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Not exactly ideal, was it?
He stared at Father, not looking at me, and I knew there was no reason for him to call out, none other than to save my father from choking me to death in a furniture store just off the East Side.
Without another glance at me, Father snarled, “Cover that up, and if you let him see, next time, no one will be around to save you when I punish you.”
He stalked off, and I slumped into the wall as I tried to get air into my lungs.
Father veered off in a different direction to the lane in which Maxim was standing, so when I shot him a look, our gazes connected.
His was concerned, but I tipped my chin up, silently telling him I was okay.
He frowned, glanced at Father, then flared his fingers in a small wave before he shuffled off, striding after his boss and leaving me the hell alone.
Only when they’d left did I truly sag into the wall and let myself collapse to the floor.
For a second, I breathed a little too hard, a little too long. It was like over breathing. Trying to make up for the air I’d lost, trying to suck down what had been denied to me.
I wasn’t surprised when Lisandra found me a few minutes later, and her arm came around me even as she crouched down at my side.
“I hate him,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against mine.
“Me too,” I rasped, and I winced at the sound of my voice.
I sounded…choked.
How fitting.
She tensed, then muttered, “We should kill him.”
Her words had me smiling, even as I reached up and touched my throat. “How bad?”
Her bottom lip was sucked between her teeth. “Bad. Like really pink and white, kinda. Splotchy.” She removed the scarf she’d been wearing like a jaunty handkerchief around her neck, and carefully rearranged it around mine to hide the marks.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had to watch my father punish me, nor was it the first time she’d helped me cover up in the aftermath.
She didn’t understand why I didn’t go to the cops, didn’t understand why I let him do it, but the Bratva Pakhan did what he wanted, authorities be damned.
And I figured that was in my eyes, that she picked up on that, even though she didn’t really know who my dad was, because she came from a world where criminals didn’t go to the best schools and rub shoulders with kids like her.
She just thought I was the same.
Elite.
Rich.
I wasn’t.
I just played at being like her.
But even though she wasn’t aware of all the details, she knew enough not to get involved. I’d warned her that he’d make it harder on me, and that I’d have to lie to her when it happened if I thought she was a threat to the status quo. And that was something she’d taken seriously.
“Are you going to tell Eoghan?”
The question surprised me. “Why do you ask?”
“Because” —she winced— “you can see his fingers. There’s no way that’s not going to stick around for a few days.”
Despite my earlier resolution not to hope, I decided that was my best option.
