Finding my papa’s contact, my thumb hesitated before I pressed “call” and turned on the speakerphone. I set the phone on my thigh, my stomach roiling with each shrill ring. Then they stopped.
“Alexei.”
My throat felt tight. “Papa.”
He released a breath of relief. “Mila . . .”
A tear ran down my cheek. I saw Ronan get to his feet out of the corner of my eye and walk over to look out the window.
“Hi, Papa.” I didn’t know what else to say or why this felt so awkward.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Just in your enemy’s bed willingly. Guilt inflamed my gut.
“Are you really? Or are you only saying that because that bastard is listening in?”
My skin crawled at the insult, the demand to defend Ronan rising in my throat, but I didn’t know what part to play here. Too much animosity cloaked the room, as if one wrong word would cause it to blow.
“He’s here listening. But I promise, I’m fine.”
I could practically hear the cogs in my father’s head turning, wondering why Ronan was letting me speak to him. This phone call wouldn’t benefit Ronan in any way. Papa must have believed me because he said, “Khorosho.” Good. “Mila, there are things we need to discuss. Things concerning you after I’m gone.”
Another tear ran down my cheek. “Okay.”
“You need to marry Carter, angel.”
Ronan’s shoulder’s tensed, and he turned to face me, but I couldn’t find the courage to fully look at him.
“I know he wasn’t your first choice—”
“He was never my choice,” I returned, cutting off my papa for the first time in my life.
I heard him grind his teeth. “What you want doesn’t matter right now. What matters is keeping you safe.”
“How could Carter do that? He’s a professional playboy.”
Ronan paced the length of the footboard, each step setting me further on edge.
“Carter’s father holds a very powerful position in Miami. This is why I encouraged the engagement from the beginning. It would have already been set in stone if you hadn’t run to Moscow and straight to D’yavol.” His voice went quieter, which meant he was internally seething.
His anger was a whisper compared to the other man’s in the room. And both of them were beginning to make me burn in frustration, forcing the next words from my mouth.
“So why don’t I just marry Carter’s father then?”
A long pause. “He is married.”
“Bummer. I’ve learned I have a thing for older guys.” I let my eyes meet Ronan’s, which glowed with a dark, violent light. Unable to hold his intensity, I looked away.
“Papa . . . I don’t want to marry Carter.”
“You do not understand, Mila. If you don’t want to live on the streets, you will marry him. There will be no money left when I’m gone. I raised you right, but I’m afraid I screwed up when it comes to your brothers.”
Brothers.
I’d reached a place where I didn’t even blink at the knowledge I had brothers. Plural. It felt like my entire life had been a lie, and this was where the real me began.
“They will clean everything out, Mila. The house in Miami. Everything. I need to know you’re taken care of.”
I rubbed the cold goose bumps on my thigh. “I thought you told me Ivan would take care of me.”
He was silent. So silent, my heart dropped.
“Ivan has other demands to take care of now.”
What he meant was Ivan didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest. I may not have loved Ivan romantically, but I did as a friend. I was losing my papa and my best friend. Alone. I wasn’t even alone yet, but the absence hollowed out my bones.
“I wish it was different. But this is the way it has to be.”
“My brothers . . . they won’t help me?”
A pause. “I’m sorry, angel.”
My heart left my body to float in the distance while tears poured down my cheeks. Rejection dug its claws into my cold skin.
“You will do this for me, Mila. Don’t let me die not knowing what will happen to you.”
I wasn’t going to marry Carter. Not if I was so poor I had to live on the streets. I would never subject myself to the life I’d felt so lost in. But I also didn’t have the heart to deny my papa’s last wish. Even if it was a lie.
“Okay,” I said softly. “I will.”
Ronan gripped the headboard, and I heard a crack.
Papa exhaled. “I am glad, angel. I have to go now.”
“Wait,” I blurted. The question needed no permission. It escaped from the depths of me like a volcano. “Was the woman you murdered that night my mother?”
I didn’t need to clarify I spoke of the blonde lying in a puddle of blood on our library floor. He knew who I meant by the sticky silence on the other end of the line, but he never got a chance to reply.
Ronan grabbed the phone and ended the call.
Numb, I sat there, ice spreading through my veins. Because I knew the truth. I knew my papa killed my mother. I knew it was her blood that stained my stuffed animal and childhood memories.
And Ronan knew too.
induratize
(v.) to harden one’s heart against love
“How did you know?” I asked Ronan, who walked away from me, the lines of his back as tense as granite. He knew I was asking about my mother and that my papa murdered her practically in front of my eyes.
“I don’t know anything,” was all he said before going into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.
I stared at his absence and realized he didn’t want me to know the truth. He was trying to protect my view of my father. He knew how much my papa meant to me, and while I had no doubt Ronan was going through with his revenge, he still didn’t want to mar the vision I had of my father.
My papa killed my mother.
He callously shot her in the same house I was in.
My chest held an ache so sharp, the pain searched for holes to spread through. It was hard to fathom how the father I knew and loved could do that—though, in the back of my mind, I must have always known. The knowledge warped everything I thought I understood. Thinking about it sent a harsh throb through my head. I couldn’t deal with this right now, so I exhaled deeply and forced it to the back of my mind.
What came to the forefront was what Ronan was trying to do for me. He couldn’t act like he cared now I loved his every shade of black. He couldn’t throw out so much gray while I already struggled to contain the expanding heart in my chest.
He couldn’t do this to me.
He could use, restrain, and torture me—but he couldn’t act like he cared. Not now. Not when those cartoon hearts threatened to rain down on me in the shape of bricks.
Chest burning, I got to my feet and stormed to the bathroom, throwing open the door. Head bowed, Ronan stood in the shower, the water running red rivulets down his naked body.
“I know you’re trying to protect my feelings,” I snapped. “And I think it’s disgusting.”
Slowly, he cast me a dark look. I was dealing with D’yavol now. Good. He held onto his gray tightly—as well as his response when he wasn’t interested enough to reply. His expression made me feel unwelcome, so I continued.