Chapter 7 Constantine POV "My Own Space"

I pour myself another cup of tea, mostly to give my hands something to do.

My father is watching me now.

Too closely.

I can already feel a conversation building beneath the surface like pressure before an explosion.

I don't want it.

Not from him.

Not from any of them.

“I bought a house,” I blurt out. “So I'm moving out next week.”

The words hit the table like a grenade.

My mother's expression shifts first.

Not angry.

Hurt.

Guilt punches straight through my chest.

I love her.

I love all of them, despite how fucked up this family can be.

But I'm twenty-nine years old.

I need space.

Space away from Catori.

My twenty-two-year-old sister with black hair that falls like silk down her back, olive skin that glows beneath the restaurant lights, and dark blue eyes sharp enough to cut through me with a single glance.

Stop.

Stop looking at her like that.

This is the same girl who used to crawl into my bed after nightmares because she swore monsters lived in the walls of the penthouse.

The same brat who once made me ride the elevator one hundred floors back upstairs because she forgot some ridiculous unicorn pen before school.

The same girl who cried in my arms after her first heartbreak.

I still remember threatening to kill the kid.

A deep ache spreads through my chest so violently it almost steals my breath.

This is torture.

But somehow it also makes me feel more alive than I have in years.

“Where's this house?” Catori asks.

Her voice sounds casual.

It isn't.

I know her too well.

She's fishing.

“In suburbia,” I answer vaguely before taking another sip of tea.

“Constantine,” my father warns.

I grin despite myself.

“Dark Oasis. It overlooks the golf course.”

One of Catori's eyebrows immediately rises.

“I need my own space,” I add. “I'm too old to still live at home.”

My father nods slowly, though his eyes stay fixed on me like he's trying to pull thoughts directly from my skull.

I'm also too old to accidentally walk in on my mother sleeping with her ex-husband and her ex-boyfriend.

I wisely keep that observation to myself.

Though honestly, Uncle Jax would probably enjoy it.

The man openly flirts with my mother every chance he gets, even when Elizabeth is standing right there glaring daggers at him.

The entire family is insane.

I never wanted to become like the Pavlov men.

Not any of them.

They leave destruction everywhere they go.

Not bruises.

Not broken bones.

Worse.

Emotional wreckage.

I watched my father hurt my mother more times than I can count growing up.

Not because he didn't love her.

Because Pavlov men love too intensely.

Too selfishly.

They consume people.

Years ago, I promised myself I would never become that kind of man.

Yet here I am.

Sitting at this table.

Wanting things I shouldn't want.

The thought turns my stomach.

“That place is guarded better than the president,” Catori says with a small laugh.

“That's right, Kitty Cat,” I reply with a smirk.

Idiot.

Don't smirk at her like that.

Don't use that voice with her.

Because all I can think is that she won't be able to show up at my front door whenever she wants anymore.

The thought settles inside my chest.

Heavy.

Possessive.

Ugly enough to make me hate myself all over again.

“I'll be out tonight, so...” I stop when I realize the entire table is looking at me. “Don't wait up.”

“Where are you going?” my mother asks.

“A club with the guys.”

“What club?” my father asks without looking up from his phone.

Fuck me.

How exactly am I supposed to explain that I'm planning to go to a sex club just to hook up with a stranger?

Maybe if someone else occupies my thoughts for one night, all of this will disappear.

Deep down, I already know it won't.

“The club,” I answer vaguely before shoving a cookie into my mouth.

My father slowly lowers his phone.

Across the table, Uncle Dimitri starts laughing into his drink.

Traitor.

“He's going to the Green Door,” Uncle Jax announces loudly while throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I close my eyes.

Of fucking course he knows.

Then he leans closer.

“Meeting someone there?” he whispers.

I roll my eyes and refuse to answer.

“What's the Green Door?” Catori asks immediately.

Every man at the table suddenly becomes fascinated with his drink.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” I say dryly.

Katia immediately looks away.

What the hell?

She knows exactly what it is.

Then she leans over and whispers into Catori's ear.

I watch the exact moment realization hits.

Catori's eyes widen.

Then she looks at me like I just kicked a puppy.

Something vicious twists inside my chest.

Fucking idiot.

Why did you say anything?

The table falls silent.

Then Catori slowly pushes her chair back.

“Why are you going there?” she asks softly.

There's something in her voice I don't want to examine too closely.

I force a shrug.

“Why does anyone go there?”

“I mean, he's not wrong,” Katia mutters.

“Stay away from there,” I snap instantly.

Catori flinches.

And I hate myself for that too.

Mom studies me carefully now, like she's piecing together a puzzle she wishes she didn't understand.

Mason looks tense.

My father watches the entire disaster unfold with the same unreadable expression he wears before violence.

Meanwhile, Uncle Jax looks seconds away from grabbing popcorn.

“You're angry,” Catori says quietly.

“No, I'm not.”

“You are.”

I laugh once.

Sharp.

Humorless.

“You don't know what I am.”

Her gaze locks onto mine.

Suddenly the entire restaurant feels too small.

Too hot.

Too dangerous.

Because she keeps looking at me like she can see something buried beneath my skin.

And the terrifying part?

I think she can.

“I am going with you,” Uncle Jax announces, instantly shattering the tension.

Motherfucker is seventy years old.

That is deeply disturbing.

Men his age should be watching the news or yelling at teenagers to get off their lawns.

Not volunteering to go to sex clubs like it's a weekend hobby.

Then again, Jax doesn't actually look seventy.

None of them do.

I swear my family is made up of vampires.

There's gray at their temples now. Silver threaded through dark and light hair.

But they all still look decades younger than they are.

The Pavlov genes are unfair like that.

Broad shoulders.

Sharp features.

Dangerous smiles.

The dimples. We all have them.

Even age can't seem to dull them.

Jax still looks like the kind of man women write bad decisions about in diaries.

Which is horrifying.

I look back at Catori and she just looks hurt.

The ache inside me only intensifies.