AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You did a good thing,” she murmurs reassuringly.
“But?” Pyotr asks, detecting something in her tone I hadn’t.
“I’m just worried that if you keep messing with the Zhivoder’s income like this, they’re going to escalate. I just don’t want you to start a war.” Fear is evident in her tone. “I mean, I’m sure Nicolo would provide us with more weapons. My brother’s happy to help in whatever way he can, but wars are bloody, and they cost too much in human life. We got married to avoid a war between our families, and now here you are, provoking another.”
I can’t help but steal a glance at the young couple single-handedly trying to rule a vast and powerful Bratva like the Veles. It’s a dangerous game we play, and I fully understand Silvia’s concern. At the same time, I will back Pyotr, whatever it takes. After what I saw today, I want those child molesters to pay.
Stepping forward, I catch Silvia’s eyes with mine, speaking up, though I never do so. “I promise you that no matter what it takes, Pyotr will be safe,” I vow. “I am here to protect him, to give my life for his if necessary. And if it takes a war to rid this world of the Zhivoder scum, then we are ready.”
13
DANI
“You’re grounded. For a week,” Mom states, jabbing the kitchen table with her finger as she stares me down over her reading glasses. She looks like the perfect image of a principal scolding a student for having gone off campus and broken the rules.
“You can’t be serious,” I object. “I’m nineteen, for Christ’s sake.”
My parents were so furious with me when I arrived home late yesterday afternoon that they sent me to my room without speaking to me. The lingering threat of “we’ll deal with you in the morning” hung over me all night, keeping me awake into the early hours of the morning, though I knew I had school today.
“Well, maybe if you acted like an adult, we could treat you like one. But as long as you live under this roof, you follow our rules,” Dad interjects, his expression thunderous as he hovers behind my mother’s seat.
Deep circles rim his blue eyes, reminding me that he’s probably under an immense amount of stress at work right now. And I’m not helping. I hate to see him so distressed. And guild weighs me down as I recall vividly the devastating impact I could have on my father’s health.
Ben’s always been the rebellious one, turning my father’s hair gray prematurely with his reckless stunts. The most recent one—when paparazzi managed to get photos of him snorting cocaine at some trust fund baby’s late-night house party—had nearly killed my father.
Dad suffered a major episode when that story made the front page. He ended up in the hospital with major heart palpitations that bordered on a panic attack. And the doctor told him then that if he wasn’t more proactive about managing his stress, he might have a heart attack.
Even Ben’s put in considerable effort to do better after that. But like my brother always says, I’m the good child. The one my parentsdon’thave to worry about. Which makes my guilt that much more strangling when I think of what my rebellion could lead to.
Still, frustration roils inside me after I came home to find I’m trapped in the same glass cage where my parents have always kept me.
“You don’t get to leave town without telling us where you’re going, who you’re going with, and when you plan on being back. We were worried sick!” Mom scolds.
“That is so unfair. I texted you where I was,” I argue, slouching in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Yes,hoursafter you threw that little temper tantrum and went storming out of the house,” she retorts. “Speaking of texting, hand over your phone.”
“What?”
My mom thrusts her hand forward, palm out, silently demanding I hand it over. “Your phone. It’s mine. No texting, no visiting with friends, no field trips to the parks. You can go to school and come straight home. For the next week, you better be exactly where we expect you to be at all times. And if you test me on this, so help me, I will lock you in your room for a month.”
“Mom!” I object, jerking upright in my chair. “Dad, you can’t possibly think this is reasonable.”
But when I look at his haggard face, I find my resistance crumbling. Because as much as I hate the confines of my life, I don’t want to be the reason my dad ends up in the hospital again. As ridiculous as his rules might be, I know how much he loves me. That’s partly why he stresses so much.
“Danielle, listen to your mother,” he orders flatly, his lips an unforgiving straight line.
Angry tears sting my eyes as I look between my parents. Against their united front, I don’t stand a chance. And I know that pushing things further could end with devastating consequences. Shoving my hand in my back pocket, I yank out my phone and slap it into my mom’s palm.
“Fine, happy?” I snap. “Now I can’t possibly fuck up your picture-perfect family image.” I know it’s unfair, that their concern isn’tentirelyabout our public image. But right now, I’m so mad, I can hardly see straight. Shoving my chair back, I rise from the kitchen table without having touched my breakfast.
“Dani!” my mom gasps, appalled at my behavior.
But I don’t care. After one of the best weekends of my life spent with Efrem, who I’m falling harder for by the minute, I crash-landed back into reality. And this smothering life I’ve endured for so long suddenly feels suffocating.
Snatching my backpack from the floor, I flee toward the front door.
The pattern feels all too familiar as I storm down the steps of my home without a word to Booker, and he watches me go without a word. Only this time, I take a sharp right toward the subway and school.
