Chapter 3
DANIKA
Mom, Gran, and I live in the same apartment I grew up in nestled in a neighborhood known for the predominant presence of Eastern European immigrants. Gran’s parents came over from Slovakia and settled nearby. They never left the area, and now, it’s the only home I’ve ever known.
The location isn’t ideal from an investment standpoint, considering the area is unofficially run by the Russian mob, but I still love the community.
Gran believes corruption is a natural part of life.
In her opinion, it doesn’t matter where we live—someone of power will always lord over everyone else.
At least here, we have extended family and a community that supports one another.
I can’t really say since I’ve never lived anywhere else, and I never wanted to because leaving would mean being alone.
As I open our apartment door, I have to face the fact that my time here may be at an end.
Dread fills my body like wet sand, weighing down my every movement.
Things could still change, but for now, it’s not looking good for me.
I’m either shackled to a psycho killer, or I live on the run and pray my family doesn’t end up hurt as a result.
Both options suck, yet at the moment, I don’t see any other alternative.
“Where have you been? I thought you were just going to the park for an hour. I was ready to send out a search party.” Mom has always been a worrier. Normally, I’d laugh off her concern and tell her not to exaggerate, but today, I can hardly summon a sliver of a smile to reassure her.
“Something else came up,” I offer vaguely, unsure if I should tell her what happened. I debated about it the whole way home and am still no closer to knowing what would be best.
Silly me, I should have known I’d have no say in the matter.
Mom’s eyes narrow as she stalks closer. “What’s happened? Something’s wrong.”
Gran does her best to twist in her seat on the couch to look back at us. “What are you talking about, Petra? What’s happened?”
“I don’t know, Ma. Dani hasn’t told me yet, but something’s not right. She’s all pale.” She brings her hand to my forehead like I’m five years old. “You getting sick?” Her concern for me is so touching that it topples the flimsy dam I’ve erected to hold back my turbulent emotions.
My chin quivers, and my breathing hitches with the clawing need to let out a sob. I don’t want to worry them, but there’s no way to hide this. I have to tell them.
“One of Biba’s men took me to see him.” My voice is no more than a whisper, a sliver of sound escaping past the fear constricting my throat.
Another breath catches, this one more pronounced than the last.
My mom’s face hardens to stone. “What did that man do to you?”
“Petra,” Gran scolds. “Can’t you see she’s already upset?” She lumbers up off the sofa and joins us. “Come here, sweet girl. Give me a hug and tell us what happened.” Her familiar arms circle me, shredding my defenses. Tears pour like a summer rain down my cheeks as the sobs finally take over.
Mom encircles us both in her fierce hold.
“That bastard . Who does he think he is, walking away all those years ago, then suddenly waltzing back into your life? Well, I’ll tell you one thing.
I’m not afraid of him like everyone else around here.
You tell me where he’s hiding, and I’ll put him in his place. ”
“Momma, no,” I sniffle, lifting my blotchy face to look at her pleadingly. “He already threatened to hurt you if I don’t do what he’s asking.”
Outrage flashes gold in her brown eyes. “What exactly is he making you do?”
I hear the words in my head and know they will be atomic when I drop them.
“An arranged marriage. Some man named The Reaper,” I whisper.
Gran holds me even tighter, murmuring in Slovak. She was born here, but English was her second language, not that you’d know it. She sounds like any other New Yorker.
Mom spins away from us, openly cursing. “I fucking knew it! That goddamn bastard wanted nothing to do with you the second he found out you were sick, but the minute he needs something, he acts like he owns you. One month old—the most precious, perfect little baby in the world—and he gave it all up because of a little hearing loss. You don’t get to throw away a child like that.
I told him never to come back, and I meant it.
Men like him don’t get second chances.” She paces like a madwoman while she rants, eventually putting on her shoes, then hunting down her purse.
Mom has always advocated for my abilities at the top of her lungs since I lost hearing in my left ear as a baby.
She was also the first to come to bat the moment anyone doubted or teased me.
And she has never—not even for a second—forgiven Biba for using my hearing loss as an excuse to abandon us.
This latest turn of events only adds fuel to her fire.
“Mom, stop. What are you doing?” I call out.
“I may have just been the other woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m powerless. I can still go have words with him.”
“ No , Mom.” I rush across the room and block the front door. “I don’t know what he was like before, but he’s not the sort of man you argue with now. I looked in those hollow eyes of his, and nothing was staring back. The man has no soul.”
“I’m the mother here—” She only gets the first part of her sentence out before Gran finally steps in.
“ No ,” she barks loudly. “ I’m the mother here, and you will do no such thing. Both of you will come sit with me at the table, and we will talk this over rationally before anyone does anything. Understood?”
Gran is so loving and chill that in the rare instances when she asserts herself, compliance is the only option. The tension in the room reduces to a simmer as we walk to the kitchen table, each taking our unspoken assigned seats.
“Now, let’s figure out what we know, then we can work on a plan to deal with the situation. Dani?”
“Yes?”
“When is this wedding supposed to take place?”
“I don’t think it’s set in stone, but he said his plan is to have me married in a week,” I say meekly. I wish I had her strength, but I feel so defeated. So powerless.
Gran nods.
Mom glowers. “Okay, so we go off the assumption of one week.” She shakes her head. “You know, this is exactly why I never got married. Men only make your life more complicated—they only care about themselves.”
Mom’s opinion about marriage is less than favorable in the best of circumstances. This situation doesn’t help matters. In her words, there’s no worse decision a woman can make than to marry a man. Her romantic interests never panned out well, and it’s left her a bit jaded about men in general.
Gran sees things very differently. She adored Grandpa Miro, or so I’m told. I was young when he died, so I don’t remember him. What I can say for certain is that every time Gran mentions him, her smile is infectious, and the corners of her eyes crease with love.
“This is not the time, Petra,” Gran chastens, then looks back at me. “And you say this man is called Reaper?”
“That’s what Biba said.” I shrug. “I really don’t know much more about any of it.”
Again, Gran nods. “Then we have a week to get you somewhere safe.”
“But Gran,” I say warily. “He said if I run, he’ll come after you guys. I can’t let that happen.”
“Sweet Dani.” She places her wrinkled hand over mine.
“I understand how hard this is for you, but try to imagine you have a precious little girl with a full life ahead of her. You’ve raised her from a little baby and want to give her the world.
Would you be willing to let her become the property of a monster while you sit home and watch Jeopardy ? ”
I bite my bottom lip, realizing she has a point. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
“I know, and that’s okay. You don’t have any little ones yet, but one day you might, and then you’ll see. We’d rather be dead ourselves than let something happen to you.”
“What if we all go together?”
“Then he’d be that much more apt to find you. I’m an old woman and have no business living on the run. Besides, this will probably all blow over soon enough, and that way, you’ll have a home to come back to.”
Gran and Mom stare earnestly at me until I nod my acceptance. “Okay, but if I do this, you have to do something to protect yourselves as well. I can’t just leave knowing you’re in danger.”
My seventy-three-year-old grandmother smiles warmly and squeezes my hand. “I have a cousin who’ll help. We’ll be fine.”
“They’ll let you stay with them?”
“They might if I ask, but I meant he deals in guns. We’ll make sure we’re well protected.”
I gape, at a loss for words. “Gran, you don’t even know how to hold a gun.”
“Says who?” she tosses back with a wry grin. “It’s been a few decades, but we’ll go to the range for a few practice shots. Petra here will need the practice.”
Mom shrugs as if to say, I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right .
I stare dumbfounded at the two of them, thinking that this day can’t get any crazier.
Sure, Gran grew up during a tough time in the city, but she’s Gran .
She bakes banana bread and does large-print Sudoku.
And Mom has never said one word about ever having shot a gun before.
She hates opening biscuit tubes because the pop makes her jump.
“Who are you people?” I say with equal parts wonder and jest. The funny part is, I shouldn’t be shocked.
Gran is a wild card, for sure, and Mom is feisty as hell when she gets riled.
I wouldn’t even be all that surprised if they already had a gun hidden in the apartment somewhere.
I’ve come to expect the unexpected with the two of them.
If I had to label my own role in our little family unit, I’d say I’m the glue that binds us.
Growing up with two such bold personalities and my own personal challenges to overcome has made me rather adaptable and even-tempered. For the most part.