their expressions grim. The air was thick with tension, and each man knew that the confrontation that lay ahead would be unlike any they had faced before. The Morozovs were ruthless and cunning, and underestimating them would be a fatal mistake. When they finally arrived, Dmitry took a deep breath, hoping to steady his nerves. The distillery loomed before them, an imposing structure that had been in the Morozov family for generations. It was an unassuming building, easily overlooked among the other industrial warehouses in the area. But appearances could be deceiving. The distillery was more than just a place where c