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“You know why, Eve,” my father says when we are back in the car. He speaks gently, but his words are sharp. “The Volkov family is ruthless. Sociopathic, even. They aren’t going to stop until we give them what they want.”
The police interviewed me at the hospital since I was closest to the bomb. They wanted to know if I knew anything, but I didn’t. I do, of course. My dad is right about that. I know exactly why this happened. But I don’t tell them, and my clean record comforts the detectives into believing me.
“You could have died,” my dad says, shaking his head. “You could have been killed, Eve. Do you understand that?”
My father pulled me from the smoke after the bomb. Too stunned to move, I just laid there, staring open-mouthed at the hole in the ground that had once been Samuel and his car. Even if I’d wanted to crawl away, my arms and legs were jelly. My father wrapped an arm around my waist and tried to walk me away, but he ended up having to carry me to the ambulance.
I’ve never been close to the violence of my father’s life. He kept me away from it in my childhood, and unlike Chiara, I had no interest in being involved with it in my teenage years. I focused on school and my future. I set my sights on getting away from the Bratva life even if I knew it wasn’t possible to entirely escape. I wanted distance, but that hard-earned distance had been cut away and blown to pieces in the past week. Whether I wanted it or not, the violence had found me, and now I had no choice but to face it.
“This won’t stop until they get what they want, Eve.” My father turns to look at me, his eyes pleading. I know what he wants me to do, but I can’t. “They will kill our family one by one for no reason other than they can. They do not need a motive for attack. I strike for profit or territory or revenge, but the Volkovs are ruthless. They kill because they enjoy it, and right now, we are their targets.”
I remember Luka’s words from the night at the restaurant. He told me my father was responsible for the deaths of some of the Volkov family members. I don’t know if it is true, though it probably is. I want to ask him about it. I want to know what the reason behind that attack was, but I know it won’t make a difference, either way. The truth remains that the Volkov family have their eyes set on me and my father is inclined to give them what they want.
“First, Cal Higgs,” he says, lifting one finger from the steering wheel. “His death was a warm-up. Not a Furino, but close enough to the family to scare you. Now, Samuel Notarianni.” He lifts a second finger and shakes his head, his lower lip puckering with emotion. “There is no way to know who will be next, Eve. But we do know how to end this.”
Guilt presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Samuel died because of me. Cal died because of me. Who else? How many more deaths can hang over my head before I’m crushed beneath the weight? How much more bloodshed can I handle before I crack?
“I marry Luka,” I say numbly.
My father nods. “That is the only way.”
We fall into silence, and I stare out the window as he drives. My head pounds from the bombing and my vision is blurry from smoke and fatigue. I’m weary to my bones. Weary of running and fighting. Weary of resisting the path in front of me, the path that I’ve been pushed down since I was born.
“Will you do it?” my father asks quietly. “To end this feud and save your family? Will you marry Luka Volkov?”
My eyes burn with the desire to cry, but there are no tears left. I’m used up. Spent. So, I clear the thickness from my throat and look through the windshield at the road in front of me, facing it head on.
“I will.”
8
Luka
I’ve attended too many funerals. Bratva life is violent, and death comes with the territory. The dead men knew that. So why do their families sob and cry so much? I’ve never understood.
Until now.
Artur Karlovsky was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. I didn’t even know he was at the cocaine lab that night until we uncovered his body later. I’d walked in with the goal of speaking to Simon and intimidating him into revealing his true allegiances, and I didn’t see anything else beyond that. Had I known Artur was there, I may have tried to protect him. I may have done my best to cover his back. As it was, I looked out for myself and myself alone. Something like guilt claws at my stomach.
“God, these songs are endless,” my father says, shifting in his seat. “Luckily, this is the last one we have to attend for a while.”
The other two funerals were the day before—the same day as the funeral for Cal Higgs. I wonder if Eve felt a similar kind of guilt at the loss of her boss. She mourned after she found him dead in his car. Did she cry again at the funeral? Part of me wanted to attend and see for myself, but it would have been an unnecessary risk.
“I don’t even remember who is in the casket,” my father says. “They all begin to blur together after so many.”
“Artur Karlovsky.”
I feel him turn to look at me, but I don’t meet his eyes.
“A friend of yours?”
I nod.
I think, for a moment, he might reach out and comfort me the way other members of the family are comforting one another. Between songs, other soldiers have been getting up and sharing stories about Artur, remembering him fondly. I wish I had a particular memory of him to share. I liked him, but nothing specific comes to mind.
Instead of offering comfort, my father chuckles under his breath. “Don’t tell me you are grieving this soldier.”
My jaw clenches. “He died defending our family.”
