Page 46 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

My phone rings. It’s my father. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He wants to meet with me.I jump in my car and drive to a café close to his campaign offices. I’d rather get this over with than postpone it, because there’s already enough tension in my life.

It’s not a coincidence that my father called on the same day that Smith showed up and Bowman’s assistant reached out. There’s a play happening here, and I need to be particularly careful with how I handle it.

I find my father sitting at a corner table, out of sight, sipping slowly from his cappuccino. He looks exhausted, shadows lurk under his eyes, and a three-day-old stubble grayer than the last time I saw him covers his jaw.

I guess it’s true what they say about politics eating people alive.

“Caffeine at this late hour?” I quip, taking my seat across the table from him.

“I have to be back in the office after this,” Dad says, eyeing me closely. “You don’t look so spry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I had a long day, that’s all.”

“I imagine you did. With a federal agent coming to see you.”

I stare at him for a long, heavy second. “You called right after he left. Did you have me followed, Dad?”

“Not followed. I just asked a few folks to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re okay.”

“You could’ve asked me,” I reply, anger sending a noticeable tremor through my voice. “What is going on here? What’s this whole cloak and dagger nonsense?”

“Cloak and dagger nonsense? Lyric, you’re the one associating with dangerous criminals! Did you think I wouldn’t hear about it?”

He’s furious. I see it now. Absolutely furious.

“I figured you would hear about it, but you don’t know all the facts yet,” I say. “I’m not associating with dangerous criminals.”

“You posted Sokolov’s bail.”

I roll my eyes and tell him the same thing I told Smith, though the lie does roll off a tad easier from my tongue the second time around. “So, you see, it’s nothing to worry about. All I did was give them their money back.”

My father studies my face with the curiosity of a mad scientist about to crack a body wide open, a muscle twitching furiously in his jaw. “You know the difference between Director Smith and me is that I raised you, right Lyric? I know you better than most. And I know I didn’t raise a bumbling idiot, so why are you trying to play one?”

“What do you mean?” I’d blush and take it as a compliment under different circumstances.

“There is something going on with you and the Sokolov’s, Lyric. I don’t know whether or not you’re engaging in some kind of liaison with one of them, or if it’s something else. But whatever it is, it needs to stop.”

“Dad, forgive me, but where do you get off telling me what I can and cannot do? I’m an adult.”

“Sooner or later, those bastards are going to get what they deserve. They will be arrested, and everyone around them is likely to go down with them. It’s part of my campaign promise. I intend to make it happen, and I’ve got Bowman and Smith’s support. The FBI is behind me on this, along with several other divisions of the Justice Department. Lyric, this will not end well for them, and I certainly don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. Do not let this moment of, let’s call it temporary insanity, steer you away from your true calling.”

I can’t help but scoff, shaking my head in disappointment. “Do you even know who it is you’re teaming up with? Do you have any idea as to who’s got your back or who the Sokolov’s really are? Because I’ve got a feeling that you’re just parroting popular campaign promises to get votes, but you don’t know what you’re truly signing up for.”

“And you do?” he laughs. “You, the kid who has her nose stuck in books and computer programs all day? I’ve been working in politics since you were a baby. I know more about this than you ever will, which is why I’m here talking to you. Father to daughter, adult to adult. Be reasonable.”

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s being unreasonable.”

Truth be told, I can’t trust my father. I understood that long before the Sokolov’s came along. He’s let me down in so many different ways over the years, especially after Mom died. This is just one of the many instances where I can see that we’re fundamentally different people.

“Lyric, I love you more than anything in this world,” he leans forward, a gentle gaze scanning my face. “I promised your mother I’d keep you safe. I offered you an opportunity to work with me, to stay close to me.”

“You just want to use my algorithm for your own political benefits. Please, don’t pull the Dad card. Like you said, I’m not a bumbling idiot.”

“Regardless of my reasons, you still have that choice,” he insists. “You can stay close to me, or you can pull yourself farther away. But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like where the latter takes you, honey. And when the shitstorm that’s about to hit the Sokolov’s engulfs you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you out of it.”

I’ve had enough. It’s been a long day, made only longer and more insurmountable by unexpected interventions. The last thing I need right now is a lecture from a man whom I could never follow, whose example I was never inspired by, regardless of our blood ties and affections.

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