Chapter 10 – Zanae
10
ZANAE
A fter four hours of training, my body feels like it’s been through a battlefield.
Every muscle is literally protesting, and I’m quite sure I’ve discovered new sore spots I didn’t even know existed before on my body.
Elijah Volkov is a tyrant.
How did I manage not to shoot him during the firearm session with his little smirk and provocation? It’s been days, and I don’t think I’ll succeed in not killing him. Self-control is a bitch. I should’ve shot him last time I had the opportunity.
Nikolai’s voice brings me back to reality, “I’m just going to park and take a call, and I’ll join you.”
Niko is not at all what I expected. He’s kind, funny, and attentive. I feel so comfortable around him, which is rare for me with men in general. He always drives me back after our sessions to make it less stressful because Elijah can be so intense sometimes… more like always.
“Okay,” I smile before stepping out of the car.
The soft jingle of the café’s door always amuses me. It’s an old sound; cliché and cozy.
Meeting Miranda after my training with the devil has become the best part of my week. June, my favorite little boy, sits at a small table, engrossed in a coloring book about… pigeons ? Since when do pigeons coloring books exist?
“Hey, beautiful!” Miranda greets me, her brown eyes lighting up with affection. “The usual?”
I nod, my gaze fondly landing on my baby, June. “Yes, please, ma’am.”
Miranda prepares my coffee as I take a seat. June abandons his coloring book and toddles over to me, climbing onto my lap giggling.
I chuckle, running my fingers through his soft hair, “Hey there, Juny baby. How’s my favorite artist today?”
June beams, hugging my arm so tight, his voice so adorable and full of innocence, “Aunt Zee, fun!”
“How is it going, beautiful?” My friend asked me.
Taking a sip of my coffee, my expression darkens. “Intense. Elijah’s tough, but I’m learning a lot. We’ve got a mission coming up, and I need to be ready.”
Her brows furrow. “Zee, I get it. I know you want to bring justice to those who deserve it, but this organization… It’s dangerous. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I promise I’ll be careful. Elijah and Nikolai are watching my back, and you know I can handle myself.”
My friend sighs, glancing at her son. “I get it, I really do. It’s just that after what happened to me, I can’t help but worry. These people, they’re ruthless.” She whispers the next part, “And you’re training with the Pakhan, Zee, he could kill you too.”
“I know, Miranda. He isn’t that scary.”
I really know, they’ve hurt me too... The thing is, Miranda doesn’t know about my assault; she doesn’t know I’m fucking destroyed and it’s eating me from the inside. “It’s going to be okay.”
Here comes Niko, entering the café. He really is another enigma on his own. How can a man be this sweet, funny, and that devoted to a friendship with a man like Elijah, and even worse, be the head of the Cosa Nostra?
I’ve heard a lot of stories about the Don.
Torture, gruesome murders, massacres—even that. But with me, it was different. We quickly became almost friends.
“Hey, ladies,” he greets, pulling up a chair. “Mind if I join you?”
Miranda blushes slightly, exchanging a glance with me. “Not at all. Zanae was just telling me about her training. You’re Nikolai, I presume?”
He grins, leaning back in his chair. “That’s right, Nikolai Moretti,” he says, looking at her with a smile.
He returns his attention to me, massaging my shoulder. “Elijah is a tough trainer, but I’ve seen Zanae handle herself. She’s quite a beast, therefore, because of how proud you made me today by hurting Elijah with that punch, I’m going to take you out for dinner. We’re going to talk about the mission. It’s in a week.”
“Lucky me.” Turning my gaze on Nikolai, I ask, “Do you have details on that or not yet?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I have details, but the thing is, you’re ready for the most important part and I think that the training will just be a bonus. You’re good, Zanae, we’re just being cautious.”
Miranda’s cheeks turn a shade of pink; she’s flustered by Nikolai’s presence. Note for myself, keep an eye on these two. “I-I mean, he’s right. You’re impressive, Zee.”
June pipes up from my lap smiling and grabs my hand to lift them up in the air, “Zee strong!”
I chuckle, ruffling his beautiful blond hair, “Smart boy. He’s not my favorite little human for nothing. Knows a good team when he sees one.”
The night falls, and I prepare myself for the evening ahead. Stepping out into the cool air, I notice my father, waiting by his car, a stern expression etched across his face. Oh, fuck . We have a wedding to attend tonight, and I forgot about it.
“Zanae, we need to talk,” he says, putting his phone away.
His eyes are black, commanding, and if it were teenage me, I would have been scared. But not anymore. And he forgets that sometimes.
Sighing inwardly, I brace myself for another one of his orders. “What is it, Baba ?”
Elias eyes me with suspicion and anger. “I’ve been hearing reports. You’ve been disappearing every day for the past week, and you weren’t there for the wedding. What are you up to?”
Oh, fuck.
“Just some personal matters, Baba . Nothing that concerns you.”
His grip tightens on my arm, and I wince, a flicker of pain crossing my face.
Here we go again.
“Don’t play games with me, Zanae. Everything concerns me. You’re my daughter, and I need to know where you are and what you’re doing at any fucking time.”
Is that so? Because when I was kidnapped, he didn’t flinch nor try to find me. I came home bloodied, with red eyes, hurt, and he didn’t even lift his head to look at me. He just told me a few hours later to get ready for a mission. Like a wounded soldier. Like I was fine. Like I wasn’t in pain.
But that night I died.
And my father didn’t care.
I disappeared for days, and when I returned home, everywhere he had touched me, I cut. His hands lingered so often around my stomach. I looked in the mirror, seeing the shadow of his touch trailing down and down. It felt like the only way to erase his presence was to cut my skin there.
I was the sole master of my pain.
Blades became my favorite weapons even in real life with my enemies, and with my own self.
I came back to my father, destroyed, and he didn’t fucking care. I needed my dad, I needed him, and he never showed up.
“I’m not a child anymore, Baba. I have my own life, my own responsibilities, and you’re disturbing them right now.”
He scoffs. “Responsibilities? You’re wasting your time on foolish things. Your mind is a fucking asset, and you should be using it to serve the family.”
I shake my head in disbelief. Family? Where? Nowhere to be found. I want to scream and cry, but I can’t. I won’t.
Keep pretending, Zee , I mutter to myself.
“You know what? I’m tired of this. I have my own things to take care of. I’m not going to back off. I’m sorry that you feel left out, but hey, it’s exactly how I felt all my life.”
His eyes flash with anger, darkness, emotionless , or maybe psychosis. He tightens his grip even more on my flesh. “You will do as I say. I have plans for you tonight. Important plans. You’re gonna meet important people and tell me if one of them is a traitor. You will cancel whatever stupid thing you have and be ready to assist me. Do you fucking understand that?”
My jaw clenches.
Not today, Father, not ever again, not until my body fucking disappears under the ground.
“As I said, I have something to take care of tonight. And it’s non-negotiable.”
Elias looks at me like I am a disappointment. I want to smile because, at the end of the day, I’m his only heiress, even if he hates it. I’m going to take the lead one day, and I know he’s going to roll in his grave.
“You know, Habibti , I’m your father, but I’m the Emir first, and my empire will always be the priority. Let me down, and you’ll see.”
He releases my arm, leaving behind a visible mark, blue and reddish.
Don’t show him that you’re in pain, Z.
Never .
I rub my skin, masking the pain with a defiant stare. I’m just a soldier, being scolded by my commandant. “Funny that you say that when I helped you create that empire since as long as I can remember.”
He glares at me, a mixture of frustration and anger in his eyes. His gaze cut deeper and more painful than any words he ever said. They spoke of a love he never felt, not because of me, but because he could never feel it. That’s his nature, lunatic on the border, masking that void of affection with logical thinking.
He’s a psychopath, and he can’t love, not even his own daughter. “Be careful. I’ll always choose my family, blood or not.”
Of course, his work is more important.
Without another word, he gets into his car and drives away, leaving me standing there. It’s always been like this, cold and simple.
My father always said that Murphy’s Law applies to bad news—there’s never a good time for it. So, for example, on the day Luna died, he simply told me and left me alone to grapple with the fact that my best friend had taken her own life in a cold bathroom. He never asked if I was okay. He just entered, delivered the news, and exited as if it were nothing.
I hated him so much for that. I couldn’t fathom how a father could be so emotionally distant.
In my younger years, I thought that perhaps I would grow up to be as emotionless as him; cold, violent, devoid of remorse.
And it terrified me.
While I did adopt those cold and violent traits, remorse remains a significant aspect of my personality. I find myself feeling guilty for things I didn’t even do, replaying them in my mind until sadness and anger consume me. Then comes frustration, followed by endless anxiety.
Like right now, I’m sweating, overthinking the entire conversation repeatedly.
Why does it hurt so much? I already knew he would never choose me.
It shouldn’t be this painful.
But it is.
Deep down, I still hope that somehow a drop of love for me exists in his heart and that he will someday give it to me.
I’m so stupid, I know.
Why the hell would I do something like that? I live under his roof, under his command. I need a plan B, now .
I take a deep breath, close my eyes just long enough to stop overthinking. Tonight, I have my own mission to attend to, and nothing will stand in my way. Not even the great Elias Dellé.