TWENTY-SEVEN
Nastasya
“ I wasn’t sure if you’d bother to come back.” Papa stands in the doorway to the den, hands casually in his pockets. He’s ditched the usual suit jacket, but his dusk gray sleeves are rolled to the elbow, shirt taut across his shoulders. “You seemed so eager to leave.”
I pause my journey back toward my bedroom and turn to face him. “If you paid more attention to those around you, you would have noticed I was back two hours ago. Did your guard dog Ivan not tell you?” Probably not, considering the lumbering giant barely leaves my sight.
“Contrary to what you obviously believe, he doesn’t tell me everything.”
“Only what matters, right?” To be honest, I purposefully avoided seeing Papa. One look at the man now reminds me why: he’s not my father anymore. At least not in the way he once was.
I’ve always seen the man as my papa first, yet I respect who he is to others: Arseni, the Iron Jaw, and the pakhan of our brotherhood. I recognize the man in the suit, the steel glare, and the arrogant tilt of his chin. What I fail to find is any sign that this man loves me as more than an asset.
Especially after hearing what Benito had to say about our fated night together.
Papa snorts at my retort. “What is it about the man that you find so appealing? He can’t fucking speak, and he’ll never head his family.” He shakes his head. “I thought you’d fight me about this, moya malen’kaya roza . But not for the reasons you are.”
“What’s wrong with getting along with my future husband?” I narrow my eyes. “Did you expect me to do something else for you?”
“Why would it be for me?” He folds his arms.
I mirror the gesture, a freshly filled water bottle in one hand and a granola bar in the other. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why else would you agree to marry me into their family if it wasn’t for your gain?”
“I did it to save you.” He strides across the floor, closing the space between us with his pointer finger held accusingly. “They won’t hurt you if you’re one of theirs.”
“Isn’t that your job? To keep me safe?” I lift an eyebrow.
He presses his lips together, gaze narrowing.
“Why did they want to hurt me, Papa?” I can’t hide the derision from my voice as I continue to say the things I’ve kept inside for too long. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.” His upper lip curls, the word a monotonous lie.
“That’s not what I heard.” I lift my chin. “I heard you’ve got a history with the man responsible for Caroline’s death.”
“What the hell are you saying?” He slides his scrutiny the length of me as though he can find the part that’s out of place and causing such delusions. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Nastasya. You’re confused.” He huffs a small laugh. “Maybe the knock to your head did do some damage.”
Fuck him. My body trembles, yet I refuse to allow my fucking father to rule me with fear. “What deal do you have with Ignazio?”
He blanches before turning away to hide the reaction. “I have no deal with that mongrel, and I won’t entertain such baseless accusations from you.”
Fucking knew it.
“Those assholes have taken almost everything from us, Nastasya.” He fidgets with a chip in the door frame. “They’re no more our friends than the Cubans, the Albanians, or the Irish if you want to call a spade a spade. Gennaro may like to pretend we’re great allies, but how can that be when they live in luxury and we squalor in their shadow?” He tosses a hand wide, gesturing to our home.
My home. The place where I grew up. Where memories were made—both good and bad.
“That hasn’t always been the case, though, has it?” I trap my lower lip between my teeth and bite hard enough to elicit pain, redirecting my focus to save the tears from coming. “You and Ignazio were close enough, once, to deem it necessary to conduct business in private.”
He flinches before turning away slightly to hide his face, hands on his hips. “Who did you speak to? Does this come from Benito?”
“It comes from me,” I reply. “He has nothing to do with this.”
“But he told you this lie?” Papa throws one hand in the air, winding his wrist.
“No.” I swallow.
His attention trains on the simple movement. “Are you sure, my love?” Saccharine sweet words from a seasoned con artist. “You wouldn’t lie to your papa now, would you?”
“Only if he’d lie to me.”
My father’s eyes narrow, and his nostrils flare once. A raging bull ready to charge. “You make one grave accusation, my girl, putting me in bed with that conniving bastard.”
“It’s only an accusation if it holds no merit.” I tell the truth. There’s no guesswork involved here; he met with Ignazio nine and a half years ago, and Benito paid the price.
Now, I suffer the same fate.
“Why was I the target that night?” I ask softly. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“The fault doesn’t lie with you,” he snaps. This much appears to be true. His furrowed brow and pinched gaze spell guilt—remorse. His words soften. “It pains me to think you could have met the same fate as Caroline.” His throat bobs. “That I could have lost you too.”
“If my accusations are so wrong, tell me the truth, Papa.” My arms shake at my sides, legs like jelly. Yet I refuse to fold. “Explain to me why I’m so damn entangled in something that has nothing to do with me. Dignify me with an explanation and help me protect myself.” I dig my bare heels in, anchoring myself to the tiles while I wait for his answer. “You put me into their home, knowing they’re involved in Caroline’s death, and expect me to believe it’s solely for my safety? How stupid do you think I am? You’ve waited a decade to position me there, and I want to know why.”
“It’s too complicated, Nastasya.” He lifts his head, silver locks distressed across his eye as he begs me with his gaze for forgiveness. “You couldn’t understand. Even I struggle to rationalize all the things that have happened.” Papa crosses the floor, arms outstretched to hold me in a comforting embrace.
I take a step back.
He acts as though I physically hit him with how hard he flinches in response. “This distance between us pains me, moya malen’kaya roza . I wish that we were closer, especially since we share the loss of your mother.” He pauses to swallow, releasing a sigh through his nose. “We need each other.”
Like fuck we do. “You have a strange way of showing that.”
“What do you mean?” He groans the question, fed up with the disconnect in our communication.
I huff out my nose in disdain. “You know exactly what I mean. You keep yourself occupied with the business of the brotherhood. The same stuff you refuse to involve me in, so tell me again, how am I supposed to get near you? To build a bond between us?” I fold my arms, tucking the water and bar beside my ribs. “That would be if I even wanted to.”
“What happened to you, Nastasya?” His tone shifts, but I’m not fool enough to believe the sudden softness.
“What happened to me ?” I let my jaw hang slack. “I can’t believe you need to ask that.”
“We used to be inseparable, you and I.” Papa paces the floor, the rage seeping back into his maddened gaze. “You were happy here. Proud of your heritage.”
“Maybe when Mama was still alive.” I drop my gaze to the rug. We run in circles, Papa and me. The conversation won’t go anywhere. Not now, not ever. “I have details I need to go over for Lana. Are we done?”
He answers with an uncomfortable silence reminiscent of the kind I’m fated to share with Benito. The image of the woman’s face today flashes unbidden into my mind. I shut my eyes and count to ten, reaching four before Papa graces me with a spoken answer.
“Where did he take you today? At least tell me what that dog wanted with you.”
I didn’t think it’d be that easy. That all he cared about was that I made it home safe—alive. “What does it matter?” Ivan appears in my periphery, hovering in the shadows. The jerk probably wondered why I wasn’t back in my room yet; it shouldn’t take this long to run to the kitchen quickly. “You’ve told me repeatedly that I have no relevance to the business, so what does it matter where he took me?”
“Because things aren’t safe out there for you.” Once more, I find genuine concern in my father’s tone. It leaves me disgustingly unsettled. “Until the person responsible for the attack is held accountable, you’ll remain at risk.”
“You can just use his name, you know.” I drop the arm with the water, the bottle heavy in my hand. “Say it, Papa. Ignazio .”
My father’s eyes slash into slits, his brow bearing a deep furrow. “Why must you keep on with this conspiracy of yours?” Three steps forward, and he stands an arm’s length away. “What makes you think you’re so knowledgeable when I can’t even find out who took your friend away?”
“Can’t?” My stomach sours. “Or won’t?”
The silence sits between us like a knife’s edge—deadly and vicious when wielded in the right hand.
“Go to your room, Nastasya.”
“Not until you answer me.” I swallow—hard. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
He sighs as one does when faced with a petulant child.
Ivan’s head moves side to side, his attention volleying between us.
“There are finer details that require attention before I can strike back, my love. Relationships, business agreements, unspoken contracts—they’re all at risk.” Papa shakes his head. “I can’t take a piece off the chess board without expecting it to fuck up the whole game. Strategy, Nastasya,” he chastises. “A wise man is a man who looks two moves ahead before he so much as raises his hand.”
The loss of color from my face leaves me feeling faint. Every goddamn time. Every time, I think I’ve got it all figured out. That I’ve proved how effective I can be when protecting our family—our name. And every goddamn time, he proves just how fucking inexperienced I am.
Papa tilts his head, gaze narrowing in scrutiny. “You look ill, child.” The irritation radiates from his crisply dressed frame. “What is it?”
“What are the loose ends?” I swallow, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. “The finer details?”
He studies me for a painfully long moment before asking, “What have you done?”
“Benito found the men who shot Caroline.” I swallow. Fuck him for making me feel remorseful. “That was where I went today. Benito took me to a house, and he gave me the greatest wedding gift a man could offer: retribution.”
“Retribution? What the fuck are you saying?” He appears genuinely confused before his eyes widen. “Who the fuck did you kill?”
“I told you.” My confidence wavers, unsteady in the breeze of his ire. “The men responsible.”
“ Ty menya razdrazhayesh’ ,” Papa roars. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
My blood feels like sugar water in my veins—sickly and unbearable. “Considering I clearly have no knowledge of the deeper issues at play here, I’m going to say no.”
Papa spins on his heel. Ivan moves closer in my peripheral vision. “Let me guess. These men you killed today. They were men who had no previous ties to us. Correct? Men that shouldn’t even register on our goddamn radar they’re so insignificant! ” Spit flies past his lips as he roars the words at me, pacing back until we’re face-to-face once more.
I fumble with the granola bar, the food almost tumbling from my shaking hand. “If you want me to stop making mistakes, fucking tell me what’s going on! Stop keeping me in the dark!”
Ivan moves between us, facing my father as he uses his massive shoulder to force me back a step. To safety.
He’s chosen to protect me, not his boss. The disgust on Papa’s face as he glares at the kachki says more than words ever could. His loyal soldiers slowly turn against him, and he’s too damn ignorant to understand why.
Papa stands with his back to me, hand on his forehead. “The men today. They had Albanian associates, correct?”
“Yes.” My whisper is barely audible, even in the vast cavern of the foyer. He wouldn’t know that if he didn’t already know more . How little does my father love me?
“They were paid to do the job, and that’s all. The mob has no interest in us this way—only one of our friends does.” My father turns, eyes steel as he bears down on where I stand. “They told you who paid them, yes?”
“No.” I lie—straight up to the man who sired me. To the man supposed to protect me from the moment he was ordained a father.
“Are you certain?” He leans in, studying me. I read the unspoken question in his suspicious gaze: Is this why you asked me about Ignazio? “Because that is the person you should go after.”
If he knows, why hasn’t he done anything about it?
“They refused to say anything.” I want to hear what he has to tell me. I need to hear the confession from his mouth, unprompted. “They kept quiet.”
Because if he admits he knows Ignazio was behind the hit, my father may as well admit he gave his permission for me to be killed. Removed from his life. Forever.
What father does that?
He spins toward Ivan, finger jabbing the air between them. “My daughter does not leave this house again without my permission. Understood?”
The big lug nods.
“You are to stay here, Nastasya, until I get this under control.” Papa snorts his disgust. “You have no idea the damage you’ve done with this reckless ignorance. None.” His nostrils flare, gaze searching mine before he turns away and, this time, continues into his office.
The door slams behind him.
Not another word. No other explanation. Like he’s done so many times before, he takes the pride I feel in my accomplishment and crushes it in his fist until I’m left a shamed child, embarrassed for my naivety.
I’m no less confused than I was when I slipped in the door two hours ago. My father brokers deals with the enemy, and my lover is as manipulated in all of this as I am. Does Benito face the same mystery at his house? If he even returned to his parents’ place. He may have gone back to wherever he lives and avoided his uncle entirely. Fucking Ignazio. This whole mess revolves around him. It did ten years ago, and it does now.
Somebody needs to make that bastard talk because the only other person who can make sense of this mess—my father—won’t.
Throat thick and tears burning at the back of my eyes, I pivot to head for my room, only to find Ivan still watching from my offside, a smug smirk across his thin lips.
“What?” I holler the word at the horrid killer, wondering how many more lives I must take before my twisted choices show on the outside, just as his do. “Was that entertaining enough for you?”
“You need me for protection.” The statement is a victory for the asshole, not an observation of my father’s woeful behavior.
Ivan sweeps his hand to the side, asking me to go first.
I pass with a growl, feet hammering the wooden floor toward some semblance of privacy. At least in my bedroom, I can be alone; he’s required to stay outside the door. A necessary distance given the difference in our sexes, of course. God forbid one of Father’s men took a bite of this cherry. I snort at the thought. Although looking at Ivan, I don’t know if he’d have a passionate bone in his body. I get the feeling he’d be just as satisfied releasing the tension into a pocket pussy as he would the real thing. Fucked up, Stas. I should not be thinking about a bodyguard old enough to be my father in that way.
I slam my door in the jerk’s face before the rage and frustration melt into a pool of despair and panic. The water bottle hits the floor first, my granola bar flying off the end of an angry arm to land against the wall with a dis-satisfying tap. I need something heavier. Something like myself.
This whole past week has been nothing but a slideshow of fucking nightmares. I keep smacking at the goddamn viewfinder called Life, and all I get in response is more horror and pain. I don’t resent what Benito did for me today; those assholes deserved what came their way. Caroline won’t have been the first life they took for a measly payday—I could guarantee that. Nope. But that woman… Why can’t I get her out of my head? Chest heaving for air, I stare at the patterned carpet beneath my bare feet and allow the numbness to creep in. Coping this way isn’t healthy; I know that. The emotions will multiply once confined, only to spill out later tenfold. But I can’t do this now.
I can’t do this alone.
Scrambling into action, I dart across the room to retrieve my phone from where I left it on the set of drawers. My thumbs fly, vision clouded as I expedite a message to the only person with whom I want to share this moment.
Benito.
His reply isn’t instant, and I don’t expect it to be. Still, the wait has my fingers tapping, toes curling where I stand. I dive across and retrieve the broken granola bar, unwrapping it and sending crumbs tumbling around me, only to set it down again when I realize my appetite has vanished. A sip of water goes down, but the goddamn liquid pools in my acidic stomach and threatens to rise again.
My phone chimes.
I dive on the damn lifeline and swipe the message open.
You need to be with me.
God, he gets it. He fucking gets it.
I collapse to the floor beside my bed and type a response through blurred vision.
I always needed to be with you. You were the only place I ever felt safe.
The truth of the statement hits me hard as I send the message, the words documented and real.
Life within Bratva walls was never going to be easy, and I never assumed it should be. I made peace with who I was early on. But that didn’t mean I could ignore the need always to be wary of who I meet and interact with. Where I was and what I did. Every fucking aspect of my life had the possibility to conceal danger, and whether I realized it or not, I’ve spent my whole existence watching over my back.
I knew the time Benito and I had as teenagers was precious. But until now, I couldn’t pinpoint why.
It was because, with him, I fully felt trust for the first time in my life. I felt free. Unshackled from the burden of always staying at arm’s length from people. Of always needing to read between the lines and double-guess others’ intentions. When Benito hid me away, when he took the risks to be with me, I felt peace. Peace that I crave now. He wouldn’t have gone to those extremes if he didn’t genuinely care for me—want me. I ache to curl against his side like I once did. To run my fingertips across the broad expanse of his chest and listen to the gentle rush of his breaths while we exist in silence.
My hands drop to my lap, nostrils flaring as my eyes burn with unshed tears.
Even then, he never needed to say a word for me to feel his love. I never required that of him. Benito wasn’t the guy to read you a poem or declare his devotion in a song. He never orated the things I needed so that I felt wanted— seen. His actions have always spoken louder. His dedication displayed in the things he did for me.
The things he still does for me.
I don’t have to hear him say that he loves me. I already know he does because of how he makes me feel inside. My hand drifts to my chest, palm gentle over the area that blooms with the realization. The void inside feels a little fuller, a little less dark. And all I had to do was think of him.
Imagine what he can do when we’re bound together for life.
The phone vibrates in my hand, the chime breaking through the fog of my thoughts. I take a steadying breath and drop my gaze to the notification banner at the top of the screen.
You won’t be alone for much longer.
No cute pet name to sign off his message. No term of endearment required to get his point across.
With Benito, I can always rely on the truth.
No bullshit. No excuses or lies. Just the heart of who he is and what he feels.
What we both feel.