Privet, people! It's time for another chapter. I smile so much when I get a new review, follow, or favorite. I just enjoy them so! Anyways, let's continue the story.

I was about eighteen when it happened. Then, I lived in St. Petersburg with my older and younger sisters, Irina and Natalya. Irina was a caring girl and was like a mother-like figure to me, but she was very weak and often cried. Natalya was a very beautiful girl who was very determined at best, but her heart was usually in the wrong place. I was the middle child but I grew so much bigger than the two. At the time, I loved writing. I would write anything from poems to stories. Irina was convinced that was going to be an author so she helped me get a job a book publisher.

"Irina, why did you do that for me?"

"Because, Ivan, it would give a better chance to get a story of yours published!" I sighed at this, but I was glad that Irina was looking out for me. We weren't fully blood related. We were half siblings. We all had the same mother but different fathers. Our mother was an alcoholic and a drug addict and slept with different men every night. The men that she brought home were usually abusive or didn't care for us or our mother. Irina, from a young age, actually took care of us the way our mother should have. Finally, our mother died, probably from either the alcohol or the drugs. Irina then had to drop out of school and get a job, just to make sure we had food on the table.

So I took the job at the nearest publisher and started working. I was an editor, so what I did was corrected grammar and pointed out confusing statements. I enjoyed my job a lot, I got to read brilliant stories everyday as their rough draft. I received the side of books where the reader wouldn't get to see. And the money I got helped Irina out (She came home with a smile more and more as the days passed).

After a year of working, I was then inspired to write my book. I usually spent my lunch breaks writing it, sometimes getting food on the pages, but didn't care because the black ink usually covered it. I took me roughly a year and a half to finished the story. Because my job was an editor, I went through and edited it myself in my free time. I remember once leaving the book with Irina. She read it and loved it. I then gave it to Natalya, who wasn't too fond of my writing, but she read it. She told me that it was an interesting story and she liked it. I smiled, knowing that my book was bound to be published. I went to work the next day and went to see my boss, Mr. Sergeyev. He was a stout man with dark brown hair, a mustache, and work round-framed black glasses. I handed him the book, edited and in its hopefully final form, and asked him to read it. He nodded and told me that he would talk to me about it when he finished.

I continued to work, however nervous. I didn't know what Mr. Sergeyev was going to say about my book. Was he going to like it? A few weeks had passed and I have yet to hear about the fate of my book. Then, one day, at the end of the workday, I was called to Mr. Sergeyev's office. I walked slowly to the room, not knowing if I will be happy with his opinion. I really wanted my book published and Mr. Sergeyev was the key to that locked door.

"Hello, Ivan," Mr. Sergeyev greeted when I walked into the door. "Please have a seat." I nodded and sat across from his desk. This was it. This very moment was a pivotal of my life. When I didn't have anything yet, when I haven't accomplished anything yet, there was a pure desire that I had that would be fitting enough to called a dream. It was my innocent but childish delight. Surely by that time, I knew that.

Didn't I?

"Ivan, we need to talk about that book of yours." I nodded.

"What did you think of it, sir?" I asked in dying curiosity. I knew I was antsy about this and I didn't know I how long I could go anymore without know. I looked at Mr. Sergeyev, who hasn't answered me yet. There was a long pause and deathly silence.

"Ivan," Mr. Sergeyev said calmly. He looked at me before he pulled out my book from his desk and threw it on top of it, "How dare you give me this COMPLETE AND UTTER SHIT!?" I watched as my book hit the desktop and bounced a little. I was confused. I was sure that my perfect. I fixed every little mistake. I made every part a riveting story to read.

"Wha…?" Was all I could said at the moment. My brain was still trying to process what happened right in front of me.

"This is shit, Ivan!" Mr. Sergeyev continued, "The plot is horrible. The story drags on forever and never seems to end. The characters are completely unrelatable."

"What the hell do you mean the characters are unrelatable?!" I yelled, finally getting fed up with Mr. Sergeyev and his inability to see a good story. "You cannot tell me that Mikhail is not a relatable character!"

"How the hell can I relate to him?! He's a FUCKING PSYCHOPATH! He spends the whole wishing for something that is impossible for him to get! It's stupid!"

"He was intended to be written like that!"

"Nobody wants to read about a psychopath, Ivan!" Mr. Sergeyev sighed. "Ivan," he said, calmly, "You're an editor not an author. You're the one who corrects the grammatical mistakes not the one writing the mistakes. Do what do best, Ivan," Mr. Sergeyev walked around the desk and patted my shoulder, "Edit books." I didn't say anything to Mr. Sergeyev nor did I look at him. He sighed again, "Goodbye, Ivan," he said before leaving the room.

I was furious when I was walking home. I can't believe he had the audacity to call my book shit! I never saw him write a book before, so how can he judge mine? I know he's a publisher but still. This was absurd. I walked into my house and made my path towards my room.

"Hello, Ivan, how was your-" I walked straight passed Irina, ignoring her completely. I was tired and I didn't want to speak to anyone about what happened. I went to my room and fell on my bed. I closed my eyes and sighed. I was done. Then I remembered about my book. It was still on Mr. Sergeyev's desk. I clenched my fist. I didn't want to go back to that man but I had to get my book. I got up from my bed and walked to my door then stopped. I didn't want Irina and Natalya to know that I left. So instead, I put on my large coat and gloves then left out my bedroom window. Our house was only one story so it was okay. When I was out of the house, I closed my window behind me and left toward the publishing building.

The frigid night air brushed across my face. Even so, my face was still hot from anger. On my way there, I looked over to a construction site. This was here for months and they have yet to finish. I forgot what they were building, I think a home. On the ground, I noticed a pile of lead pipes. They weren't attached to anything. I casually walked over to the pile and picked one up. It was very long, had an angular hook, and a faucet. At that moment, I knew how to exact my revenge.

I walked into the publishing building. It was very quiet so everyone else probably left. I did, however noticed a dim light coming from the direction of Mr. Sergeyev's office. I slowly walked over to the door and stopped. Mr. Sergeyev was working quietly at his desk, writing something, and on the corner was my book. I walked more into the room and he looked up.

"Ah, Ivan. You had forgotten your book," I didn't say anything. Anger began to boil in my blood again as I gripped tighter to the lead pipe in my hand. Mr. Sergeyev had noticed this and showed a slightly worried expression. "Ivan?" I've learned now that it's not good to act upon your emotions. But at the time, I didn't know and I wanted revenge. I charged at Mr. Sergeyev, pulled him over the desk, then pinned him to the wall. I glared at him when we shared eye contact then he threw him across the room. He landed in a thud then pleaded with me, but it was too late. My head was clouded by anger. I raised my hand and struck him in the head with the lead pipe. I wanted to stop there but I couldn't. I kept hitting him until his head was a mangled, unrecognizable mass.

When I finished, I dropped the lead pipe then looked at my hands. They were shaking. Then I realised what I had done. I couldn't stay. I would go to jail. And what about Irina and Natalya? They would surely be heartbroken. They would be heartbroken either way, I reasoned. So I picked up the lead pipe, grabbed my book, and ran in the direction of my house.

I climbed back into my room as quietly as I could and gathered some stuff. `I grabbed a satchel and stuffed some clothes and some other items in there. I placed my book in the bag and held the lead pipe in my hand. When I finished, I heard a peculiar knock on the front door.

"I'll get it!" I heard Natalya called and I slowly moved towards the window. "Irina, the St. Petersburg Police is here!" I froze. Surely they are here for me. Who else can it be besides me? "Ivan!" I heard Irina call. I can't stay here any longer. I quickly opened my window, jumped out of it and closed it. "Ivan?" I ducked under the window when I heard my door open. "Ivan? I thought he was here. I saw him here. I'm sorry to cause any problems, officer."

"No problem, ma'am. Just tell him to come in for questioning tomorrow."

"Why? What happened?"

"His boss, Alexsander Sergeyev, was brutally murdered." I didn't stay after that, I just ran. I had to run away from this.

I looked over to Yao, "I still blush remembering that time, and even when shouting to deny it, the bitterness of regret still spreads. That's because I haven't lost it completely. I've kept that wondrous radiance of my heart. However, while feeling disgust similar to hatred, I would look for salvation where there's death, but foolishness always follows. As proof of my immaturity, I would devise another trap for that day," I sighed, "If I could blame it all on my youth and hide it away, I still wonder if my heart would regain a slight sense of peace. If I can affirm maturity along the path I've followed," I gestured to myself, "I wonder if it would visit this body someday. But even now, I don't understand anything." Yao stared at me, trying to think of what to say.

"I...believe we're the same, Ivan." I looked at him.

"How so?" Yao shrugged.

"I mean, our stories aren't the same but we're both trying seek peace in something that won't." I nodded in agreement. Then I was curious.

"Yao, why are you a thief?" Yao visibly tensed up at the question and stirred his tea.

"My story isn't as heart wrenching as yours," Yao said, taking a sip of his tea, "I just worked at a law firm that wasn't giving me my full cut. So I started stealing it back. But I had quit before they ever noticed that I was taking the money or the fact that the money was even gone." I nodded. "However, I enjoyed the rush of feeling like you will get caught, I never got. Eventually I got so confident that I would never get caught that start stealing in broad daylight."

"What about your family?"

"None of us are blood related. They were all orphans on the streets that I took in."

"Are they thieves too?" I joked. Yao chuckled.

"No, I encouraged them not to, tell them that they would get caught, it's not good. Things like that. Then they would ask me why I do it," Yao frowned into cup, "I'd tell them it's for peace in mind." Then I remembered something. I grabbed my coat and searched its pockets. I then found the note that I received earlier today. I opened it but I couldn't read it.

"Um, Yao," I said, turning to Yao, "I tried to tell you earlier today but I was given a note by a man. I can't read it. It looks like Mandarin." Yao got up from the table and sat next to me on the couch. He took the note and looked at it.

"It's angular. So Chinese wasn't their first language. The grammar is weird so they had it translated into Chinese. Let me read it out loud: Dear Ivan, we have been watching you and are quite interested with your expertise. If you can, meet us at one of our hideouts. Someone is bound to know where it is. Sincerely, the American Mafia."

"The Mafia?" I was shocked. I had heard of them and at one point in time, I thought they were a myth. But to get a letter from them?

"It's okay," Yao said calmly, "Kiku has friends who have friends in the Mafia?"

"Friends?" I squeaked.

"Friends of friends," Yao corrected, "Don't worry. They're not that bad when you meet them." By this point, I was so confused. I didn't know if I was dragging Yao into nonsense or the other way around. I guess we were both experts in crazy.

That's all for this chapter! It's longer than normal. Anyways, read and review and I will see you next time!