Chapter Three
Anya
A fter a sleepless night, I’m back at the Downsview Park club, heading to my father’s office with some lunch, like every Wednesday. Like the good little girl that I am.
Fuck that. Desperate, more like it. Desperate for more information, because I’m in a limbo that’s about to kill me. I’ve got to do something, but first I need to do this.
“Anya,” my father smiles at me when I walk in as if he hadn’t commanded me to a meeting to show me off to the highest paying bidder only yesterday. It’s the genuine smile he gives me when I’m the daughter he always wanted me to be. Which I usually am, at least as far as he knows. “What did you bring for us today?”
“Pelmeni from Arbat’s.” It’s one of my father’s favorites and he rewards me with a pleased smile. I need him in a good mood.
“It is good you are here. We need to speak.”
He moves some papers, and I set out our food, doing my best not to look at my father. Whatever he has to say, I doubt it’ll be something I want to hear. Nor do I expect him to actually expect me to contribute to the conversation.
Useless. That’s what my degree is. I’m educated and dumb at the same time. Complacent. Because as much as I always thought I was in charge of my life, I never actually was. I just played at it. Running the Flemingdon Park club under my father’s nose while he thought Mikhail handled everything got me exactly nothing. And now I’m left with not a single good idea for how to get out of this situation, while doing what I’ve always done. Be the good daughter my father expects me to be, while hoping someday I’ll get some say.
Of course, when my father opens his mouth, it’s clear that day isn’t today. “Solntsev is not the man I would have chosen under different circumstances, but with your brother’s betrayal, he is our best option and he will offer you the life you deserve.”
Instead of using the plastic cutlery that came with the takeout food, I had brought some actual silverware and put it into the bag before coming. A mistake, since the noise of the fork clattering onto the table gives away my feelings on the matter.
My father gives me a hard look. “He may not be your first choice either, but he has the money and resources we need to keep our position in this city. Do not think that you’d be better off if I don’t make this deal, Anya. We have a good position here, but I won’t be here to keep it in place forever and when that happens, the Italians will carve up what’s left if I don’t make arrangements. You know the state things were in when I took over for my father. It was not a good time to be Russian in the city and I won’t allow your brother’s actions to destroy everything I’ve done for the Bratva.”
The angered expression on his face speaks of the misdirected grief he’s feeling. Not just about his own mortality, which is growing uncomfortably closer, but for the son he thought would take over for him. To my father, Mikhail is as good as dead, and it has pushed him closer to his own end.
Another thing to blame my brother for.
I may still answer Mikhail’s calls, but part of me still wants to pay him back for the way he fucked me over. A vengeful part that is calculating, waiting for the best moment to strike.
Another thing I’ve put off longer than I should have.
“Let us eat before the food gets cold,” father says, reminding me of my task. I finish pulling out the napkins and we both take a bite. I wonder if he can taste any more than me, because to me it all tastes bland and, even though it’s his favourite, my father looks like his mind is on something else.
“I need to know what the agreement with Solntsev entails.” While I’ve often asked my father about business and sometimes he humors me and shares some information, I rarely demand to know something. But this time, he has to acknowledge that I deserve to know more.
My father looks up at me, still chewing on the Pelmeni. After a moment, he nods slowly and clears his throat. “Yes, you should know.”
I put down my fork and knife. It’s not like I feel hungry, anyway.
“You will marry Solntsev to bind our families together. He’s the younger of the two Solntsev brothers, but heavily involved in the business back home. The arrangement will give us access to Solntsev’s stock and shipping connections. It also provides us with a powerful backer to deter the Italians from messing with our family.”
I stare at my father evenly. “So Solntsev is doing this because he’s biding his time until he can take your place and branch out to get claim on his own territory where he doesn’t have to play second fiddle to his brother?”
My father’s expression is grim, but he nods. “It isn’t what I would have chosen under different circumstances, but it is best for our family now. This arrangement will ensure that there is no confusion about the stability of our organization. He is your fiancé now, and as soon as the shipment with his payment arrives, we will have the wedding.”
“I could take over from you.” I say the words quietly, but my father hears me just fine.
He shakes his head. “The deal is made, Anya.”
It’s hard not to shake him.
Sold.
He fucking sold me.
I want to reach out and grab his frail shoulders, ignoring the air cannula, and shake sense into him. Make him see me. Make him see that this is stupidity at its best. I am right here, more than fucking capable of taking over the business. Fucking definitely more capable than Mikhail would have been without my help. Instead, he sold me like he would do to any of the women in his stable. As if being his daughter means nothing more than a higher price ticket.
And in turn, he’ll get access to the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood’s stock. It’s a nice little word for the hundreds of girls who are being trafficked as if they’re animals.
But I don’t do it. I don’t shake my father until he sees sense, because that would be pointless. Mikhail isn’t the only man in my family who lacks any sort of conscience. I just watch as my father takes another bite, this time actually looking like he’s paying attention to what he’s chewing.
No matter how much I’ve hated my father’s misogyny and ignorance toward my capabilities, no matter how much I’ve rebelled while he wasn’t watching, I’ve never stood up to him. No matter how much my rage has grown over the past few days, I’m still unable to let it vent and confront my father. Not when it’s sure to kill him.
I may be capable of a lot, but I’ve never murdered a man.
Yet.
“How long has the negotiation been going on?” What I really want to ask is when the shipment of girls is expected, but I know my father won’t tell me. So I ask the second most important question. I need to know for how long my fate has been planned while he left me ignorant.
“A couple of months, perhaps.” My father gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t understand why I’m asking. How a man who’s built up a stronghold for the Bratva in a city like Toronto can be both so shrewd and ignorant is beyond me.
By the time I leave the club, I’m ready to risk my non-murderess status. Either Mikhail or Dmitri Solntsev deserves to die for putting me in this situation. Mikhail, for abandoning me even though he knew what was happening. And fucking Solntsev, because I can’t stand the memory of his greedy eyes running down my body like he already has a claim on it.
Fiancé, my ass.
I don’t head straight to my apartment. Instead, I take a detour to the shooting range. The sterile, cool air inside hits me as I walk in, and the familiar smell of oil used to clean guns lingers in the background, faint but unmistakable.
Sliding a set of earmuffs over my head, the world becomes muffled. Only the muted thud of distant shots breaks through. After signing in, I set up at the far end, where it’s quieter—more space to think. The cold steel of the gun feels solid in my hands, grounding me.
It always has. Mikhail might have ended up the enforcer of the family, but I’m sure as fuck the better shot. There was always something about coming to the range that calmed me.
I take aim, focusing on the target downrange. My heartbeat slows as I inhale deeply, finger hovering over the trigger. The weight of the gun feels reassuring and familiar. My mind races, but my body is still, muscles taut as I pull the trigger.
Bang.
The sound cracks through the air, reverberating in my chest. The force kicks back against my shoulder, but it’s controlled. There’s something cathartic about the sharp jolt, like everything is momentarily reset with each shot. It clears my head.
I fire again, letting the rhythm of the shots drown out the noise in my mind.
I should have come here yesterday.
I know what I need to do. Have known it for a while. I just wasn’t ready to go through with it.
I don’t have time left to stick to any na?ve notions of what’s fair and what’s not. Life isn’t fair, everyone knows that, but I’ll get what I’m owed. Power. Respect. Influence.
Even if that means I actually have to get married to secure my own alliance.
Father might think Solntsev is the best option for me, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only candidate for a marriage that’ll secure my future. It’s just the only one that secures it in a way that’ll allow him to hold on to power for as long as he can.
Since nobody else in my life is willing to do it, it’s time to stop trying to please him and to look out for myself.
Bang . Another shot hits the target dead center. The idea is taking shape.
If I can get my hands on the details of how Solntsev is moving the girls into Toronto, I know exactly who’d want to know about it.
I fire another shot, the echo lingering in the confined space. My mind keeps racing. The details of Solntsev’s operation are in someone’s head. I just have to figure out whose. My father’s right-hand man, Sergei, might know, but he’s not exactly one for loose lips no matter that uncle Sergei has a soft spot for me. Getting anything from him would be near impossible.
Then there’s Ivan, the one my father usually trusts to move the girls. He’d be the one coordinating their arrival in the city. He’s a more promising lead. There’s also the bookkeeper, but I doubt my father would share much with him, not after being burned by other bean counters in the past. There are few people he distrusts more than number pushers.
Ivan is my best shot. I lower my gun, eyes still locked on the target for a moment longer. Then I pack up my gear. Time to head to Flemingdon Park for some recon. If I’m going to make a move, I need to do it fast.
Half an hour later, I’m at the club and I have what I need. Getting the information was easier than I could have ever imagined. Ivan was drunk as fuck when I arrived, courtesy of Lana, the girl he’s dated for less than six months and who ditched his ass earlier today, only to take off with her ex.
Thank you, Lana.
“Need another one?” I wave the bottle through the air to catch Ivan’s attention, who nods fervently. I pour him a glass and leave him sitting at the bar.
Time to retreat to plan a visit to Riccardo Angelo.