Maria
“I’m not sure what to call you,” I say plaintively. “Zakhar or Dad?” His hands tighten around the wheel as he drives us away from Manhattan and toward a safe house somewhere in North Jersey.
I glance up at the rearview mirror and watch Mikhail in the back seat. He stares out the window, but he’s listening. He’s holding his jaw so tight it looks like it might crack into pieces. He’s been ignoring me since my outburst, and a wedge of silence is slowly forming between us. I don’t like it, but now’s not the time to coax him out of it. I’ll wait until we have some time alone at the safe house.
“What do you want to call me?” he asks, his voice tight as he stares straight ahead at the highway.
I shrug my shoulders, knowing he’s watching me from the corner of his eye. “Do you have a preference?” I ask lightly, sounding like a brat, but I have a right to be pissed. Why are they acting like I don’t?
“Maria, I’m still your father,” he replies firmly. “That hasn’t changed.”
I fold my arms tighter over my chest. “But I’ve changed,” I mutter.
I glance up at the mirror and see a slight smile playing across Mikhail’s lips. I have no intention of letting my father off easy now that he’s back in my life. He has done some awful shit, and I will remind him of it daily. He won’t be the one to tell me what to do, not anymore. Not after discovering he’s not the straitlaced, law-abiding citizen he pretended to be.
“So, was it all an act?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” replies Zakhar.
“I mean when I was home at night under curfew, were you out somewhere, playing target practice with people’s lives?”
“Maria,” his voice warns me, but I continue.
“Do you even get the hypocrisy?” I demand, but I don’t wait for an answer. “You kept me in that house, telling me to be a good girl while you were out in the streets, killing people for the Bratva or the Mafia. Who knows which one? No wonder people call you a traitor.”
“Maria.” Mikhail’s calm voice shuts me down. He stares at me in the mirror, that cool gaze freezing me in place, and I know I went too far.
I relax my arms and hold my hands in my lap like a child who has been scolded. And it makes me angry. Suddenly, the tension between them is dumped on me. What did I do wrong? Do they realize how unfair it is? I have a right to be pissed, and they’re ganging up on me. I guess the Bratva sticks together no matter how shitty they act. The scenery blurs as I hold back angry tears.
Mikhail places his hand on my shoulder and rubs circles gently against it, and my father doesn’t say a word. The gesture calms me, and maybe that’s all I wanted-for Mikhail not to hide his feelings now that my father is here. When we got into the car, Mikhail held the passenger door open for me, and I sat beside Dad as if he were our chaperone. That simple act scared me. It felt so ordinary. So normal.
Yet also so far from what we are.
But now, Mikhail is acknowledging that we’re a couple, no matter what my dad wants. Bullets at my wedding won’t stop us from being together.
Grinning, I sniff and lean my head back against the seat. He will give me everything he’s got and not be afraid of my father.
Sneakily, I glance over at my father while Mikhail’s hand remains on my shoulder, but my father stares at the road, his knuckles turning white. I don’t feel ashamed, but I gently take Mikhail’s hand off my shoulder. I turn and smile at him, and he smiles before he leans back in the seat and stares out the window again. With a small gesture, he claims me.
Mikhail spends the rest of the ride checking his phone, and I look at Pavel’s armored black SUV now trailing behind us. Pavel and his men keep up, though Dad hasn’t revealed the safe house’s location. I glance at the signs on the parkway and see one for the Oranges. We exit, and the single-family homes disappear as commercial buildings become numerous. The light is fading as Dad turns onto an isolated road that’s more gravel than pavement.
Will we spend the night huddled in the dark in a rundown shack? My hands go to my belly, and I take them away quickly.
“I can’t believe I’m actually hungry after all I’ve been through.” I sound silly, but Dad can’t know yet.
“We’ll get food after we’re safe,” replies Zakhar.
“I have news,” Mikhail interrupts. “Gunsyn is secure. Vito has his men guarding him.”
“Did he say where?” asks Zakhar.
“An undisclosed location is all he would say,” replies Mikhail. “Vito went to the Lanzzare mansion to speak to Christian Genovesi.”
Dad nods but doesn’t speak as his suspicions probably run through his mind.
“What about Larissa?” I ask. “Is she safe?”
Dad seems startled by my question and glances in my direction. I’m involved as much as they are, and I have questions too.
“Rurik and his men will guard Larissa,” replies Mikhail. “In case Alexander attempts to do something.”
I manage a slight smile, pleased that Larissa is safe and I’ve been taken seriously. I give Mikhail a mental hug. But my smugness fades when the SUVs stop in front of a rundown cinder block house on the edge of a wooded area. A chain-link fence surrounds the small house; maybe there’s a reservoir close by, and this is an old pump house.
Dad has brief words with Pavel as Mikhail helps me out of the SUV. He points to the surrounding woods, giving orders, and Pavel glances over toward Mikhail, who nods once discreetly. Pavel listens patiently to Dad before he tells his men to head out into the woods and secure the location. I wonder if four men will be enough.
My stomach growls, and I place my hands over it as if to shut it up. Mikhail calls Pavel over, who quickly comes.
“Take a few men into the town and get food.”
My father frowns. “That might be risky.”
Mikhail’s smile is condescending. “Your daughter has not eaten in the last twenty-four hours. If this safe house is secure, we will be safe with two men gone.” Smiling, Mikhail’s voice softens. “We are all tired and need to replenish. A growling stomach may give us away.”
Dad nods, though the men are already making their way to one of the SUVs while the others disappear into the woods. I watch the headlights disappear down the road, and the quiet engulfs us. No one will ever find us here. I look up at the darkening sky and the branches etched against it. Will my life return to some kind of normal? I’ve been kidnapped and held against my will, threatened with death, and shot at multiple times, but the next few hours alone with Mikhail and my father will be the hardest of my life.
The inside of the small house is to be expected-barren, with a table, a few folding chairs, and cots pushed against the walls. I see a door that I hope leads to a bathroom. A hallway leads to a bedroom, a tiny utility room, and a back door. Mikhail dumps a duffel bag kept in the SUV on the floor and opens it, revealing lanterns, rope, knives, and energy drinks. He hands me a drink and my father a lantern. I place the drink down and head to the bathroom.
I’m quick about it, not wanting to leave them alone for even the amount of time it takes me to pee and wash my hands. But when I come out, they’re not attached to each other’s throats. Zakhar sits in a chair, deep in thought, staring at the blinds covering the windows, while Mikhail sits on the floor beside the other chair, scrolling through his phone. When I sit down, he leans his arm on my thigh, and I try not to sigh too loudly with relief.
Dad ignores our display of closeness, and I feel guilty, though I tell myself I shouldn’t. I don’t know why, but I picture the painting of St. George in Sorokin’s castle.
Once upon a time, I was Daddy’s little girl, and he did everything he could to rescue me. But I chose to live with the dragon instead. I want to go to my father and reassure him that I still love him deep down, but I stay where I am beside Mikhail. I open the drink, sipping it slowly as I lose my appetite.
“Any updates?” Zakhar asks suddenly.
Mikhail shakes his head. “None.”
Mercy. I put the drink down on the rickety table, and it shifts onto one leg. I have so many questions, and maybe this is the only time I will be able to ask. My heart pounds as I hunt for the right words.
“Dad?” My voice is too soft. “What happened to Mom?”
“What do you mean?” He’s not going to make this easy.
“The night she died,” I continue. “What happened? Mikhail found his father’s journals, but pages were missing.” I feel Mikhail’s hand tighten on my thigh. “What happened the night his brother died? These are the missing pieces that only you can provide.”
Dad leans heavily against the chair, and it creaks under his weight. “I’m not a traitor, Maria.”
“I know that, Dad.” My voice shakes as I speak, but it reveals my doubts. He’s kept me in the dark before, and he’ll have to tell the truth if he wants to regain my trust.
Dad fingers the blinds, separating two slats as he peers outside. Sighing, he recounts all the missing pieces as the remaining sunlight disappears.