“We’ll see,” Kristoff says.
He hangs up the phone.
I look at the Gallo brothers.
“He’s a cocky little shit, isn’t he?” Nero says.
Dante scowls.
“I’ll be waiting at the library,” he says. “If Kristoff is stupid enough to pop up his head, I’ll blow it off his shoulders for him.”
30
Nessa
Mikolaj returns to my parents’ house in the early hours of the morning. He has a fresh slash down the right side of his cheek, and another on his arm. Dark stains on the front and back of his shirt show that his wounds have opened up again. I run out into the yard to meet him. He’s paler than I’ve ever seen him, and he almost falls into my arms.
“Oh my god!” I cry, holding his face in my hands. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m alright.”
I press my forehead against his, then I kiss him, assuring myself that he’s breathing still, that he smells and tastes the same as ever.
He wraps his arms around me, his heart beating against my chest. He nuzzles his face against my ear.
“Nessa!” My mother’s sharp cry interrupts us.
I let go of Mikolaj.
She’s standing in the doorway, staring at us with a horrified expression.
“Get in the house,” she hisses.
From long habits of obedience, I go back into the kitchen where my mother and father stand side by side, arms crossed over their chests, and forbidding expressions on their faces.
Mikolaj follows me in.
The Gallo brothers are with him, and Marcel as well.
As soon as Klara sees Marcel, she runs over to him. She kisses him, just as I did to Mikolaj. When Marcel gets over his surprise, he picks her up and kisses her harder, before setting her down again.
I’d like to celebrate that development, but unfortunately, I’ve got to turn my attention back to my furious parents.
“This is over,” my father says, sternly, pointing between Mikolaj and myself.
“Whatever you’ve done to her,” my mother shouts at Mikolaj, “However you’ve messed with her head—”
“I love him,” I say.
My parents stare at me, stunned and disgusted.
“That’s ridiculous,” my mother says. “He abducted you, Nessa. Kept you prisoner for weeks. Do you know what we went through, not knowing if you were alive or dead?”
She turns her tear-streaked face on Mikolaj, her blue eyes full of rage.
“You took our daughter from us,” she hisses. “I ought to have you castrated.”
“He saved my life,” I tell them. “They all wanted to kill me. The Russians, his own men . . . he risked everything for me.”
“Only because he stole you in the first place!” My mother cries.
“You don’t know men like this,” my father says to me. “Violent. Cruel. Killers.”
“Criminals?” I say, almost laughing at the irony. “Dad . . . I know what mafia men are like.”
“He’s not like us,” my father growls.
“You don’t know what he’s like!” I snap.
“Neither do you!” my mother cries. “He’s manipulated you Nessa. You’re a child! You don’t know what you’re saying—”
“I’m not a child!” I shout back at her. “Maybe I was when I left, but I’m not anymore.”
“Are you saying you want to be with this animal?” my father demands.
“Yes,” I say.
“Absolutely not!” he shouts. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands first.”
“It’s not your choice,” I tell them.
“The hell it’s not,” my father says.
“What, are you going to ground me?” I laugh, bitterly. “Unless you want to lock me up all over again, you can’t keep me away from him.”
“Nessa,” Mikolaj says. “Your parents are right.”
I whirl around, stricken and outraged.
“No they’re not!” I cry.
Mikolaj takes my hand, gently, to calm me. He squeezes my fingers, his hand as warm and strong as ever.
Then he faces my parents, composed and firm.
“I apologize for the pain I caused you,” he says. “I know this will be difficult for you to understand, but I love Nessa. I love her more than I love my own soul. I would never hurt her. And that includes tearing her away from her family again.”
“Miko—”
He squeezes my hand, silently asking me to be patient.
“I brought Nessa back to your house. All I’m asking is for your permission to continue seeing her. I want to marry her. But you’re right, she is young. I can wait. There’s plenty of time for you to know me. For you to see that I will cherish and protect your daughter forever.”
He’s so exhausted that his voice comes out in a rasp. Still, his sincerity is undeniable. Even my parents can hear it. Without wanting it, their anger fades. They exchange anxious glances.
“She stays here,” my mother says.
“You visit her here,” my father says.
“Agreed,” Mikolaj nods.
It’s not what I want, not really. I understand that he’s trying to do this for me, to preserve my relationship with my family. And also to give me time to grow up a little more. To be certain of what I want in the long term.
But I already know what I want.
I want Mikolaj. I want to go back to the house where every day with him is like a dream more vivid than reality. I want to go home.
In the weeks that follow, I sink into a new routine. I’m sleeping in my old bedroom. It doesn’t look the same as it did before. I got rid of the stuffed animals and the frilled pillows and the pink curtains. It’s a much plainer space now.
I haven’t gone back to Loyola. I missed too many classes this semester, and I realized that I don’t care. I was only getting that degree to make my parents happy. My real interests lie somewhere else.
Instead, every day, I go to Lake City Ballet. I’ve almost finished my magnum opus. I work for hours and hours in the open studios, sometimes alone and sometimes with the other dancers. Marnie is designing my sets, and Serena will be dancing one of the secondary roles. I’ll be the lead. Not because I’m technically the best dancer, but because this ballet is so personal to me that I couldn’t bear to have anyone else perform it.
Jackson Wright has been so extraordinarily supportive that I’m almost afraid that he’s been kidnapped by aliens and a clone put in his place. The first time I saw him, he had a cast and sling on his arm, and he was so eager to welcome me back that he almost tripped over his own feet. He didn’t look at all his usual dapper self—hair a mess, and jumpy as hell, startling every time someone tapped him on the shoulder or slammed a door.
Obviously, he was sponsoring my ballet out of coercion. But as we continued working on it together, I think he actually got excited. He offered to direct it, unprompted, and he’s given me genuinely helpful advice. After rehearsal he pulls me aside and says, “I can’t believe this came out of you, Nessa. I always thought you were one-note. A pretty note, but not enough to make a whole song.”