Page 13 of Big Bold Gambler

Before I can look up and go back to watching the intruder, a hand grabs me by the hair, yanking me back. I scream as my phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor. I thrash against the hold, but another arm locks like iron bars across my middle. The hand in my hair disappears, but a second later it’s back, pressing a wet, sour-smelling cloth to my face.

I fight harder, but when I take a forced deep breath, my head starts to swim. Someone’s talking to me. Words barked out in a language I don’t know. But I barely hear them over my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Everything goes black.

When I open my eyes again, it feels like I just blinked. Like no time has passed and I simply shut my eyes for a split second. But, I know immediately that isn’t true. Everything is different. I’m somewhere that smells like rust and dirt and something stale. Squinting past the fluorescent lights, I look around at my surrounding. I’m tied to a chair in what looks like a warehouse, surrounded by stacks of old crates. My wrists are bound to the arms of a wooden chair, and my ankles are taped to the chair legs. My whole body aches and my head feels fuzzy and staticky.The whole place is cold and silent, like it’s been abandoned for years.

A few inches away, I see someone else slumped in another chair. It takes a second for my brain to catch up, but then I realize it’s my dad. He’s tied down too, his head hanging to one side. I can see a cut on his forehead, dried blood matting his hair.

“Dad?” I whisper, my voice hoarse and barely loud enough to hear. He doesn’t move. Panic claws at my chest, and I feel a desperate need to wake him up. I try to twist my hands free, but the ropes dig into my skin, so I shove my leg sideways, reaching out with my foot to tap against his chair.

“Dad, come on… please, wake up,” I say, my voice breaking as I kick at his chair.

Finally, after several sharp kicks to the side of his chair, he stirs. His eyes flutter open, and he blinks, like he’s adjusting to the dark. His face goes from dazed to alert in a second, and for a moment, he doesn’t look confused at all. Instead, it’s like he’s…ready? I don’t know how, but he looks almost prepared for this as if he’s been through this kind of thing before.

“Dad, are you okay. Do you know what’s happening?” My voice is shaking, but all of my words rush out at once, desperate for things to be okay. “I saw this man in our house—he had a scar over his eye—and then he grabbed me. I don’t know who he is or why he did this.”

At that, Dad’s face changes. I see his jaw clench, and he mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch. “Scar over his left eye?” he repeats, looking away like he’s trying to work out what this means. Then he mutters another curse, and I can feel his anger rolling off him like a storm.

“Do you know this guy?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh I’ve only ever heard him give when he talks about Mom. Tired, worn out, like he’s been carrying something heavy for a long time.

“Jeannie, there’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He looks at me, his face hard and serious, his eyes catching mine. “That man you saw? He’s someone I thought was left behind in my past, someone I’ve spent years hiding you from.”

My mind goes blank. “Hiding me from?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Jeannie, you have to understand that before you were born, I lived a very different life. A dangerous one. I was a part of the mafia.”

I stare at him, my throat tightening. My dad, who I’ve always known as my overprotective but steady, responsible father, was in the mafia? The same guy who goes on weekend trips to ophthalmology conferences?

“What? How is that even possible?”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, his voice steady, like he’s been ready for this confession for a while. “I was mixed up with people who were powerful, ruthless. Truly dangerous people. But after your mother…after she died, I knew I had to get us out. She made me promise. She always wanted us away from that life, for you to grow up safe and far from all of it.”

“So, you just left? Just like that?” I ask, stunned.

“No, not just like that. It was a lot of work. A lot of negotiating. I did what I had to.” His eyes darken with something I can’t quite name. “There were still things I couldn’t walk away from, jobs that kept me in the orbit of those people. That’s why I’m gone sometimes. Not for the eye conferences. Butthe dangerous part, the part that would put you in harm’s way—I cut ties with that.”

“Then why is this man here? The guy with the scar?” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around this.

My dad’s expression hardens. “His name’s Viktor Gorshkov and he’s one of the last pieces of my past. We have a history. He’s a survivor, a cockroach who never really goes away, no matter how many times you think you’ve gotten rid of him.”

A cold chill runs down my spine.

My head is spinning. I can barely process what Dad just said, but I force myself to focus. I have to understand this if I’m going to get out of here. And if anyone has a plan to get us out, it’s my dad. Even tied up in a chair, in a place he never wanted me to be, he seems to know exactly what’s happening.

I swallow hard, looking him straight in the eye. “But why me? If he hates you, why is he coming afterme?”

Dad sighs, his expression shadowed. I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “It’s a long story. We used to work for the same Don. I don’t know how to explain it, but we were always in competition. Always trying to outdo each other. But somehow, I was one step ahead most of the time. It drove him crazy.”

I try to picture this version of my dad—someone at the top of a dangerous game, fighting with men like the one who grabbed me. “So, he just hates you because you were better than him?”

“It’s more than that,” he says quietly. “There was a woman, too.” He pauses, and I suddenly feel a strange, hollow ache in my chest. “It was your mother, Jeannie.”

My mother? I’m silent, waiting as he shifts in his chair, looking down for a moment like he’s remembering things he’s kept buried.

“Gorshkov and your mother had a thing once. She was born into the mob. The daughter of a powerful leader in the Chicago Syndicate. When she and I first met, the two of them were already seeing each other. I always thought she was enchanting, but I wasn’t a dick. I wasn’t trying to get in the way, but things changed when it was taken out of my hands. The Pakhan, the leader of the Russian mafia, decided to move me up, and with that came the privilege and requirement of marrying your mother.”

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