Roman "Chaos in Kindergarten."

I was already sitting in the luxurious first class of a plane during a flight from Las Vegas, my fingers rhythmically tapping on the edge of the seat as I stared at my phone. I was trying to read an email, but I was constantly distracted by Dean and Lin bickering behind me, and Mel's perfect sleeping face was even more distracting.

I sighed deeply, running a hand through my hair. Kindergarten? I was really flying back because Melissa's nieces, the kids of rowing Alex, did something. They're in kindergarten, for god's sake! What could possibly go so wrong that I had to fly across the country? Correction: Melissa, but for some reason, all of us were going.

The girls, Melissa's nieces, were probably mischievous, that's true, considering their genes, but this seemed too much. My instincts told me this wasn't a simple matter—missing a nap or refusing to share toys. No, if Melissa was involved, it meant it was more serious. As always.

Trouble usually followed her, and along with her, it followed me. It was ironic—the mafia boss feared by everyone in New York was called in to resolve a crisis at a kindergarten. Correction: I would just sit beside her, ironically observing the ridiculous scene because our queen desired it.

The hours ticked louder in the silence of my brain, and I knew I didn't have much time to figure out how to escape my wife's clutches. Melissa's impatience was legendary. She probably already knew I would agree, assuming I would drop everything and rush to help her. I didn't like that she still had everything under control, especially now that divorce loomed over us.

But whatever the case, at that moment in the room when she said I was still her husband, I simply grabbed my phone and dialed my assistant, saying, "Buy me four tickets to New York. Right now." And here we fucking are.

I tried to work, but that bitter thought wouldn't let me go. Why did I agree to this? Melissa and I were practically enemies now, our marriage barely hanging by a thread. She wanted to leave, she ran away, and in a few weeks, we would be divorced because Melissa insisted, yet here I was, rushing to her aid.

I could imagine her sharp tone, the disdain in her eyes if I had refused. It wasn't about the nieces, not entirely. It was about proving a point—that even in the midst of their divorce, I was still under her control. It angered me, but it also intrigued me. Why did I keep falling into this pattern?

I dropped the phone onto my lap, recalling our last encounter. She acted as if if a shard was in my hand, I was the one controlling everything. I let out a grim chuckle. Control? If anyone was in control, it was Melissa. She always had the upper hand.

Yet, I had to admit there was something about her that drew me in, no matter how far apart we grew. Was it a game? A power struggle? I no longer knew. But I understood that agreeing to this trip meant more than just for the nieces. It was again about me—a renewed attempt to understand why I couldn't let her go.

I swallowed and closed my eyes, unable to resist another laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. The mafia boss and the queen of snakes, I thought bitterly. That's who we were. On paper, we were the perfect couple—power, money, influence. But beneath the surface, it was a tangled affair of betrayal and manipulation. Murder and blood.

I imagined the scene in New York. Here I was, the powerful Roman Kirillov, known for being a ruthless boss of the Russian mafia, standing in the middle of a kindergarten. And beside him, Melissa—cold, calculating, with her snake-like beauty. How ridiculous it would look when we played family while the real world, our world, saw us as forces to be reckoned with.

I shook my head. It was almost comical—the thought of me and Melissa doing something like normal aunt and uncle. But beneath the humor was a bitter feeling. We should have been something more—more than enemies, more than a couple with power. We could have been something real.

But that never happened and never would.

***

We all four exited the plane. Lin seemed to distance herself strangely while Dean and Mel whispered about something all the way to the airport exit. And though I trusted Dean because I knew he loved my sister, I noticed how before leaving, they exchanged glances—one filled with familiar closeness that made me freeze. I didn't understand. Not at all.

"Melissa, we need to go." My voice was casual, and even though I wasn't planning to talk and intended to ignore everyone, my gaze was wary as I glanced between them.

Melissa smiled, a smile that concealed secrets. I didn't understand again. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a pang of jealousy I hadn't expected. More precisely, not because of Dean. "You two seem to have gotten close." I remarked lightly, though my gaze remained fixed on Melissa. "Did you finally make a friend, Mel?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Dean is just a great friend and person, unlike you." She hugged him goodbye and walked over to me. Seriously... what the hell was going on?

Dean awkwardly chuckled, throwing a nervous glance at me. "We've just become better at communicating."

"Communicating, huh?" My tone was playful, but the tension in the airport was palpable. I had gotten to know Dean well enough over these six months, but seeing him with Melissa like that... something was off. "Oh yeah, they've definitely gotten better at communicating." Lin muttered as she left the airport, clearly burning with jealousy and deliberately nudging me in the right shoulder as she passed by.

Melissa also walked past but then nudged me in the left shoulder. "Let's go, jealous boy, or you'll burn with jealousy just like your sister." She whispered.

I froze for a moment. "You clearly don't know how to communicate with women." I'm aware. "And you clearly communicate with women so well that Lin ran away from you." And then she followed Mel, leaving behind an atmosphere that felt more hostile than friendly.

***

Melissa and I sat in silence at a small café we entered before heading to the kindergarten. The clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound between us, amplifying the tension.

Melissa pushed food around her plate, clearly uninterested in eating. I couldn't help but notice how her posture tensed every time I looked at her. Once, we shared meals full of laughter, teasing, and jokes. Now, the air between us was cold, every word spoken by either of us was saturated with unexpressed resentment.

I poked at my food, barely tasting it. It felt like we were two strangers sitting across from each other, waiting for the moment to leave. My thoughts constantly wandered to Dean, to how easily he made Melissa laugh, to the warmth of their interaction.

"Let's just get this over with." Melissa muttered, breaking the silence. "What the hell did you even bring me along if you didn't want me here?" I couldn't hold back. "Because I love my nieces. You know how much the teachers gossip if a relative comes alone? I want everyone to think they have a complete family there."

I simply nodded, dropping my fork onto my plate with a dull thud. I didn't argue anymore. I had no idea what was going on in my wife's head anymore.

***

We arrived at the kindergarten, a building resembling a bubble of chaos and children's voices. I felt out of place, as if I had entered a world where I didn't belong. But Melissa? She was in her element, striding down the hallway as if on a mission.

In the hallway in front of the teacher's office stood three girls, huddled together and whispering. Roman immediately recognized them as the triplets—Melissa's nieces. It was clearly obvious. They were absolutely identical, from their dark curly hair to the matching mischievous sparkles in their eyes. I couldn't take my eyes off them, fascinated by how perfectly identical they were.

Melissa bent down to them, her voice firm but gentle. "What happened?"

One of the girls, the boldest of the three, spoke first. "It's not our fault."

"We didn't mean to." Added the second.

The third just looked at her shoes, clearly guilty but unwilling to admit anything.

Melissa sighed, pressing her fingers to her nose. "Girls, I need to know what happened."

The bold girl crossed her arms. "He started it."

"Who?" I finally asked, surprised by this outburst.

"A boy from our class." Explained the second girl, her voice sounding defensive. "He said something mean, so we... we decided to deal with it."

I exchanged a glance with Melissa. Decided to deal with it? That didn't sound good.

As Melissa spoke with the girls, I couldn't help but watch them more closely. They were practically exact copies of each other, down to the smallest details—how they fiddled with their hair, how their eyes darted around the hallway.

How do people tell them apart?—I wondered with interest. It was eerie how identical they were. Even their voices seemed like echoes of each other. For a moment, I pondered how strange it must be to grow up with two others who looked exactly like you. Did they ever feel like individuals, or were they always perceived as a set, like furniture?

My thoughts returned to his own childhood, to the loneliness of being the only child, always expected to be the perfect heir. How only Natasha was nearby. Then my father, in a fit of jealousy, killed my mother, who had lived all this time as if she were somewhere else, when I was 15. And three years later, I killed him when I became stronger. But these girls... they have each other. They will always be able to merge with one another, to disappear when necessary. I couldn't help but envy that to some extent.

On the other hand, with Melissa in the role of their aunt, they were destined for trouble. Perhaps they inherited something from her. Correction: 100% probability.

One of the girls looked at me when I realized that Melissa was talking only to the other two; her face was unreadable. "Are you going to get us into trouble?"

I didn't laugh. "That depends on what you did." She merely clicked her tongue. "A boy from our class called my sister mute." She pointed to the girl who was silent. "We decided to protect her." "How exactly?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "We just hit him in the stomach, to the face, and... as Aunt Mel taught, one of us held his hands." My jaw nearly dropped. See? I told you that Melissa as an aunt looks even more like a psychopath. I won't lie – it's even sexier.

While I was trying to find the right words, the conversation between Melissa and the other two girls had already ended, and all the triplets were now looking at me while Melissa watched from the side. Their curious eyes studied me as if I were some strange creature they had never seen before. Which was true.

One of them, the bravest and the one who had talked to me earlier, stepped forward. "Now it's our turn to ask questions because we've never met you before."

"I'm Roman." I said simply, not knowing how to address them.

The second girl tilted her head. "Aunt Mel said you're her... husband?"

I exchanged glances with Melissa. The tension between us was palpable, but in front of the girls, we remained polite. "That's right." I answered somewhat distantly.

The third girl, the quietest of the triplets, finally spoke; her voice was soft and uncertain. "So... that means you're our uncle?"

I blinked; the word "uncle" sounded strange when applied to me. Mafia bosses aren't called "uncle." I shot another quick glance at Melissa, who was barely suppressing a smile, clearly amused by the whole exchange.

"Yes, I suppose that's true." My voice was rough, unsure how to deal with this new dynamic.

The bravest girl crossed her arms again, assessing me once more. "You don't look like an uncle."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her boldness. "Oh? What does an uncle look like then?"

She shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "I don't know. Not like you."

The second girl chimed in, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Aunt Mel said you're scary."

Melissa, casually leaning against the wall, cleared her throat, clearly surprised by this admission. I again tore my gaze away from the triplets and looked at her. "Scary, huh?"

Melissa shrugged, an uninvited smile appearing on her face. "They... have opinions."

I sighed, shaking my head, and looked down at the three small faces. "Well, I'm not scary. I'm just... strict." I wasn't sure why I felt the need to explain myself to a group of kids, but here I was.

The triplets exchanged glances, clearly unconvinced, but then all at once they reached out their hands to me. "I'm Gianna, and know that if you hurt Auntie or my sisters... I'm the one who hit." I shook the little hand of the bravest one. "I'm Josie, don't mess with us, and I won't hold your hands." I repeated the same movements with the second girl. "I..." The quietest one fell silent. "She's Jane," Gianna said and let go of her sister's hand. "She has speech problems, so don't even try to joke about it."

I raised my hands and sat down on the cards opposite Jane. For some reason, all three looked like they were at that stage of Melissa. Genetics? They weren't even her kids. "I'm not scary. Not to you." My open palm was vertical, hoping she would give me a high five. "Okay?" Her big eyes looked at me, and then she touched her palm to mine. "Y-yes." She smiled shyly and awkwardly. But the conversation was interrupted when the teacher's office door creaked open and the caregiver stepped out, a thin woman with tired eyes.

***

Melissa and I followed the teacher into the office, and the triplets trailed behind us like tiny shadows. The room was cramped, with children's chairs scattered in the corners and bright posters plastered on the walls. I felt even more completely out of place, like a lion in a dollhouse.

The teacher, Mrs. Hayes, as I learned, gestured to two chairs opposite her desk. "Please, have a seat."

Melissa sat first, her posture tense but composed. I settled next to her, and the chair creaked under my weight. I glanced at the triplets, who were huddled together on a small bench in the corner and were whispering to each other again.

Mrs. Hayes cleared her throat, placing her hands on the table in front of her. "Thank you for coming. We... have a situation."

Melissa's eyes narrowed. "What situation?"

Mrs. Hayes hesitated for a moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. "The girls were involved in a conflict with another student today."

Melissa's jaw tightened. "What kind of conflict?" I frowned, trying to understand why she was acting like she didn't know.

Mrs. Hayes sighed, looking at the triplets. "It seems they... physically responded to a boy who was teasing them." Ah, so Melissa wants to hear how exactly the teacher explains the situation.

I leaned forward, theatrically interested to play along. "How exactly did they respond?"

Mrs. Hayes shifted awkwardly. "Well, they... kicked him and held him by the hands."

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And," Mrs. Hayes continued. "They kicked him several times, in unison."

I stifled a laugh. In unison? He couldn't help but imagine the scene again: three tiny girls, perfectly synchronized, taking down a bully with military precision. It was almost... impressive.

Melissa, however, was not thrilled. "He was teasing them. What were they supposed to do? Stand there and take it?"

Mrs. Hayes sighed, clearly annoyed. "While I understand your frustration, Mrs. Kirillova, violence is never the answer."

I couldn't hold back. "Well, that depends on the situation, doesn't it?"

Melissa shot me a warning glance, but I just shrugged. I wasn't going to sit here and let the teacher pretend that turning the other cheek was always the right move.

Mrs. Hayes, becoming increasingly flustered, continued. "We encourage our students to resolve conflicts through communication, not aggression. It's important for the girls to understand that fighting is unacceptable."

My mind wandered while Mrs. Hayes lectured us on conflict resolution. The irony of the whole situation was too great. Melissa and I had killed people, I thought, suppressing a smile. A lot of people. And now we were being told that we shouldn't let kids hit bullies.

Melissa, to her credit, managed to stay calm, though I could tell she was boiling inside. Her hands were clenched into fists on her knees, the knuckles turning white. She had always been very protective of her nieces, and this situation was clearly testing her patience.

Mrs. Hayes continued, oblivious to the rising tension in the room. "We believe it would be helpful for the girls to talk to the school counselor. Sometimes children need help expressing their emotions in a healthy way."

Melissa's eyes narrowed to slits. "You want to send them to a counselor because they stood up for themselves?"

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "I think my wife is trying to say," I interjected smoothly. "That maybe we should focus on why that boy was teasing them in the first place."

Mrs. Hayes blinked, clearly surprised by my calm yet persistent tone. "Well, that's something we're addressing with the parents of the other child as well, but..."

"But," Melissa interrupted her, her voice sharp. "It seems you care more about my nieces' reaction than the fact that they were bullied in the first place. Yes, Jane has a hard time speaking right now. But no one has the right to judge her for it."

Mrs. Hayes opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, one of the triplets—of course, the bravest one—stepped out from the corner. "He called us mean names and said Jane is dumb!"

Melissa turned to her, her expression softening. "What did he say?" Finally, they mentioned what specific words provoked them.

The girl hesitated for a moment, looking at her sisters before answering. "He said we were freaks... because we look the same, and well, about Jane, you know."

I suddenly felt a surge of anger in my chest. I had no experience dealing with children—none at all—but even I understood that this was cruel.

Melissa's eyes ignited with fury. "And you're punishing them for defending themselves? And each other?"

Mrs. Hayes looked flustered. "I'm not saying what the boy said was right, but physical retaliation is not..."

"Not what?" Melissa shot back. "Not allowed? Not justified?"

I placed my hand on Melissa's hand, gently urging her to calm down. "Mel, let's hear her out."

Melissa took a deep breath, her eyes still blazing. Mrs. Hayes, looking more nervous than ever, cleared her throat again.

"I understand this is a delicate issue, but the daycare's policy is clear. Violence is not allowed, and the girls need to understand that."

I leaned forward even more, my voice low and threatening. "They are only four years old. What they need to learn is how to stand up for themselves. If that boy can't handle the consequences of his actions, that's his problem."

Mrs. Hayes looked like she was about to protest, but I didn't give her a chance. "We'll take them to a counselor," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "But understand this: I expect that boy to be dealt with too. Because if that doesn't happen... I'll handle it myself."

Melissa looked at me in surprise but didn't object. Mrs. Hayes, on the other hand, looked like she might faint.

***

The walk to the counselor's office was silent, but the air between Melissa and me still crackled with unspoken tension. I could tell that Melissa was barely holding it together, her fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

When we arrived at the office, the counselor, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and annoyingly calm demeanor, greeted us with a strained smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Kirillov, please come in."

I noticed how Melissa's jaw tightened at the man's patronizing tone, and I braced myself for what was about to happen. This was not going to end well.

We sat across from the counselor, who glanced at his notes before addressing us. "I've heard about the situation with your nieces, and I think we can work together to help them process their emotions in a healthier way."

I twisted my lips into a tense smile. Process their emotions? The problem isn't with the girls—the problem is with the boy. That's obvious.

Melissa, however, was not in a polite mood. "Let me get this straight. You want to 'help' them by making them feel like they did something wrong?"

The counselor, clearly taken aback by her bluntness, stammered slightly. "Well, no, not exactly, but they said that's what their aunt taught them and..."

"So what?" Melissa's voice was cold and deadly. "Because from my perspective, it seems you're trying to fix them when they're not the ones who need fixing."

I leaned back, watching with mild amusement as the counselor squirmed under Melissa's fiery gaze. I had seen her tear apart men far more dangerous than this one.

The counselor cleared his throat, visibly flustered. "I understand your frustration, Mrs. Kirillova, but we want to ensure that the girls feel supported and understand that there are better ways to handle conflicts."

Melissa's eyes narrowed. "Like what? Sitting there and doing nothing while they're called freaks? And dumb? And mute?"

Feeling that Melissa was about to leap from the table, I decided to intervene. "What my wife is trying to say is that maybe we should focus on preventing bullying in the first place. Isn't that the real issue here?"

The counselor looked relieved at my calm intervention, but she was far from ready to back down. "Do you think a few therapy sessions will stop this from happening again? Because I can tell you right now: if those boys keep pushing, the girls will respond even more fiercely. I'll teach them, believe me."

I suppressed a smile. Melissa was fierce when it came to her nieces and those she loved, and I admired that about her, even if it meant watching her verbally dismantle the counselor. The calm facade of the man began to crack, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as Melissa's words hit harder than any polite objection.

"Mrs. Kirillova..." the counselor began, his voice trembling yet still maintaining a thin veneer of professionalism. "I understand your concerns, but physical retribution cannot be condoned in any educational setting. We need to teach your nieces that there are other ways to resolve conflicts, ways that won't lead to escalation."

Melissa crossed her arms, her gaze icy. "And how exactly do you plan to teach them that? Do you think a chat with them in a cozy office will change the fact that they've become victims? Do you think kids like that boy care about 'conflict resolution'? You're wasting your breath."

It seemed it was time for me to play the peacemaker or at least prevent my wife from completely frightening the poor man. "Listen," I said, my voice low but firm. "We understand what you're trying to do. You want them to handle situations differently. But you need to understand, these girls are learning to survive. If they don't stand up for themselves now, they'll just get swept away."

The counselor took a deep breath, clearly unsure how to respond. "I understand that." He said cautiously. "But it's important to instill in them a sense of responsibility..."

She interrupted him, her voice sharp as a knife. "Responsibility? For what? For defending themselves?"

"They need to understand that violence, no matter the justification, has consequences," the man said, regaining some of his composure. "We want to ensure that they are emotionally prepared to handle situations without resorting to aggression."

I nodded slowly, pretending to contemplate the man's words as if I should even be here. "Alright..."

"Roman, shut up." Melissa hissed.

"See, maybe you should also start seeing a counselor, and then the girls..."

"What?" Melissa jumped to her feet so quickly that even I almost gasped. I grabbed her at the waist, settling her onto my lap, trying to calm her sharp movements.

"Calm down."

"Calm down? I'm absolutely calm!" She shouted.

"Maybe..."

"Maybe you could shut up?" In unison, we glared at the counselor and shouted at him.

I held her hands tightly in mine. "Breathe, krasavica. This isn't going to solve the problem." I whispered in a carefully measured tone. When she nodded, I turned my attention back to the doctor, who was clearly aging even more under pressure.

"So let's assume they'll talk next time. What happens if the bully doesn't stop? What happens if they come home crying because no one stood up for them?"

The counselor opened his mouth to respond, but Melissa leaned forward, her voice soft and deadly. "You've never been in a real fight, have you?"

The man looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. "It's not about that..."

"It is exactly about that," she snapped back. "Because in the real world, people don't just back down. They fight back, and they fight hard. I'm not going to let these girls think they need to sit quietly and wait for someone to save them."

I tightened my hold around her waist, watching as the counselor struggled to keep up with my wife's rapid-fire responses. She was relentless, and that was one of the reasons I had fallen in love with her in the first place—even though that same fire had caused discord in our marriage.

The counselor, clearly not knowing how to proceed, tried to steer the conversation onto safer ground. "I understand your position, and I don't want you to feel that we are blaming the girls. We just want to provide them with the tools to better handle these situations in the future."

Melissa's smile became dangerous. "They already have the tools. They just used them."

I quietly chuckled, earning a sharp look from the counselor. The man sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I think we all agree that bullying is unacceptable, but physical violence only exacerbates the problem. As adults, we have to guide them in another direction."

"We'll talk to them. But you need to make sure that this boy doesn't get off easy either. Because if he gets away with it, you're just teaching him that it's okay to push people around. And that's not the lesson you want to impart, is it?"

The counselor nodded, clearly wanting to wrap up the session. "I'll make sure the school addresses the situation with the other student, and of course, I'll talk to the parents of the girls." Why hadn't that brilliant idea occurred to them hours ago?

She stood up abruptly, signaling the end of the conversation. "Alright." Melissa said, her voice sharp. "Because next time, if they have to defend themselves again, I won't be so nice to him or you or this whole damn daycare."

The counselor swallowed hard, nodding as he watched Melissa, not as Mel but as a queen snake, leave the office, and I followed her out. As we left, Roman shot the man a look. The poor guy didn't stand a chance. And it seemed that because of us, he would die sooner, as nerve cells couldn't be restored.

When we stepped out of the counselor's office and headed back down the hallway, my thoughts shifted to what would happen next. We needed to pick up the triplets and get out of this ridiculous daycare drama. But as soon as we turned the corner, my whole body tensed.

Standing by the classroom door, talking to one of the teachers, was Alex—Melissa's brother and my arch-enemy. Alex was the cause of many conflicts between Melissa and me. Many, but not the main ones. The main one being that even though he was the boss of the Italian mafia, Mel was mine at a time when it was already too late for war.

Melissa froze next to me, her face momentarily pale before she masked her shock with cold indifference.

Alex looked up and met my gaze. His lips twisted into a smirk that made my blood boil. "Well, well," Alex said, stepping away from the teacher and slowly approaching us. "If it isn't my favorite sister's husband."

I clenched my fists but forced myself to smile. "Alex. Always a pleasure to see you."

Alex's eyes darted to Melissa. "What are you doing here? Didn't think I'd see you playing the caring uncle and aunt."

Melissa's jaw clenched just as tightly as mine, but she stayed silent, allowing me to handle the situation. I, never one to back down from a challenge, stepped closer. "We're here for the girls. Do you have a problem with that?"

Alex let out a dark laugh, his eyes glinting with malice. "Just checking to make sure you're not causing more trouble than you already have." He pressed me against the wall. "Though wait, you've already caused trouble by getting involved in my girls' lives."

I gritted my teeth, feeling the tension in the air rise. This was far from over.

***

Melissa I made a mistake. Alex was right. It was a big mistake to bring him here. But I as the mother of my daughters, I wanted them to see his dad. Once, before I will ruin everything as he did that to me. This was near from over.