Page 1 of Hers to Control

Chapter One

Mia

My best friend is fucking with the Bratva. The same people my father messed with and whose radar I want to stay as far away from as humanly possible. Of course, it doesn’t look like that’s working too well for me.

I’m still reeling from seeing the Russian mafia’s enforcer and heir, Mikhail Tsepov, at Gianna’s cottage yesterday, when my phone suddenly rings. I stretch over the side of my couch to reach the side table where I left my cell, expecting … something. Anything other than the Millhaven number. Millhaven, the prison where, for the past two years, my father has been locked up.

Not that being imprisoned has stopped him from fucking up even more.

Nope.

For almost two weeks now, he’s won himself a spot in the Structured Intervention Unit orsolitary, as the inmates still call it. All because he got into a brawl with a Russian.

A fucking Russian. Would the man never learn?

It doesn’t take much to guess that the Russian he fought was Russian mafia. Not when my dad’s job as a bookie for them is what landed him in Millhaven in the first place. That, and the fact that he was stupid enough to try to steal from them.

My finger hovers over the accept button. I’ve had two weeks to let my anger at my dad build. Once again, he screwed us over. Once again, he’s put both of our lives at risk. There is no question about that. Not after Mikhail Tsepov easily recognized me when I saw him at Gianna’s cabin yesterday. Which shouldn’t have been possible, because I never met him before in my life.

Mikhail shouldn’t have known me, and yet, he did.

I’m on their radar, and that is about as fucking bad as it gets.

And it’s my dad’s fault.

Still… he’s my dad. My thumb lowers and presses against the cool surface of my phone.

A short message announces that an inmate is calling me. It’s a pointless message since my father is only allowed to call numbers from a pre-approved list, so it’s not like a warning is necessary.

Except, a little voice cautions me that I should heed that warning. The voice resembles mine when I was seven years old and witnessed my father getting arrested for the first time.

“It’ll be fine, Little Bee,” he’d told me.

That wasn’t the first lie he’d ever told me, but maybe the one that had cut the deepest.

“Hello?” My father’s voice sounds strained. “Little Bee, are you there?”

I must have tuned out while the message ended. My dad is now on the line, so my musings are pointless. Time to do what I’ve always done. Submit to my fate and make the best of it.

“Hey, Dad.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. There is hope in it. Stupid, pointless hope, and I wish I could take the words back, but they are out there now. Out in the world, where my father can take my hopeful greeting and trample all over that unrestrained love I keep offering him only to get nothing but trouble back in return.

There is a brief pause, then my dad speaks in a rushed voice. “Listen to me, Little Bee. I messed up, okay? They came for me. The Russians.”

He says it as if it would be news to me, but I don’t reply. I’m frozen in place, knowing on some instinctive level that whatever is causing my dad to call me can only mean there is more shit blowing my way.

More danger.

“I don’t have much time. I just need to tell you I know I wasn’t the best dad. I’m sorry, Little Bee. I really am.”

He says more after that, but there is a ringing in my head that drowns out his words.

“Ah, shit. The guard is here. I’ve got to go.” A pause, then, “I love you, Little Bee.”

“Bye, Dad.” The hope isn’t there anymore. My voice is flat. Then the phone beeps telling me that the call has ended.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, frozen with the realization of what my father’s words mean.

He loves me. He apologized.

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