Chapter 13
ONE WEEK LATER
H ave you ever heard the sound a heart makes just before it stops beating?
Well, I have, and it’s my least favorite sound in the world.
We buried three empty caskets today.
The Kuznetsov and Volkov bratvas, and many others gathered to pay their respects to the best assassins “ they ever had the honor of training.”
I stood there, numbly staring at the caskets and trying to mask the deep ache of the chasm in my chest where my heart once beat. But the cavernous space was just as empty as the three boxes laid out before me.
Ivory for Calix Sterling.
Gunmetal gray for Rune Volkov.
Pitch-black for Adris Knox.
Empty caskets, because there was nothing left of their bodies to bury after the explosion that ensured his father’s plan to backstab my own father ran smoothly.
My life had taken a total three-sixty in a matter of days. I was never even able to savor the taste of freedom, and now I’m back to being caged. I haven’t spoken in a week, not since that first day, when I was reunited with Papa.
At first, he was in complete disbelief, then relief mixed with sorrow before he pulled me into his arms and hugged me like he would never get another chance. Little did I know, that would actually be the case.
I took the chance on telling my Papa everything that Adris’ father had done, how long he’d been working with Santino and planned to overthrow him, how he killed his own son to further his own plans.
And for a moment… one small, fleeting moment, it looked as if Papa believed me, that he would take my side and have Boris punished or killed or anything that would’ve taken him away from me and my family and the looming threat he had imposed behind my father’s back.
But that moment vanished when he told me he would “get to the bottom of the matter” and I was escorted to a room.
Not the room that I used to share with my mother, though.
This room was larger by comparison, but it was barren, save for a single bed and an empty dresser.
Hope was such a temporary emotion that I had clung to too tightly, though. Because Boris Knox is a master manipulator, convincing my father that I was simply speaking fallacies due to malnutrition and delirium after a decade of unsavory servitude to Ferrero.
His belief in Boris’ concocted story had multiplied the ache I felt when my father believed him so easily.
“You’re not well,” Papa said, suddenly looking down at me as if I were nothing more than a patient in a mental institution after begging him to believe me. “Just give me time, little one. We’ll fix this.”
Despite crying after him, pleading for him to just hear me, to believe what I was saying, he walked out the door, locking it behind him.
I was left alone for several days. Papa stopped coming in to check on me after the first few days had passed and I would not relent on trying to convince him that Boris was a traitor.
Each time, it was as if some of the light in his eyes left him when he walked out the door.
Meals were still brought, but I felt there was no use in nourishing a failing body.
I spent my days alone. Nights were filled with reliving the nightmare of watching Adris die over and over again.
Or dreams where I tried to commit the sound of his voice and memorize the feel of his touch.
You’ve always had the power over me, Wraith.
My week in isolation passed in an agonizing blur of tears and mourning the man who stole me away in the middle of the night and reclaimed my heart as his all over again. My isolation from the world had shown me that there is no world where I exist and Adris does not.
His last command is one I intend to break. He doesn’t get to barrel back into my life, only to leave it just as quickly, and have the audacity to ask me to live the rest of my life without him. I just have to bide my time.
Today is the first day I’ve been let out of my room.
The service for Adris, Calix, and Rune was about as impersonal as you could get, but you can believe that his father put on a perfect show.
I sat between my father, his robot of a wife, and Boris.
He’d pretended to console me when rogue tears fell, but his bruising grip was anything but.
To everyone in attendance, he’d shown our world how deeply he mourned the loss of his only son, who died while eliminating the manipulative enemy that was Santino Ferrero.
It took everything in me to not react.
I couldn’t stay while they lowered the caskets into the ground. They weren’t in there anyway.
When we arrived back at my father’s estate, I expected to be ushered back into my cell—because that’s what it truly was—but instead I was escorted into Papa’s office. A place I was never allowed before.
“Odessa,” my father calls, standing at the liquor bar set up in the corner of the room. He turns to me, his eyes still haunted when they land on me. “Come. Sit.”
He gestures to an ornate wingback chair. I’m hesitant to move from my spot in the doorway because everything about this screams ulterior motive.
After ten years, Mikhail Kuznetsov hardly looks like himself anymore. As if the loss of both me and my mother really took a toll on his health as well as his appearance.
Reluctantly, I slowly inch my way across the room and take a seat in the chair. Papa swirls the ice around in his tumbler while he sits in the matching chair across from me.
I fidget, growing more uncomfortable by the second because he just sits there, looking at me.
I don’t know what to say to him, because for years I’d hoped he would find me, showing just how much I meant to him, even as his bastard child.
And while he did search for me, I’d fallen victim to the man in which he had entrusted as his confidant.
His second in command. The man who intends to overthrow my father.
He clears his throat and says in a low tone laced with sadness and regret, “I can’t believe you’re really here. I knew, I knew that you were out there.”
Maybe if I pull the sympathy card, he’ll believe me. “I’ve missed you so, so much Papa.” It’s true. I knew my father loved me as much as a Pakhan could. But if Adris could find me, even by happenstance, why couldn’t he?
His eyes flick to mine at my words, but something dark flashes for all of a moment before he blinks and his expression completely shifts. My brow furrows at the sudden change, but before I can analyze it, there’s a knock on the door.
“Enter,” my father commands.
All of the blood drains from my face when Boris walks through, his posture poised, looking nothing like a man mourning his son .
The closer he draws, the more he kicks my fight or flight response into high gear, and I seriously contemplate running.
“You wanted to see me, Mikhail?” If he were any other man, he’d be dead for addressing my father in such a casual way.
“Yes, please have a seat.” Papa directs him to the chair right next to me and my skin crawls with unease. He turns to me with soft, apologetic eyes. I know what’s coming and yet it still hits me like a severe punch to the gut.
“Odessa,” he begins. It feels like the start of a clock ticking down to my doom.
“Today has been a very rough day for all of us.” He says this as if he has even the slightest idea of the pain I’ve been living through today.
His eyes shift to Boris. “I am deeply saddened at the loss of your son. Please accept my deepest condolences.”
Boris nods as if he actually gives a shit, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“It also goes to show that you never know when an enemy will strike, and I cannot risk anyone else in the family.” He sucks in a shaky breath, raking a hand through his slicked back curls and brings his eyes back to me. “I will not lose another—lose you , again.”
“Sir?” Boris asks, as if he’s completely clueless as to what’s going on.
My father has the good sense to look remorseful. “I propose a marriage to further protect you, my little one.”
“No,” I whisper, but Boris places his hand on my knee and squeezes so tight that I know it will leave another bruise.
“I’m sorry, Odessa. I know I just got you back, but I fear this must be done. I know that Boris will protect you with his life, as he has protected me.”
Not if I have anything to say about it.
“You can’t,” I blurt before I can stop the words from tumbling past my trembling lips.
“Odessa—”
“Please, Papa,” I cry, clutching the fabric of my black dress so tight that my nails threaten to puncture the fabric. “Don’t do this. I cannot marry this man.”
Boris squeezes my leg again and it makes me wince in pain.
My father tracks the reaction from my leg to Boris’ arm.
I expect him to rage. To yell. To do any-fucking-thing to defend his daughter…
but he just sits there, swirling the ice around in his tumbler with an ankle thrown so casually over his knee.
Something cracks within me with finality. His lack of compassion or empathy speaks so much louder than his words ever could.
He heaves a heavy sigh, leaning forward with his hands clasping the glass between his palms and his elbows resting on his knees.
Right now he doesn’t look like my father.
The man I grew up with nothing but love and respect for.
This is Mikhail Kuznetsov—brutal Pakhan to the Kuznetsov bratva of Chicago.
His dark eyes, so like mine, are cold and empty when he looks at me. The next words to pass his lips practically sound like a sneer.
“The wedding is set for three weeks from now. I’ve made all the arrangements. For your own health, I think it best if you remained in your room to rest until then. Perhaps it will help with all the bruising.”
“Papa,” I rasp, shaking my head, causing a lone tear to roll down my cheek.
“Boris, may I have a word alone with my daughter?”
“Of course, sir.” The man bows his head in faux respect, casting a chilling glance my way before exiting the room.
My father stands and crosses the room to fill his glass again.
“You will marry Boris.” He takes a sip. “For years and years I yearned for having my daughter back. Not knowing who or what had taken you from me, it practically killed me Odessa.”
“So imagine my surprise when I found out that you had eventually whored yourself out to not only the very man who kidnapped you, but the very same man who murdered your mother. There is no world where I could marry you off for protection or business. There is no boss or underboss who would willingly take you for a wife after what you’ve done.
Fortunately for you, Boris is the only one willing to overlook such a situation. ”
And there it is. The final piece of me to wither away until I’m nothing more than a living hollow shell. Alive, yet no longer willing to live.
Not even for him.
I am nothing.
A true wraith .
Still, I can’t help but try and defend myself even though my words will fall on deaf ears.
“You think I willingly gave myself to that man?” I ask, pushing to stand and face my father.
“The vile creature who murdered my mother? Stole me from my family? From—” I stop myself from confessing about my connection to Adris.
“Boris is the one who orchestrated the whole thing! I don’t know why you wont believe me!
What could I possibly have to lose, Papa?
Boris is a traitor, a backstabbing piece of trash who shot and killed his own son!
He has this detailed, elaborate plan to overthrow you the first chance he g?—”
Slap.
My face whips to the side and instantly, my face burns. Tears sting my eyes but I don’t dare let them fall. I refuse to touch the mark when I look back to the man who is nothing more to me than the very same kind of monster who stole me away.
“I have had enough of these fucking delusions, Odessa. Boris has shown me nothing but undying loyalty for longer than you’ve been alive. Your lies will not persuade me to change my mind. You’re of no use to me if you can’t bring about an alliance, so this is my only other option to protect you.”
I can’t help the scoff that falls from my lips as I take a step back. “Yeah? Well, if he’s so fucking great, you marry him. God knows you love keeping secret affairs around here.”
I can see the blow coming before he even raises a hand, but before my father can hit me again or choke me to death for my insolence, Boris barges back in.
“Mikhail—” he barks, striding across the room and coming to a stop next to me. “It’s been a long day and we’re all hurt and mourning. Let me take my fiancée to her room.”
Fiancée. I don’t fucking think so.
I internally shudder at his words, but my father merely nods after staring at me with such cold eyes that I can feel the chill of them deep in my bones.
“See to it that she’s properly secured.”
“Of course,” he says, bowing his head.
He tries to wrap his arm around my waist, but I rush ahead of him. I don’t want any part of him near me. Unfortunately I’m not fast enough because the next thing I know, I’m being roughly thrown over his shoulder and carried away.
“Nice try in there,” Boris mocks, his hands squeezing my thighs too hard. “But your father is well aware that you are psychologically unwell, and every word that may come from your mouth is nothing but some psychobabble bullshit.”
I’m tossed down onto my bed after fighting him the whole way, clawing at him and hitting him wherever I could reach.
When he kneels over my body and gets too close for me to back away, I renew my efforts.
While he’s busy trying to restrain my legs, my hands get ahold of his face and I dig my nails in.
He lets out a groan but before he can stop me, I jab my thumb into his eye socket and push.
His eye fucking pops with a sickening squish and the matter oozes out and runs down my wrist.
He howls so loud that guards come flooding into the room, their guns trained on me.
My small victory is short-lived when Boris hits me so hard I feel something crack in my cheek and I almost lose consciousness.
He looks like he’s ready to kill me, and God I hope he does sooner than later.
But instead he works to quickly bind my wrists and fucking shackles my ankle to a chain that’s bolted into the ground. All the while his empty eye socket drips blood everywhere.
He finally pushes to stand and I’m too delirious and dazed to try and make out his hazy form where he lingers over my body.
The guards ask him if he’s alright and it’s almost funny to me. Almost.
A quiet laugh bubbles up and escapes the confines of my chest when Adris’ words come back to me. “ Bested by a wraith .”
I repeat the words before blackness creeps into my vision. I think I hear something along the lines of, “Crazy bitch,” and “See you in three weeks,” before I’m swallowed whole by the endless oblivion.