My eyes fly open and I turn beneath the covers as someone knocks loudly at the door. Blood thunders in my ears and I blink in the faint light of the room, as for a few, hearts-stopping moments, I don’t recognize any of my surroundings.
“Jessica. Your father wishes for you to join him for breakfast,” a voice calls through the closed door. The wave of relief washes over me as the deep, Russian accent reminds me I am in my father’s house. The voice belongs to Vlad, the bear-like man I first met outside the Ryan brother’s apartment building in New York three days ago. I have since learned he is my father’s most trusted soldier, and I have spoken more with Vlad these past three days than I have with my papa.
“I’ll be there soon,” I shout and the sound of my own voice, and the effort of speaking, makes my head hurt. I screw my eyes closed as the pain tightens like a band around my forehead. My throat is dry and sore and I reach for the glass of water on my nightstand. A book clatters to the floor and I remember I was reading in bed last night, but I must have dozed off mid chapter. That’s so unlike me. Ordinarily, I struggle to switch my brain off to fall asleep so easily. I take a sip of the water and it soothes my raw throat. I’m sure I’m coming down with a cold.
As I pick up the book, I glance at the front cover and the sudden rush of sadness almost overwhelms me as I recall how Conor used to read to me, and how the velvety growl of his voice always made me feel so safe and content. Surely, it wasn’t all a lie?
It’s been three days since I walked out of the penthouse apartment in New York, leaving only a note for the brothers. The four men who I thought were my new family. The men I had fallen completely in love with, and who I believed loved me too. That was all until I met a ghost who turned my world upside down and who told me that everything I believed to be true was a lie. The shock of seeing him standing there in front of me made me lose all sense of logic and reason.
I watched my father die ten years ago. He was slaughtered by an assassin who killed my entire family and then kidnapped me before keeping me prisoner for almost two years. Except, that now I’m forced to believe that my papa didn’t die at all. Somehow, he survived that attack and he has been looking for me ever since.
The tears spring to my eyes as I run my hand over the smooth book cover, tracing my fingertips over the gold embossed letters of Leo Tolstoy’s name. A few days ago, I was the happiest I had been in my adult life. Seeing my father again and learning that he is alive should make me happy too. But, I can’t stop thinking about everything that I’ve left behind. I have so many questions that when I have the opportunity to ask one, I become tongue tied and don’t know where to start. This isn’t helped by the fact that whilst my father promised me he would answer all my queries, I have barely seen him since we arrived at this house.
My memory of my drive to this place is something of a daze. I remember holding my father’s hand. We drank some zavarka – Russian tea, and the next thing I knew, we were here, and my father had to rush off to attend to some urgent business. Vlad has since told me he’s had lots of pressing matters to attend to recently, and from everything I have witnessed here so far, my father works for the Bratva, and is very close to the top. I hope he is still searching for the Wolf as well as me. Surely, he must be?
I jump out of bed and walk to the bathroom. If my father wants me to have breakfast with him, perhaps I will finally get some answers.
Once I’ve showered and dressed, I make my way downstairs and into the large dining room to find my father already seated and waiting for me.
“Good morning, printsessa. Come. Eat with me,” he says with a smile as he gestures to the place setting opposite him.
“Morning, Papa,” I say as I slide into the seat.
He reaches out and cups my chin with his palm. “You look tired. Are you feeling well?” he frowns.
“I think I’m coming down with something.”
“I’ll have Marfa make you some more of her soup,” he says with a nod. “You’ll be feeling better in no time.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I smile. Marfa is a wonderful cook and she has been feeding me up since I got here.
As though he has conjured her with the mere mention of her name, Marfa walks into the room carrying a tray of zavarka, ponchiki and pancakes and sets them down before us with a polite nod of her head. I have hardly heard her speak more than two words since my arrival, despite me trying to engage her in conversation on many occasions. After she leaves the room, my father piles his plate high, and I smile as I watch him eat. He never used to have such a sweet tooth. I much prefer coffee and cereal for breakfast myself, but Marfa makes delicious traditional Russian food, and I take some pancakes and put them onto my plate.
While my father continues enjoying his breakfast, I pick up my fork, but my hand hovers over my food. “Can we talk about what happened, Papa?” I ask, and he frowns deeply.
“Jessica! We are eating!”
“I realize that. But I need to know what happened. You said we could talk.”
He places his silverware down onto the table and stares at me, and I swallow under his intense gaze. When I arrived here a few days earlier, I waited up for him after he was called away on business, but I fell asleep in the large armchair by a roaring fire in the sitting room. The following morning he had left again before I was awake. The only other times I have seen him, he has been in a hurry, or we have been eating and he has admonished me for spoiling his appetite.
“What do you want to know?” he asks with a deep sigh.
“That night at our house. How did you get out of there?”
“I told you, it was a miracle. I woke up in a hospital bed. You were gone and your mother and brothers were dead.”
“Do you know why it happened? Why the Wolf came for us?”
“Your mother and I left Russia because we were running from the Bratva.”
“The mob?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you running?”
He closes his eyes for a moment and runs a hand over his beard. “That is too long a story for this morning, printsessa. Perhaps some other time.”
“But, Papa.”
“Jessica!” he interrupts me. “Can we not just enjoy our breakfast? I have been searching for you for ten long years. We have the rest of our lives to discuss this chepukha!”
I bite back the disappointment that surges through my chest, remembering how much time this man had for me when I was a child and how he loved to answer the many questions I used to constantly ask him. But, I suppose watching your wife and children being slaughtered and searching for your daughter for ten years changes a man.
“Can I ask one more question, Papa?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Go on.”
“Have you ever come close to finding the Wolf?”
The vein pulses in his temple as he clenches his jaw shut. “No,” he snarls. “But now I have you to help me. You are the only person who has ever seen his face, printsessa. Together, we will find him.”
Finally, something we can agree on. “We will, Papa.”
That seems to please him too and he reaches for my hand. “Now that you are back by my side where you belong, there is nothing we can’t do,” he smiles.
“You work for the Bratva now, Papa?” I ask as I cut into my pancake.
He laughs softly. “You could say that,” he nods as he pops a ponchiki into his mouth.
“Is that how you found me?”
“I thought we agreed only one more question, printsessa?” he snaps.
“I’m just making conversation,” I smile.
He shakes his head softly in exasperation, but he answers me. “No. I found you because the Ryan brothers were trying to make contact with the Wolf so they could hand you back to him.”
The breath catches in my throat at the mention of their name and another wave of sadness washes over me. I open my mouth to ask more questions, but my father shoots me a look that makes me close it again. My head is throbbing and I am so tired despite having slept for almost ten hours. I still have far too many questions and I still know little more about anything than I did when I arrived here.
“They told you only what you wanted to hear, printsessa,” he says as he places his large rough hand over mine. “Don’t feel bad about being taken in by them. They are professionals.”
I nod my agreement. Because the man who raised me, the one who taught me all I know, he would never lie to me.
