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Holy hell, my father is trying to break my hand.
“Stop it,” I yell, getting to my feet. I attempt to kick him but he’s fast and is unfazed.
“Fine,” I scream. “Break my hand. Take my money. You’re going to do what you want anyway. But just know that your grandchild will never know you. You’ll never see his face. You’ll never hold him or hear him laugh or cry.Never!”
The pressure ceases a bit. I’ve thrown him off course. “What? Mywhat?” he demands.
Yeah, take that, you fucker.
I’m nauseous from the pain in my hand and look for something on his desk to hit him with. A letter opener or a stapler. Anything. But there’s nothing within reach, as if he cleared it before I arrived.
“Yes,Father,” I spit, “you’re going to be agrandfather, you bastard! And you will never meet the child!Never,” I hiss with satisfaction.
Just then, a crash at the office door distracts him. I wrest my hand away as Bogdan, Ilya, and Fedor barge in. Bogdan pulls me out of the way, and Ilya and Fedor descend on my father with their guns drawn.
I begin to shake with relief, my knees buckle, and the tears start. Bogdan supports me, pulling me to him, stroking my back, and whispering calming words in my ear.
But I have only one concern. “My mother, Bogdan. Where is my mother?”
He smiles at my worry. “She’s back at the villa. We thought it best that she not come. Besides, someone needed to watch the puppy.”
I give a small laugh. Relief washes over me like a comforting blanket, which I desperately need amidst this flood of emotions hitting me from all sides.
My dad’s hands are behind his back, zip-tied, and Ilya and Fedor lead him toward the door.
“Abby, before we… take care of your father, what was it you said about him becoming agrandfather?” Ilya asks.
Oh yes, that. I hadn’t wanted them to know just yet.
But too late. I grin. I can’t help it.
All three guys look at me, their eyes wide. “Are you serious?” Fedor asks.
“Yeah. Was that some sort of joke?” Bogdan adds as my dad glowers at each of them.
I wipe my tears as the ugliness of the past hour is eclipsed by the good, if unbelievable, crazy as hell, news. And resulting happiness. “It’s no joke,” I say, beaming. “Yes, he’s going to be a grandfather.”
Silence.
So I help them along. Men can be so thick-headed. “This means you guys are going to befathers.”
More silence.
Guess I need to show them the damn pregnancy test, which Mom got for me when she went into town. The wordMomfeels good in my mouth.
“Holy fucking shit,” Ilya mumbles after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.
And because of course, my father butts in to try and ruin the moment. “Iknewyou were doing these gangsters, you little whore!” he shouts.
Uh-oh.
He should have kept his big mouth shut, especially with his hands tied behind his back, because Fedor pops him in the mouth. Not hard enough to knock him out, but it does quiet him as blood seeps down his chin and onto his expensive shirt.
It’s a sad sight. Pathetic, too. And after all that’s happened, I find I still have compassion for him. He’s a damaged man, clearly, and that’s not going to change. I am sad for him. So sad.
Sad for me, too.
“Abby,” Bogdan asks, still holding me upright, “what do you want us to do with your father? You decide.”
