If I drop it, I’ll be defenseless. If I don’t, he’ll kill Viktor. I’m not a warrior like he is. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun, let alone handle a knife against my father. I don’t have a plan… How can I save Viktor?
Reluctantly, I let the knife fall from my hand. The sound it makes when it hits the floor rings like defeat—flat, hollow metal on concrete.
He nods at me and says, “Kick it over here.”
I do, and it slides across the floor until it’s a few inches from Viktor’s foot. He sighs and puts his knife back in his boot. “Now, was that really so hard?”
He stands and waves me over. I’m trying to will my feet to move. They feel frozen to the ground.
“Come on,” he says. “Don’t make me come to you.”
I get my feet to move and I walk to my father. To my death. There’s no way around it. He’ll never let me live after everything that’s happened. As soon as I’m close enough, he reaches out and grabs me by the back of my neck, yanking me to him.
“Stupid little girl,” he snarls at me in Russian. “After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve given you despite the sin you committed when you were born.”
A heavy pain shoots through my chest when he says that and my eyes start to burn with tears. In all these years, I always suspected that he hated me because my mother died giving birth to me. I’ve been lying to myself this whole time, trying to convince myself that no matter how cruel he was, he wasn’t a monster. Only monsters hated their children.
“I believed you were my punishment,” he says, a heavy sadness weighing in his eyes. “A curse put on me for the evil that I’ve done.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It sounds more like the prelude to weeping. “You have been like a ball and chain around my neck, reminding me of the beast I’ve had to become. Well, no more. It all ends tonight. With you dead, the curse I’ve been plagued with will finally be lifted.”
“Please,” I say to him in Russian, hoping our native tongue will sway him. “Papa, please don’t do this. You’ll be killing your grandchild.”
“I’ll be sparing that child from a life of pain.” He tightens his grip on my neck and pushes me down. I fall to the floor and immediately start scrambling away from him. He walks slowly toward me, the light behind him darkening his face except for the shine in his eyes.
“Please, Papa,” I beg him. “Please don’t?—”
He suddenly moves fast, rushing toward me and yanking me to my feet by my hair. I start screaming. The sound jumps out of me in panicked waves as he pins me to the wall and presses one forearm to my neck.
I claw at his arm as he leans into me and cuts off my air. I try to scream, but nothing comes out but a strangled screech of panic and pain. He looks into my eyes, leaning in as he snarls in Russian, “When you see your brother in hell, tell him it was I who sent you there. Tell him he was my greatest disappointment.”
The edges of my vision start to go dark as I start trying to kick him. My feet hit his body, but he doesn’t let me go. He’s determined to end my life…
And then one of my kicks connects hard and suddenly, the pressure lifts a little as he stumbles backward. I scramble away as he yells in pain, grabbing his crotch. Gasping for air and struggling to stand, I only get a few feet before he grabs at me again. His hand grabs at my shirt, but I get away from him. I stumble and fall, but the knife is just in my reach. I grab for it, and my fingers touch the handle just as he’s grabbed my ankles and started pulling me backward toward him.
I roll, swinging the knife at him. The blade slices his face and he releases me, stepping back and covering his cheek with one hand. He looks at me with the wide-eyed shock of a man who wasn’t expecting for his child to fight him back.
I hold the knife out as I get to my feet. My hand is shaking, but I’m keeping it as steady as I can. Fear isn’t going to stop me. Through clenched teeth and a sore throat, I rasp, “If you want my life or the life of this baby, you’re going to have to fight me for it. I’m not giving it up to you willingly.”
Strangely, he smiles and says, “At least some part of my blood still runs through your veins.” He lunges at me and I swing the knife, slicing his hand. He still manages to grab my wrist and hold the knife over my head. I kick him hard in the shin. He winces, but he keeps a firm hold on me. I kick him again and he grunts in paint, but he doesn’t let me go.
“Let me go!”
He twists my wrist hard, but I keep holding the knife until finally, he uses his other hand to pry my fingers from around the handle. Once he’s gotten the knife from me, there’s a half-second of hesitation as his eyes flit off to the side to a point just behind me. In one fluid motion, he turns me around, pressing the knife against my throat as he pulls me backward.
And then I see what he’s just seen. Viktor is awake and kneeling, his eyes trained on us.
