113

Maria
In the morning, I almost regret leaving Sorokin’s estate as the vehicles line up and pull away from the gatehouse. Reality was paused while we were there, and all I had to think about was being in love with Mikhail.
The drive back starts out peacefully until Mikhail receives an urgent call. A string of curses flies out of his mouth-a volatile mix of English and Russian. And slowly, I comprehend what has happened. A shipment was set on fire in Port Newark, and people died as the fire quickly spread through the ship. The Lanzzare have already stated they had nothing to do with it. The Ivanov believe them, which leaves only one person to blame.
And though I’m not the guilty party, I feel the shame. How can my father do this? Has he gone insane? Did he go mad when I disappeared, or has he always been this way? As I think back to my childhood, were there clues I missed that would’ve warned me, and I just didn’t realize it at the time?
I know now that it’s no longer about me, and that realization hurts.
It troubles me knowing that it means more to my father to kill Mikhail than to rescue me. But I no longer want to be saved.
I no longer need to be saved.
I watch Mikhail’s profile as the car speeds back to Manhattan, and I think about our conversation. He’ll never leave the Bratva. It’s become his purpose not only to protect me but them.
I understand. The Bratva is our family.
“Are you going there?” I ask quietly.
He starts as if he’s forgotten I’m in the car. “I have to see the damage myself.” He pauses. “We have to figure out who’s responsible.”
We both know who’s responsible.
I’m dropped off at the penthouse as Mikhail and his men head for the port in their SUVs. I exit the Mercedes in the underground parking deck, and I inhale the humid air coming in from the outside grates before I walk to the elevator. Only a few months ago, I was forced into that elevator, and now I hurry eagerly to get in. I return to my old room for privacy, and my heart pounds as I tap my father’s number into my phone.
He has to listen to me. I’m the only one who wants him to stay alive. The rings stretch on for eternity as I think of what to say. Finally, his gruff voice answers, and I launch into him.
“How could you?” I ask.
“Maria.” He inhales deeply, and for a second, I think the call has dropped. “Where are you?”
“I’m safe, Dad.” I try to keep my voice even. “Just in case you care.”
“Safe?” His tone builds with parental fury that makes my stomach churn. “Tell me where you are. Now.”
“I didn’t call you for you to interrogate me. Dad, you have to stop this.” My voice cracks with emotion. “You’re killing people who had nothing to do with Mom. You almost …” My voice trails off.
You almost killed me. You almost killed your grandchild.
“Maria, it was an accident,” he quickly explains. The phone is silent, but I know he’s still there.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I sit down in a chair and stare out the window, not seeing a thing but thinking about everything. “You still pulled the trigger,” I say softly.
“You threw yourself in front of him! There was nothing I could do to stop the bullet.”
“You didn’t stay to find out if I was okay.”
“I’d be dead if I had,” he replies gruffly. “And you’ll never get away if that happens.”
I stare out the window, watching the trees in the park as hints of red and yellow start dotting their green tops. I debated whether to tell my father about the turmoil in my heart. But I don’t.
I want to reach him, but a part of me no longer trusts him.
“It wouldn’t matter if we were both dead,” I reply. “And I think you know that.”
“They’re manipulating you, Maria!” Dad’s voice becomes urgent. “Can’t you see that? They’ve got your mind warped with some crazy Stockholm Syndrome.” He softens his voice. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come save you.”
The sugary tone of his voice snaps me out of my melancholy. “Don’t,” I warn him coldly. “Leave these people alone.”
“You’re protecting him?” he snaps back. “What has he done to you?”
“Him?” I scoff. “You mean Mikhail Ivanov, the man who saved my life after you shot me?”
Dad breathes heavily. The conversation is exhausting him. I can tell he wants to order me around as if we’re still at home, but he can’t. Not anymore.
“Are they listening?” he asks in a ragged voice. “Are they telling you to say that?”
“What have you become?” Unshed tears turn into rage. “Why are you doing this? Mom is gone. Killing someone else won’t bring her back. You almost?-”
“These people are not innocent victims!” he scoffs bitterly. “They’re criminals. You’re not safe with that monster.”
“Mikhail isn’t the monster.” Frustration unleashes my tongue. “You used to be one of them, Dad. They used to be your family. Or have you forgotten that?”
“Maria …” Dad’s voice softens just a fraction. “You’ve always been too trusting, too kind. They’re taking advantage of your naivety.”
“Naivety?” I scoff loudly. “They used me as bait, and you fell for it. Maybe I wouldn’t be so trusting if you had told me the truth from the start. Because Mercy knows the truth.”
Dad laughs bitterly. “I didn’t want a daughter like her.”
“So, my innocence is a detriment that you blame me for? Don’t worry, it’s disappearing fast, Zakhar.”
His silence when he hears me use his old name is damning. There’s another long pause, but what’s unspoken is just as telling. Finally, he breaks it.
“Maria, has he touched you?” His voice cracks as if it’s too terrible to ask.
“Is that all you care about?” I almost shout.
“Answer me, Maria!”
“I’m just a pawn, aren’t I?” I blurt out. “A rope between the two of you that you’re both pulling, not caring how much it hurts me.”
“Maria. You’re my daughter. You’re not a pawn. Not to me.”
I want to tell him the truth, but I don’t know what this man will do. Would knowing I’m pregnant make him happy regardless of who the father is? If he knew I was pregnant, would he have pulled the trigger anyway?
He told the first lie, the biggest lie, that changed my life.
I don’t owe him any truth he demands.
“I know about the wedding, Maria.” He pauses as if he’s expecting me to deny it. “If you go through with it, you can’t undo what will happen.”
Is that a threat or a warning?
“No one can undo what they’ve done,” I reply defiantly. “You should know that, but you don’t.”
“Maria, tell me where you are.” He raises his voice. “Tell me now so I can end this!”
I can’t. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. So, I do the one thing I’ve never done before.
I hang up on him.
I can’t trust him to do the right thing. He is so driven by his desire to get revenge for my mother that he shot me-his own pregnant daughter.
How can I believe he’s doing all this for me?
How did I ever believe he was doing all this for me?
I wake with a start. I must have fallen asleep after talking with my father. I wonder again if Mikhail was right all along about him. I thought Mikhail’s vengeance was fueled by a senseless fury. But it turns out my father is far worse in that regard.
Apparently, family means nothing as long as Zakhar destroys Mikhail.
Lying in my bed alone, I wonder where Mikhail is. There are no new notifications on my phone, so I stare at the ceiling, waiting for it to chime. He won’t call or text, and I wish Mikhail was here, safe in my bed.
The door creaks open, casting a sliver of light across the room. Larissa steps in, her eyes wide with concern as she takes in my disheveled state.
“Maria, are you well?” she asks. “It’s noon.”
I sit up quickly. “I’m okay.”
“Your mascara says otherwise,” she remarks gently, shutting the door. “What happened? Rurik said you and Mikhail went to speak to Sorokin and the others.”
I shake my head. “No, that wasn’t it. I spoke to my father, and I’m dreading the worst. He won’t stop until Mikhail is dead.”
Larissa hugs her body, not wanting to imagine the worst. “And then he’ll take you back,” Larissa whispers. “Do you ever want to go back?”
“No,” I answer harshly. “Even if Mikhail were …” I stop when I see the pain flash across Larissa’s face. “I don’t want to lose Mikhail either. Not now.”
“Of course, your baby needs a father.”
“Larissa, I love Mikhail. I know it seems impossible after everything, but my heart has changed.”
Larissa’s smile is radiant, bolstered by reassurance. “And he loves you, Maria. I’m happy he will be a father. And he will be a good one.”
I bite my lip and avoid Larissa’s pitying gaze. “Not like mine,” I reply. “I don’t know what became of my father. It’s like this wicked being has taken him over. He said some terrible, worrying things. He’s convinced I don’t know any better.”
“Listen to me,” Larissa says firmly, grasping my hand. “You know Mikhail. Do you truly believe he would use you like that?”
“Sometimes I wonder,” I admit. “Maybe we’re both just pawns in this twisted game. What if it’s beyond our control? Maybe I am naive, thinking there could be a truce when my father is hellbent on killing my husband.”
“Love is never a game, Maria,” Larissa tells me sincerely. “And you’re not alone in this struggle. You’ll find a way to navigate this. Trust your instincts.”
Dominika knocks on the door. “Nina’s here, koshka.”
I push my hands against my forehead and run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t have time for that now.” I laugh bitterly. “How much is there left to do? I wish I could snap my fingers and be married.”
Larissa squeezes my hand. “Let me take your mind off things. I’ll help you finish planning the wedding.”
Dominika steps forward. “That would be the perfect solution.”
“Thank you, Larissa,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Let’s not find out,” she says, smiling as she hugs me quickly. “Is there anything you have your heart set on? A color scheme or cake flavors?”
“I want you to be my bridesmaid,” I smile.
Larissa hugs me again.
“And I want my cousin Mercy to be my maid of honor.”
Larissa lets me go. The change in the atmosphere is like I turned off all the lights.
“Of course,” Larissa’s tone is stiff. “I’ll tell Mikhail. If that’s what you want.”
“You don’t have to,” I reply. “He already agreed.”