“Da, hello?”
For a second, I don’t know how to respond. My brain is short-circuiting, unsure what I’m supposed to say after not speaking to him for a few months.
“Who is this?” he rasps.
My throat bobs.
“Papa?”
The line is quiet for a moment.
“Evelina?” he finally grunts. “Is that really you?”
Guilt washes over me.
I’m not supposed to be doing this. Not just because it would “make Roman mad”. The decision to send our father to Moscow was a decision the entire upper leadership of the Nikitin Bratva made together. The ban on communicating with Pavel…and yes, I freely admit that I've ignored that ban a few times…isn’t out of pettiness. It’s a mandate.
But the guilt I’m feeling doesn’t come from breaking the rules. It’s because Igetwhy Roman hates our father so much. I wasn’t there, but Iget it. And yet, for the life of me, I still can’t manage to feel the same.
“How are you doing?” I blurt. “Are you okay? Are you safe?”
“Ahh, my little princess,” he chuckles quietly. “Always so good to her Papa.”
Another twinge of guilt vibrates inside me.
“I’m okay, Evelina,” he sighs. “But… It’s hard. A lot of people here want your Papa dead.”
I shudder, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m working on a plan to help you.”
He’s silent for a second, then he clears his throat. “Oh?”
“Yes. A way to get you home,” I blurt.
He chuckles. “Does your brother know about this?”
I wince. “Not exactly.”
Papa chuckles again. “Ahhh,that'smy daughter. I knew your big heart would come through for me. So, what is this wonderful plan?”
I shake my head. “I can’t say yet. But I’m making a deal with an organization that has the power to help you and offer you protection.”
Papa tut-tuts with his teeth. “Whichorganization?”
My lip sucks between my teeth. “I…I can’t tell you that yet either.”
“But they can offer me protection?”
“They can get youhome, Papa,” I say. “And keep you safe when you get here.”
“Why would they do that for me?”
“Just… I’m working it out, Dad. Don't worry.”
“Evelina…” he growls. “What areyoudoing for this to happen?”
My eyes close. “Pledging myself to them,” I say quietly.
Papa’s breath sucks in. “An arranged marriage?”
