I hear my father’s steps down the hall, so I walk the rest of the way to the study. The minute I walk in, his scent greets me. Musky, old man cologne, sweat, and cigarettes. I used to spend hours in here studying for school, and the smell was differentthen. Paper, food smells, whatever perfume I was into. Not so much anymore.
It still looks the same. The wall of bookshelves, the writing desk by the window looking out over the estate, the liquor cabinet in the far corner, and the leather couch and chairs in the corner where I used to sneak vodka and hang out with my friends. Guess some things never change.
The door opens behind me and my father says, “Sit down.”
Here we go. I walk over to the couch and sit. He walks over to the liquor cabinet and starts making himself a drink.
“Stripping in Amsterdam,” he says without looking at me. He’s set a glass down on that small bar by the cabinet and is pouring himself a glass of what looks like vodka. “I don’t believe I’ve spent a small fortune for you to go to one of the best schools in the world just for you to show your tits to Eurotrash.”
I don’t say anything as I watch him slam back a double shot, then pour himself another. He’s been drinking before this moment, I can see that much. And while I can’t tell yet how drunk he is, I know I need to be careful how I talk to him.
“And your hair.” He glances over at me and shakes his head. “You think walking around looking like a piece ofPastilawill win you respect?”
He’s not cursing me out in Russian… yet. That’s a good sign.
“What exactly were you thinking?” he asks me. “I’m told you dropped out of your classes three years into your studies. You just left England and disappeared for almost four years.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from asking him how long it took him to realize I was even gone. He continues.
“I have been scouring Europe looking for you.” Another drink followed by another pour. “The resources I’ve gone through. The favors I’ve had to call in. If you were not my daughter…” He takes another drink and sets the glass on the bar, then turns to me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Here it is. Here’s where Yanov suggested I apologize, beg him not to punish me. I don’t have it in me to do it. I just sigh and say, “I didn’t ask you to come find me and bring me back here. I’m an adult. I can make my?—”
“You are my daughter,” he growls at me. “And you will not bring dishonor to this house. I don’t care how old you are.”
The child inside me flinches from him as if he raised his hand to slap me. I straighten my back and retort, “I can make my own choices, Papa. Plenty of women my age are living their own lives by now. That’s all I was doing.”
He cocks his head at me. “Living your own life? Taking your clothes off for money? That’s how you live your life now? With low morals?”
“That’s rich coming from you.” A flame of anger rises up in my chest as I speak, and the words come out on their own. His eyes harden as he glares at me.
“What did you say?”
I lift my chin. Might as well go with this. I’m already fucked. “You heard me,” I say. I’m so angry right now, it’s like that’s taken over everything. I’m asking for this fight and I don’t even fully understand it. “The head of the Kirov Bratva is trying to teach me about morality. At least I haven’t killed anyone lately?—”
He throws the glass at me. I duck, and it smashes into the wall behind me, showering me with shards.
Shaking, I stay crouched, waiting for another blow to come at me. It doesn’t, but as I look up at him, I see he’s pacing.
“You are lucky you are still alive,” he spits at me in Russian. “I should have made your mother abort you. I never wanted the burden of a daughter, especially not one like you.”
I wish I could say it hurts to hear him say that. It doesn’t. It’s not the first time he’s unloaded that fun fact on me.
“If you had done something about Nikita,” I shoot back at him, “you’d still have the son you always wanted.” My voice is shaky, but I can feel my feet are firmly on the ground. “I didn’t ask to be born or to be your burden.”
“‘Done something?’” He laughs bitterly. “You don’t know anything about what happened to him.”
“I know you let him die. All that talk about being a man who makes the world turn on your word and you couldn’t save your own?—”
He moves fast. Faster than I can anticipate. He grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet, dragging me out of the study.
“Filthy little slut,” he mutters in Russian as he drags me down the hall and pulls me up the staircase. “A living disgrace to your mother and your bloodline.”
He’s dragging me down the hall, nearly pulling my arm out of the socket. I try to dig my feet into the carpet, to yank myself out of his grip, but he holds me fast, yanking at me so hard, it lifts me off the floor for a half-second.
We get to my room, and he pushes me hard into the door. It flies open and I go flying with it, landing nearly face-first onto the carpet. I scramble to my feet and just as I turn around, he slams the door. I hear the locks engage as I stand there.
“You will stay in there.” He’s out of breath, but his voice is rough with rage. “You will stay in there until you learn some respect.”
“You can’t keep me in here!” I shout back, and the door vibrates with impact from his fist.
“YOU WILL NOT TALK TO ME THAT WAY!” he shouts in Russian. “You will learn respect and you will learn to be a decent person if I have to beat it out of you!”
Another slam to the door, then I hear his shoes stomp off. I’m standing in the middle of a bedroom I haven’t seen for nearly seven years, my knees shaking. I dare to look around. Mostly shadows greet me, but the moonlight coming in highlights my bed. No sheets or covers. The canopy has been stripped as well…
I’m in prison. A hard sob catches in my chest and tears burn in my eyes. He’s locked me away in a tower like some cruel king. My knees buckle and it all comes out. I start weeping uncontrollably.
Fucking bastard. He’s really decided to keep me caged up. I can’t believe this is my life now…
