Nikolai’s jaw was clenched tight as he looked out the window behind me. I could see the pulse beating beneath his ear frantically, felt his fingers tighten around my hands that were still on my lap.
“I thought you’d want to say goodbye to your brother and sister, your mother even.” He turned those bright blue eyes back on me. “It’s your father you’re so afraid of.” It wasn't said like a question because he knew. He knew. He had to. The Bratva couldn’t be that different from the Cosa Nostra. Their traditions, the rigidity, the severity of how the men were had to be similar. The same.
The question took me off guard for a moment and I jerked, as if electrocuted, or maybe slapped. I didn’t have time to respond because Nikolai’s door was opening, the driver holding onto the edge.
“Sir,” the driver said but when Nikolai didn’t move or speak, the driver cleared his throat. “Would you like some extra time? Privacy?”
Nikolai didn’t respond, just kept staring at me, kept his hand on mine, his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly with each passing second.
And then the weight of his palm was gone, his big body uncoiling from the car as he stood and stepped out. His door slammed shut and I closed my eyes and exhaled, feeling the heavy silence all around me.
It only lasted a moment before my door was being opened and my husband held his hand out for me. It was automatic as I slipped my palm against his, allowing him to help me out. I smoothed my free hand down my tunic then my leggings, before gripping the soft material of my shirt and letting Nikolai lead me up the steps to the front door.
It swung open as if automatically sensing us and Beatrice, one of the servants, stood on the other side with her hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Petrov,” she said respectfully as we neared. “Master Bianchi wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know,” Nikolai growled and tightened his hand on mine. “I assumed his own daughter wouldn’t need to call ahead to visit her family.” He strode inside without waiting for a response, never letting go of my hand.
We entered my childhood home and the front door shut behind us softly. We only stood there for a few seconds before I heard a rhythmic pounding sound coming closer and closer. And then I saw Claudia come barreling down the stairs, her grin wide, her dark hair fluttering behind her as she raced forward.
I couldn’t help but laugh as she cleared the stairs and slammed into me, giving me a full body hug, one that felt far too good for the short time I’d been gone. She tightened her arms around me and I did the same, feeling my eyes prickling with tears of what, sadness? Happiness? The loss of the only thing I’d never known?
“I missed you.” Claudia’s voice was muffled against my shirt and jacket.
I squeezed her back. “I've only been gone for a day,” I said with a little laugh in my voice, trying to make things light. She tightened her arms around me once more and I laughed genuinely this time, but there was an ache in my heart.
“Hey, now. It’s okay.” I pulled her back to look into her blue eyes. “Are you okay?” Her face was a mask that started to break slightly before she gave me a bright smile. A fake smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I wanted to dig a little deeper, ask her what was truly wrong, but I knew. I knew why she looked at me with those wide blue eyes that were identical to mine and Gio’s. No, I knew what the issue was. Our father.
She tried to brush it off as if it were nothing as she murmured under her breath, “it’s father.”
She exhaled and stepped back fully. “Father has been a beast since something happened at the wedding, something he refuses to tell anyone.”
I shifted on my feet as nervousness slammed into me, and glanced over at Nikolai. He stood a few feet to the side, a still and imposing form that watched me as if I were the only important thing in the room.
My breath caught.
Although I knew Nikolai could hear what we were talking about, he didn’t act like he did, didn’t show any emotion over what Claudia had just said. I looked back at my sister, glad she didn’t know about Eduardo. My father had clearly cleaned it up efficiently fast so now one but a small team of his men knew what had gone down.
“I’m sure it’s just work stuff.” I finally found my voice to say to my sister.
She exhaled but nodded and I was thankful that she accepted what I said, even if I didn't know if she believed me. I was glad she didn’t make me lie even more. I didn’t want to tell her about any of the horrors or darkness that happened in our world even if she was surrounded by it. Even if I knew she was fully aware of it all. I wanted to keep her safe and innocent and protected from it all.
Gio and my mother stepping into the foyer drew me out of my thoughts and I embraced both of them, answering their conversational questions automatically. I could hear Gio talk about “safe” topics with Nikolai. Sports. Stocks. The fucking weather. It was awkward, and it was evident my brother didn’t like my husband.
But all I could think about was my father, how he’d make Claudia’s life even worse because of the situation with Edoardo. How my father no doubt blamed me for Edoardo’s death, and because I was now a married woman and out of his house, she’d take my place for his wrath.
It was those thoughts that had me moving away from my family and walking toward a place I had no business going.
My father’s office.
All conversation behind me dimmed and I glanced over my shoulder to see all three of them watching me. Nikolai’s eyes were hard set, his jaw clenched, his hands tight fists at his side. But he didn’t move closer. He didn’t stop me. Maybe he knew I needed to do this, to talk to my father, to try and smooth out the wrinkles and calm the rough waters. I was the only one who could protect Claudia. Not even Gio would go against my father. He was too busy, always on errands by our father, learning the “family business”.
I knew it was all strategically orchestrated by Marco, that he was being molded and brainwashed and shaped into what our father wanted. The perfect heir. The perfect soldier.
I walked down the hallway and stopped in front of my father’s office doors, reaching out automatically and digging my fingers into my palm before relaxing it and lifting it up to bring my knuckles down on the wood.
He made me wait a solid minute, standing behind that closed door, before he barked out that I could enter. I pushed the heavy door inward and stepped inside, leaving the door open behind me. A survival instinct.
I smelled faint hints of cigar smoke and a fire that had burned long ago in the mantle, chard wood tinged the air and clinging to the books that lined one wall. He sat behind his imposing, massive oak desk, his reading glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose as he brought his pen down across a sheet of paper.
“What?” he said in a bored tone without looking up at me.
I didn't say anything for a second as I picked at the edge of my shirt, a lone thread barely hanging on. Just like me. Just like Claudia would be if I didn’t fix things.
“I–I…” I couldn’t manage to say anything else, couldn't find my words.
My father set his pen down, removed his glasses, and leaned back in his chair. And only then did he look up at me. No expression on his face. No happiness to see me. No love that his daughter was here, that she was a married woman and starting her own life now.