Page 5 of Vow of Silence

“With all due respect, Boss, our Latino associates have never passed on a message this way.” Dmitry stands straight, shoulders back and chest pushed out. “She may be right.”

He braces for the onslaught.

“What would you have me do?” Papa seethes, spinning on his most trusted soldier. “Gun down every Spanish and Italian-speaking man in the city until I find the ones I need?”

Mimi flinches beside me, her focus square on the gauze in her hand.

Dmitry’s throat bobs. “No, Sir.”

“Then shut the fuck up until I ask for your opinion.” Papa stands a whole head shorter than hissovietnikspy, but that doesn’t stop him from fronting up to the man toe-to-toe. “I don’tunderstand why they’d bother to go after you, Nastasya. You mean nothing to the business.”

I know he intends to say it factually, but the observation hurts all the same. I’m my father’s only child, and yet he treats me like one of the lesser in the organizational hierarchy. I may be a woman, but I’m not useless. I’m far from it.

As fucked as it is, it’s nice to think that our enemies see my worth, even if my father consistently fails to.

“What would I have seen?” I ask, alluding to the message blown through Caroline’s skull. “I don’t know why they’d do that.”

“Don’t be naïve, you stupid girl.” Papa gets comfortable perched on the front of his desk. “The message was for me, not you.”

His unwavering sense of self-importance in the moment has me rear my head back.

“Perhaps I should call the doctor in for Miss Stasya?” Dmitry offers.

Papa waves the suggestion away, frowning while seemingly trying to decode who would feel he knows too much. “Mimi has done a fine job.” Knows too much about what is my main question. What has my father involved us in now? “We need to do what they least expect.” Papa waves his index finger as though to agree with himself. “Those fuckers will want me to cower and hide until the messenger makes himself known. But I’ll call their bluff.”

“Vor—”

“No, Dmitry.” Papa whirls around his desk, dropping into the squeaky seat. “I need to think. Take my daughter upstairs and have her change into something suitable for guests.” He dismisses us with the back of his hand. “You may go home for the night, Mimi.”

I hate when he talks about me as though I can’t comprehend words or gestures. As though I need guidance like an animal. I’m a fucking person, living, breathing, and feeling. But I become’ the daughter’ when Papa gets stuck in his head. Another asset in his empire.

“Come.” Dmitry offers me his arm as Mimi packs away her first aid.

I set my palm on his muscled forearm and rise from the chair. I’ve known Papa’ssovietniksince I was a little girl. He was young and had fewer lines around his eyes back then, but his smile is as genuine as ever, his gaze as soft. He cares for me in a way my father couldn’t, even when Mama was still alive.

I consider Dmitry more like an uncle than one of Papa’s employees.

He waits until we’re in the foyer and out of earshot to ask Mimi, “Do you think she needs the Doctor?”

The short, flaxen-haired woman shakes her head. “Boss asked that she be ready for guests.” She lifts a gentle hand to my head, thumb brushing the tender skin around the cut. “The injury is minor, Miss Stas. But you may have a concussion. You must rest your head and avoid any physical exertion.”

I nod slowly, the action making my skull ache.

“And no alcohol for the rest of the week.”

Dmitry snorts. “You don’t play fair, Mimi.” He smiles down at her like one would to their grandma.

Our housekeeper has been with the family since my parents were married. She was part of my mother’s dowry—with Mama since she was a little girl. Age marks lines in Mimi’s round face, but I suspect the grays in her dull blonde hair result from life within these walls. She’s seen a lot. Heard more than she should have. And no doubt carries the burden of a thousand secrets never told.

“Let me get Miss Stasya ready,” she tells Dmitry. “I’ll have her down here in fifteen minutes.”

“No.” I rest my hand on her forearm. “It’s late. You go home.”

“I want to.” The smile reaches her eyes.

Dmitry nods to indicate he feels it’s a good idea I have help and promptly leaves, headed for the security room behind the grand staircase. His off-sider, Aleksy, will be in there, awaiting news from the boss—my father.

VorArseni Kuznetsov.

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