Page 7 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

If only Papa hadn’t gone so far this time and used money given to him by Aleks for his latest failed scheme, I might still be living my best life on my own, with a future I was excited about. Aleks was one of the few who still trusted him somewhat, but that was about to end.

I used my key to quietly enter, expecting my father to be asleep at that early hour, but he was awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a half-empty vodka bottle at his elbow. His eyes werebloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time, and his voice was gruffer than usual when he greeted me.

“You’ve finally made it?” he asked, voice slurring as his lips turned up in a sneer. “About time that you got here.”

“Sorry,” I said, not meaning it but not wanting to antagonize him by explaining that one of us should have their wits about them by getting some sleep.

Looking around the living room, clothes were strewn over the couch, old newspapers and betting slips stacked along with takeout containers on the coffee table, and a couple of boxes as if he’d started to pack but thought of something better to do at the last minute.

He didn’t like that, so I ignored him as I picked my way past piles of shoes and empty bottles to see what he’d packed and what I could add to it that might be useful wherever we were going.

For some reason, I assumed it would be San Francisco since he knew some people up there who didn’t yet have it out for him. It wasn’t ideal because Lev Fokin was based up there now, but Papa had blown through all his friends and contacts over the last four years of gambling and scamming.

“What are you doing over there?” he bellowed, trying to stand but wavering on his feet. “Get away from my things, you nosy brat.”

“Fine,” I said, moving to the kitchen to get out of his line of sight.

He kept yelling at me but at least sat back down. He might have been drunk and unsteady, but that wouldn’t have affected his aim if he decided I needed a smack. Miraculously, some eggswere in the fridge, so I cracked them into a pan and put the kettle on to make the instant coffee I found in the cupboard.

“Always thinking about food,” he sneered, appearing in the doorway and making me jump. His eyes moved up and down as he shook his head. I tried not to wince or tug at my clothes, that suddenly felt way too tight. “How do you face yourself every day looking like that, you worthless cow?”

I guess I should have been grateful that he wasn’t very creative in his insults, but they still stung, even after hearing the same things for years. When I didn’t look at him or answer back, he grew bored and went back to the table, grunting when I placed the fried eggs and coffee in front of him. I prayed he’d eat and sober up a little so he wouldn’t draw unwanted attention to himself if we ended up in an airport and had to go through security.

I would have given anything not to be in the situation at all, but for the moment, I just wanted to know what was coming next. Papa had sounded so urgent on the phone last night, but now there didn’t seem to be any plan of action at all. Maybe he was just in a hurry to heap his insults on me.

“The yolks are broken,” he grumbled, but shoveled in a few bites all the same. “Stop messing with my things,” he shouted when I started sorting the dirty clothes on the couch.

“I’m trying to help you pack,” I said as calmly as I could.

“Useless girl,” he muttered, turning back to his food as he drank vodka straight from the bottle. “Always have been, always will be.”

Sinking onto a spot I cleared on the couch, I left his things alone, even though he’d blame me when he couldn’t find something later on. Closing my eyes, I tried to will myself to be anywhere else when I opened them again.

Before I started working for Max, I always worried a day like this might come, but everything changed when I got that glorious taste of freedom. I was making my own money, good money, too, and I had friends, sort of. People I could talk to even though I couldn’t share too much. As if my father could read my thoughts, he started snarling at me again.

“I wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you,” he told me.

The person I’d become, strong and confident, wanted to demand to know his reasoning behind that statement, but that person seemed to recede well into the background whenever I entered this house.

It was almost impossible to remember how there had always been fresh flowers everywhere, the smell of some delicious meal wafting from the kitchen, and not a bit of clutter to be seen when my mother was alive. I returned from school to her beautiful smiling face and whatever fresh cookies or cake she’d baked that day, and I was safely in my room doing my homework when Papa came home. I’d hear them laughing together, sometimes turning on music to dance.

They’d been as happy as they could be, and my father’s rough mood swings never turned towards her, only me. I used to wonder what was wrong with me or how I could change to please him, but by now, I knew it was futile and blocked out his grumblings as best I could.

A buzz sounded nearby, and I saw his phone half buried under a Chinese carryout box. Turning, I saw Papa with his head resting on his hand, eyes half closed. Not wanting to turn his ire back on me and sick of being out of the loop, I grabbed it and answered, recognizing the name that popped up on the screen.

“Abram?” I said. “It’s me, Olivia.”

“Ah, good,” he answered.

He was one of my father’s associates, probably still friendly toward my father because he ran a bar nearby, and Papa was one of his best customers. He was wise enough never to lend him money or fall for one of his schemes and, therefore, had never become an enemy.

“I’ve got everything taken care of, and we’ll be ready to leave this evening as planned.”

He went on to explain in more detail, and I nearly balked when I learned our final destination.

“Where?” I asked, horrified when I heard the name of the remote town.

In Russia.

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