Page 1 of A Love That Binds

1

ANYA

He coughed again, this time into his handkerchief, where when he pulled it away, droplets of blood spattered the white fabric. I sat down next to him, offering a glass of cold water as he sat up. Taking care of my sick father was not something I ever thought I’d have to do, but here I was. Lymphoma and the following chemo treatments had done a number on his body, and he still had several left.

“Here, drink this.” I took the handkerchief and replaced it in his grip with the water. He sat back against his padded headboard, the black satin material a stark contrast to his pale skin. As he did, I rose to situate a pillow behind his back to make him more comfortable. The coughing had gotten worse as the doctors told us it would.

“Thank you, Anya.” He sipped slowly, a shaking, weak hand holding his half-full glass to his lips. I waited until he had quenched his thirst and retrieved the glass, setting it down on his nightstand next to his pills.

“Papa, it’s going to get better. They said this is highly treatable, so this sickness is only here a little while longer.” I sat again, taking his frail hand. I’d never seen him so weak, possibly because my father was the head of the family, and by family I meanfamily.The leader of the Bratva brought to his knees by an invisible enemy working from the inside out to destroy him.

He smiled at me, patting my cheek. His hand was cold, but I didn’t shy away. “I know, dear. And you are my ray of sunshine here to warm me on this cold December morning. It is a Christmas miracle that you have grown to be such a beautiful strong woman. Your grandmother would be so proud of you.”

I looked to the door where I heard noise reverberating beyond and down the hall. Dominic was on his way in, my brother and a constant irritant to me. He did things unthinkable to me, but then so had my father when he was full of vigor. Mother turned a blind eye to it all, playing housewife to the Russian mob and baking cookies for neighborhood children. I wasn’t like her.

I wanted peace.

“Papa, we have to let the family rest. We need to pull back, give them time to heal from their wounds and reorganize.” Turning back to him, I saw the scowl on his face. I knew by pulling back, we’d be showing a bit of weakness, but in my opinion it was far wiser to retreat, heal, and come back presenting a united strong front, than to wither away in refusing to admit we were being assailed.

When he opened his mouth to speak, a coughing fit took him over again. I offered the handkerchief again, with which he covered his mouth and let his body expel the mucus that clogged up his bronchial passages. While he struggled, the door opened and Dominic strutted in, gun affixed to his hip, hands crammed in his pockets. He always brought an air of rage with him wherever he went. Since Lia vanished and his father was murdered, we all had a tinge of grief. His was mostly displayed as anger.

Of course, she was his younger sister.

“Dom…” I acknowledged him, knowing my place was next to my father, not him. Dominic was one of my oldest friends, but his insistence that he take his father’s place as brigadier and eventually boss was misplaced. That position was solely my father’s and perhaps one day maybe mine.

“Dominic,” dad coughed out, wiping his mouth, “so good for you to come. How is your mother?”

Dad’s concern for his flock was genuine, especially given that the family had lost father and daughter in a span of less than two years. If only his concern went as far as to call off his ridiculous business plans and spare them another loss of Dominic’s life too.

I peered down at my hands, folded in my lap around my father’s trembling fingers, and marveled at how thin his skin was. Skin of the aged, lined with dark blood vessels and brown skin spots.

“Listen, we got a problem.” Dominic paced the room, scowl intact on his forehead. His own bodyguard had been gunned down in an alley only weeks ago, and this was the last straw for him. We’d heard the reports of each and every one of his houses being shut down, cops and Italians behind it all. I inwardly celebrated that the women had been freed, despite the hit to my father’s businesses. It had come at a time when he was ailing and offering more and more responsibility to me too.

“What is it?” Dad choked out.

“The Italians are decimating us. We need to fight back; we need a way to get them out of our territory.” Dominic glared at my father, fists now at his side.

I looked up at him. “Start with their finances. Find what is fueling their onslaught against us, then we will devise a plan. If you cut off the fuel, the car will not start.” I had heard my father give that exact advice a number of times.

“You don't know what you’re talking about.” Dominic looked like he could smack me if I were the only one there, unwatched by my father—the boss.

“No, she is right.” My father squeezed my hand. “Do as she says. Report back to me tomorrow, or when you have news.”

The way he said the words left no room for dispute. Dominic stormed out as quickly as he had come and my father patted my cheek. “You are wise beyond your years, Anya. You will do fine as my substitute while I’m ailing.”

The praise was well earned, but I would have traded it all for him to be healthy again.

“Thank you, father. But I asked about pulling back. Letting our men rest.”

His coughing returned again, this time so violet I had to call the doctor to see if we could get a cough suppressant for him. If he was going to listen to me, it would be after he felt better.

2

LEO

Ilook out my sixth-story window, tapping my pen on the edge of my desk. The city is alive with activity, bustling about doing errands and work, while I sit stoic. All I can do is think of the beautiful Russian girl I ran into the day of the drive-by shooting. She was quite a bit younger than me, but there was a wisdom and maturity in her eyes. And something about her was so mysterious I couldn’t shake it.

I had leveraged my entire network, trying to search out who she was, even having gotten our friend Liam—the cop on our payroll—to snag photos of her from the police crime scene files and send them to me. Those photos lay spread out on the desk in front of me, useless without someone with knowledge to pin her down. Even the police had no idea who she was. She’d offered an alias, Yaya Genrich. That person did not exist, nor did the street address she’d given police.

---