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“Yes, Father?”
His gruff voice comes through. “Caterina. I need you to do something for me.”
My stomach drops. Nothing good ever follows those words.
“What is it?” I ask cautiously.
“You know very well. I need the information on his computer—bank accounts, contacts, everything. You must get me access.”
I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. “You want me to steal from him? Absolutely not!”
Father snarls. “Watch your tone, girl. You know what happens to those who defy me.”
A chill runs down my spine at the unspoken threat. But I will not waver, not when I know I’m in the right.
“I refuse. I won’t help you hurt him.” My voice comes out steady, betraying none of the anxiety swirling within.
“You dare disobey me? I am still head of this family!” he roars.
“Mikhail is family too, remember? You made him my husband,” I counter. “I won’t let you use me to destroy that.”
Heavy silence fills the line before Father speaks again, ice in his tone. “You’ll regret this, Caterina. Mark my words.”
The call ends abruptly. I lower the phone with a shaking hand, heart pounding against my ribs. I’ve never defied him so blatantly before. But for Mikhail, for our daughter, I will brave anything—even my father’s wrath.
I retreat to my bed, exhausted in body and spirit. My limbs feel heavy, each step an effort as I make my way to the large canopy bed. Sinking into the plush mattress, I close my eyes, hoping for the blissful oblivion of sleep.
Exhaustion wars with anxiety as I dwell on my father’s threat. I’ve challenged his authority, refused a direct order. There will be consequences. But whatever comes, I must protect my daughter and the man I love.
I stare up at the darkened ceiling, searching for answers that fail to materialize. My lids grow heavy and I fall into a restless sleep.
***
Morning light streams in as I stir awake, the haze of sleep slowly receding. Today I must pick up Emiliana from school. The simple normalcy of the routine grounds me, offering a brief respite from the chaos that has engulfed my life.
I move through my morning ablutions methodically, taking comfort in the familiar patterns. Dressing for the first half of the day, eating breakfast, working out, showering, sipping coffee, reading the paper.
I burn time, and then get into the car.
Arriving at the school, I immediately sense something is wrong. I don’t see Emiliana, and none of her friends are waiting outside as usual. My heart begins to pound as I rush inside. Emiliana’s teacher, Mrs. Gordon, meets me with a grave expression.
“Mrs. Zolotov, there is no easy way to say this. Emiliana appears to be missing.” Her words drop like stones in my stomach.
“What? What do you meanmissing?” I demand, panic creeping into my voice.
Mrs. Gordon shakes her head helplessly. “She was here earlier today. But now we cannot find her.”
My knees go weak, a rushing sound filling my ears. I grip the doorframe for support. Not my Emiliana. This can’t be happening. A cold dread seizes my entire body. I must find my daughter.
I barrage Mrs. Gordon with questions, desperate for any shred of information. When was Emiliana last seen? Did she mention anything out of the ordinary? Has anyone searched the grounds?
The teacher can provide few answers, only that Emiliana was present during lessons but failed to show up after recess. My heart drops, imagining my little girl wandering off alone, vulnerable.
I rush outside, calling Emiliana’s name at the top of my lungs. Only empty echoes respond. Frantic, I accost her classmates playing nearby. Their wide eyes and confused expressions offer no clues.
Returning inside, I beg the staff to view security footage, to alert local authorities. Time blurs as we scour each corner, every possible hiding spot. But there is no sign of my dark-haired angel.
As the sun sinks lower, my hope fades with it. Each minute that passes without Emiliana feels like an eternity. My mind spirals with terrifying thoughts of what may have happened. Vivid images of her scared and crying, or worse—lying lifeless in a ditch somewhere.
