The aroma of Marfa’s delicious cooking wafts along the hallway, making my stomach growl and rousing me from my sleep. I glance at the clock and realize I’ve slept the afternoon away. Sitting up, I shake my head to clear it and rub my temples, sure now that I am definitely coming down with the flu. I wander down the stairs and along the hallway, past the kitchen towards my father’s office, my bare feet padding quietly on the wooden floor.
His door is closed, and I knock and wait to be permitted inside.
“Vkhodit,” he calls, signaling me to enter.
Opening the door, I walk inside to see him sitting at his desk with his head bent over his computer. He glances up and I smile at him. “Evening, Papa.”
“Jessica,” he nods. “Dinner will be served shortly.”
“Great. It smells delicious,” I reply as I take a seat opposite him.
He frowns at me as though my entering his office is an intrusion and an annoyance, but I’m not leaving here until I have some answers from him. He doesn’t get to rip me from my new life in New York and then refuse to speak to me about the things that are so important to me — to both of us. I had imagined that when we got to this house, we would talk long into the night, and again the next day, catching up on all we had missed in the ten years since we had last seen each other. But, he had to attend to more important matters yesterday after breakfast and I haven’t seen him since. “I’ll see you at dinner, printsessa. I have some work to finish,” he snaps.
“I need to talk to you, Papa.”
“Not now,” he says with a sigh, and the anger begins to bubble beneath my skin.
“Then when, Papa? I have been here for four whole days and you have barely spoken to me. We have so much to talk about. So much to tell each other. Don’t we? I have questions that I need answers to,” I say, aware that my voice is raised, but I will not be dismissed like a child any longer.
He narrows his eyes at me and runs a hand across his thick beard. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it, Jessica!” he snaps. “I searched for you for so very long, and now I have found you. That is all that matters.”
“Not to me, Papa.” I glare at him.
He glares back at me. His blue eyes darker than I remember. “Fine. I have five minutes,” he snaps.
“Do you know anyone named Nataliya?” I ask, recalling the man who called me by that name when I was in a club with the brothers.
His jaw clenches at the sound of her name before he quickly regains his composure. “It was your mother’s name. Before she left Russia.”
“It was? So, that was why he recognized me.” I frown into the distance as I gather my thoughts. “A man called me by that name. He must have known her, Papa. Perhaps it can help us find the Wolf?”
“What man?” he snarls.
I lean back against my chair. “I don’t know his name. And he’s dead now. But he worked for Dmitry Nureyev.”
“Dmitry knew nothing about the Wolf. You stay away from men like him.”
“But one of his men recognized me. Or he recognized Mama. He called me Nataliya.”
“Lots of people knew your Mama when we lived in Russia, printsessa. She was…” he shakes his head.
“She was what?”
For the first time since I saw him in New York, I see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. “She came from a very prominent family. She was the most beautiful woman in Moscow. She was highly prized amongst many.”
“Why did you both come to America?”
He looks behind me into the distance. “We were running from some people who wanted to kill us. Your Mama did a terrible thing.”
I blink at him. My mom was the most gentle and kindest woman I have ever known. What could she have possibly done that would have made them run so far and for so long? “What did she do?” I whisper.
His eyes dart back to me. “You look so much like her, printsessa. One day soon, you will marry into a good Russian family and make me lots of grand-babies,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I don’t want to get married, or have babies, Papa.”
He laughs softly. “Do not be ridiculous. I already have your husband in mind,” he says as he stands from his chair.
“What?” I frown at him as he reaches out his hand to me.
“He’s from a good family,” he looks down at his outstretched hand as if to emphasize that I haven’t taken it. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell him that you have been with any of those Irish pigs.”
The anger that has been bubbling beneath my skin for the past five minutes suddenly erupts out of my chest. “I did not endure two years being the plaything of the Wolf for you to marry me off to some man I’ve never even met,” I shout.
“Jessica!” he hisses, and something about the way he looks at me makes the blood freeze in my veins. “You will do as you are told.”
I am about to reply that I won’t when Marfa walks into the room. “Dinner is ready, Sir,” she says quietly.
“I have business to attend to. Jessica will be eating alone,” he snarls and then he strides out of his office, leaving me watching after him in a daze.
I sit at the dining table eating the delicious soup Marfa has prepared. Peering around the room, there is no doubting that the place is beautiful. It is full of antique furniture and enormous windows with thick, dark wooden frames. It should feel warm and full of character, but it has no soul. The staff here walk around the place like they are afraid to speak. Nobody ever calls my father by his name, referring to him as Sir or Boss. There are at least a half a dozen bedrooms, but only two are occupied as far as I can tell — mine and my fathers.
Every day dozens of Bratva men come here and meet with him, leading me to suspect he is high up in the organization. I should be doing something more. I should be finding the Wolf. But my father refuses to allow me into any of his meetings, or to share any of the information he’s learned about the elusive assassin during these past years. I mean, if he was aware the Ryan brothers were reaching out to the Wolf to hand me back, then he must have heard some whispers about where he might be.
Thoughts of the brothers bring a lump to my throat. I swallow a mouthful of soup as tears prick at my eyes. I am so lonely here. Yet, I never felt lonely at their huge penthouse. From the moment I arrived, they made me feel welcome. Why would they let me get so close if they were just using me? It makes no sense.
I place my spoon on the table as a wave of tiredness washes over me. I can’t seem to think straight lately. I need to shake whatever bug it is I’m coming down with so I can refocus on finding the man who slaughtered our family — with or without my father’s help.
