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Vincent, or Dmitri, or whoever from the Bratva they send for me.
Now that I’m above ground, I’m weary and walking like it too. I don’t care though. I just have to get to Dad, and then we’ll know what to do and where to go when we put our heads together.
It was all on him the last time we had to make a grand escape. I was a mess, and I wouldn’t have known what the hell to do. Back then, he had Sasha. Now, it’s just me, and we’ll make this happen.
I walk faster, passing a man carrying balloons when I see Dad’s apartment block come into view. There’s another guy at the corner with more balloons. People are always selling things on this road. They’re not allowed to do it, but they still do it, until the cops catch them. I know that some pretend to sell what they’re selling, but really it’s an elaborate setup to sell drugs. I used to wonder if that was how Dad got hooked.
It was always strange to me that he would turn to them when it was the thing that helped take Sasha’s life. I’ve never had the curiosity take me to try it. Not once. There was a time back in college when it was offered to me, and I refused.
I go into the building and head to the elevator. The doors open. A woman and five small boisterous children with their faces painted pile out. It takes her a minute to get them under control and away from the entrance before I can get in. She offers an apologetic smile, and I return it.
I always pray that one day, when I’m not so screwed up, maybe I might think of having a family. I’d want kids, and I’d hope to happen on kind strangers if they got out of control the way those little ones were.
I shake my head at myself. That life is for someone else. I have to make it to the next minute and hope I can take care of Dad too.
As for Florida and my piece on Coral… well, that was always a dream and clearly not meant to be. I can’t do it. There’s no way I can do it. It’s far too risky.
I was thinking Dad and I could leave the city tonight. We could take the bus across the country. Maybe toward somewhere like Arizona, and then we could leave the country from there.
It’s going to be hard to stay on track and be ahead of people like the guys we’re dealing with.
They’re always one step ahead. Always. The only way we escaped last time was because they thought we were dead. That’s how. While my father was Pakhan, I didn’t really know anything about the business. Women are always kept out of business. It was Dad who taught me all I needed to know when we left Russia. Just so I could keep safe. Our Bratva had access to so much. So damn much. They were like an army. You don’t mess with people like that.
The elevator doors open, and I rush out, grateful to see Dad’s apartment door. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait to tell him what’s happened. He’s the only person who’s been able to take care of me and calm me down.
I never had to give him details of the horror I went through. He just knew. He knew and healed me.
I rush up to the door but stop in my tracks when I see it’s open. The door is slightly ajar. Dad never leaves the door like that. There’s never a reason to. He lives on the third floor so wouldn’t keep it open like the people on the first floor who might be unloading groceries from their cars.
A slither of panic crawls down my spine, and I swallow hard.
I open my mouth to call out to him, but I think better of it.Never do that, Ava. No.
My lungs constrict when I push the door open slowly. My nerves are tingling on high alert.
There’s an ominous presence about the place, and cigar smoke.
Cubans with apple smoked wood. It’s a specific smell. A smell I came to associate with Dmitri.
My hands start to shake at the thought, my soul quivers, and the icy tendrils of fear work its way through my body.
I take one step and another. The hallway is clear, but the smell… that smell gets stronger. Is Dmitri here?
Jesus, is he here? If he found me atEscada, then what was to stop him from finding Dad?
Ava Knight
Mark Knight.
If Ava Knight could be found, then people would know that her father is listed as Mark Knight, and they’d be able to find out where he lived. It’s not like we lived in secret.
I take another step, and another, following the pungency of the cigar smoke. It leads me to the living room and to my biggest nightmare.
A scream rips from my throat before my brain processes what I’m seeing before me.
Dad…
He’s hanging from the beam on the ceiling with his eyes gouged out and the words:
