Page 2 of The Pakhan’s Heir

“Put it in her room, idiot,” he says in terse Russian. His man doesn’t even respond. He just nods and backs out of the kitchen.

“Papa?”

“Yes, my darling daughter.”

“Is everything all right around here?” He starts cutting the pie and slows down a little, his smile fading. “I mean, you used four of your guys to pick me up. You haven’t done that since I was little.”

He sighs and puts a piece of pie on my plate, handing it to me, then he cuts himself a slice. “Must we talk business so soon?” he says. “I’d rather hear about your studies.”

That’s bullshit, actually. All he cares about is whether or not I’m doing well. Anything outside of that, he’s not particularly interested in. “I’m doing all right,” I tell him, feeding him the line he’s looking for. “And you’re changing the subject.”

He sighs again as he pulls an ice cream scooper out of the drawer. I’ve noticed that he hasn’t looked directly at me since I brought this up. Oh, boy. Whatever is going on, it must be big.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as my stomach flutters nervously.

“Everything is fine,” he says, and I know immediately that it’s a lie. “Things are a little tense around town. I was just taking some extra measures, that’s all.”

“Extra measures.” Uh-oh. That could mean a lot of things. He scoops out the ice cream and puts it on both our plates of pie, then joins me at the table. “Am I… are we in danger?”

He shovels a big forkful of pie into his mouth and shakes his head. “No,” he says through a mouthful. “I will just have someone chaperone you for maybe a week or two, while you’re home. It’s no big deal.”

If I were to listen to just his tone, I might believe him. He has a way of speaking when he doesn’t want to let me know that something is very wrong. Kind of like how a person talks to a dog when they don’t want them to know they’re going to the vet instead of a walk. It’s a little too soft and a little too casual.

But… I have to take that explanation. Pushing the issue isn’t worth breaking up this moment. After all, I just got here. Better to keep things friendly for now.

The sound of men talking wakes me. The low voices rumble against the floor and the walls.

No one’s shouting or arguing. I don’t think they are, anyway. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes, then I look over at my phone charging on my nightstand. It’s after midnight. Who could Papa be meeting with at this hour?

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pad toward the door. As soon as I put my hand on the doorknob, an inexplicable rush of fear shoots through me.

Something in me is telling me to go back to bed. Ignore the talking. It doesn’t concern me. I should do exactly that, too. Go back to bed, back to sleep. Everything’s fine, just like Papa said earlier.

I don’t really want to, though. The way my father brushed me off in the kitchen about why four of his men had to escort me home hasn’t sat well with me.

I could sneak down to his office and listen in, be back upstairs before he even knew I was there. I’ve done it hundreds of times when I was younger, and most of the time, I didn’t get caught.

Just five minutes of a conversation. Long enough for me to hear who Papa is talking to.

I leave my bedroom and walk on tiptoes to the stairs. I can hear their voices echo down the hallway leading to my father’s office. Carefully, I walk down the stairs and across the floor toward his closed office door.

I walk up to it and press my ear against the wood, listening. My father’s laughing.

“Fedor, I tell you,” he says, “we could solve a lot of problems this way. I see only benefits to our ending this whole thing.”

This whole thing. That must be what my father meant by nothing. If ‘Fedor’ is the Fedor I’m thinking of, then there must be some conflict or a war or something. Fedor Molotov and my father have been rivals since I was a little girl.

“It’s tempting,” I hear Fedor say. “We still have quite a bit to negotiate, though. I’ll have to speak with Alexandr, my other men. Contingencies will need to be made.”

“Everything can be negotiated,” my father says. “But you must agree, given your son’s disposition, this is the best solution. For us both.”

“Hmm. I can’t deny that. It’s a little archaic… but this is the kind of unity that would solve many of the conflicts between our families.”

I could jump for joy. Fedor Molotov has been a thorn in my father’s paw for ages. It’s about time they started talking peace…

The door opens suddenly, and I’m staring up at my father, the light from the office bringing shadows over his face. I stand up quickly and take several steps back as Papa stares at me, his eyes as black as night.

“Fedor,” he says without looking back, “let’s talk about this tomorrow, shall we?”