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I know now that it’s no longer about me, and that realization hurts.
It troubles me knowing that it means more to my father to kill Nikolai than to rescue me. But I no longer want to be saved.
I no longer need to be saved.
I watch Nikolai’s profile as the car speeds back to Manhattan, and I think about our conversation. He’ll never leave the Bratva. It’s become his purpose not only to protect me but them.
I understand. The Bratva is our family.
“Are you going there?” I ask quietly.
He starts as if he’s forgotten I’m in the car. “I have to see the damage myself.” He pauses. “We have to figure out who’s responsible.”
We both know who’s responsible.
I’m dropped off at the penthouse as Nikolai and his men head for the port in their SUVs. I exit the Mercedes in the underground parking deck, and I inhale the humid air coming in from the outside grates before I walk to the elevator. Only a few months ago, I was forced into that elevator, and now I hurry eagerly to get in. I return to my old room for privacy, and my heart pounds as I tap my father’s number into my phone.
He has to listen to me. I’m the only one who wants him to stay alive. The rings stretch on for eternity as I think of what to say. Finally, his gruff voice answers, and I launch into him.
“How could you?” I ask.
“Eden.” He inhales deeply, and for a second, I think the call has dropped. “Where are you?”
“I’m safe, Dad.” I try to keep my voice even. “Just in case you care.”
“Safe?” His tone builds with parental fury that makes my stomach churn. “Tell me where you are.Now.”
“I didn’t call you for you to interrogate me. Dad, you have to stop this.” My voice cracks with emotion. “You’re killing people who had nothing to do with Mom. You almost …” My voice trails off.
You almost killed me. You almost killed your grandchild.
“Eden, it was an accident,” he quickly explains. The phone is silent, but I know he’s still there.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I sit down in a chair and stare out the window, not seeing a thing but thinking about everything. “You still pulled the trigger,” I say softly.
“You threw yourself in front of him! There was nothing I could do to stop the bullet.”
“You didn’t stay to find out if I was okay.”
“I’d be dead if I had,” he replies gruffly. “And you’ll never get away if that happens.”
I stare out the window, watching the trees in the park as hints of red and yellow start dotting their green tops. I debated whether to tell my father about the turmoil in my heart. But I don’t.
I want to reach him, but a part of me no longer trusts him.
“It wouldn’t matter if we were both dead,” I reply. “And I think you know that.”
“They’re manipulating you, Eden!” Dad’s voice becomes urgent. “Can’t you see that? They’ve got your mind warped with some crazy Stockholm Syndrome.” He softens his voice. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come save you.”
The sugary tone of his voice snaps me out of my melancholy. “Don’t,” I warn him coldly. “Leave these people alone.”
“You’re protectinghim?” he snaps back. “What has he done to you?”
“Him?” I scoff. “You mean Nikolai Starukhin, the man who saved my life after you shot me?”
Dad breathes heavily. The conversation is exhausting him. I can tell he wants to order me around as if we’re still at home, but he can’t. Not anymore.
“Are they listening?” he asks in a ragged voice. “Are they telling you to say that?”
