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“See? Now, was that so hard? If you’d only been this obedient from the start, none of this would be happening. But no, you had to go and make an embarrassment out of our whole family. You, young lady… you humiliated us!”
I have to bite my tongue painfully hard just so I don’t cut in to correct him. To remind him that they’ve been the ones humiliating themselves for years.
“Honestly, had you just remembered your place and kept your mouth shut, I think your mother and I could have eventually grown to adjust to your new… situation.”
That’s a boldfaced lie. We both know it. I say nothing.
“But after that stunt you pulled, I had to do something. I can’t let Chekhov or his people think they’ve won just because he’s fucking my daughter. Do you hear me, Daphne?”
There’s a part of me that wants to cower to him just so he’ll stop being so heartless and cruel. It’s quickly shut down by the much bigger part of me.
The new Daphne Chekhov who is now, officially, pissed the hell off.
“I hear you, Stewart.” I spit his name with disgust. “How could I not? You’re always so afraid people will forget you exist. You’re like a fucking lap dog. You don’t know when or how to stop barking.”
He starts to say something more, but I cut him off.
“No. Now, it’s time for you to listen to me. If you think for one second that my husband is going to believe I’m behind all this, you’re dead fucking wrong.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about?—”
“Oh, I would. Pasha knows—hell, his whole family knows—about the kind of abuse you and Ophelia put me through. The nightmares you forced Melanie to suffer. Why do you think you’re such a stranger to your own grandchildren?”
“Listen here?—”
“I’m done listening to you. I really am. I’m done. I’m done bowing to you, I’m done listening to you, and I’m done being afraid of you. You’ve got nothing over me. You’ve got nothing!”
Stewart goes quiet. And then, after a long pause…
“I have your brother-in-law.”
Something about the way he says it makes my blood run cold. I don’t want to believe him because I know he’s desperate enough to do—and say—anything.
“What about him?”
“I know all about your little ‘replacement family.’ As if your insolence wasn’t a slap in the face enough.” He chuckles through his disdain. “And now, I know what happened to him in prison last night.”
“What?” My lungs constrict.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he croons with sickly sweetness dripping off every syllable, “didn’t you hear? Makari Chekhov was stabbed last night. Shanked by his inmate. Pity.”
I sink deeper into Pasha’s leather office chair. I’m glad I wasn’t standing, because my limbs feel weak. Even my fingers go numb. I let the phone drop to the desktop and press the speakerphone button. “Explain.”
“Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are. I know Pasha is shit at protecting his own, but one would have thought at least his brother would fare better.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“And that’s your problem, Daphne. You never believe the people who love you. I am your father. Why would I lie?”
I suck in a deep breath. And then, loud and clear so there’s no misunderstanding, I say, “Go to hell.”
Something shuffles in his background. Ophelia’s voice suddenly comes through.
“You heard our terms, young lady. You’ve given us no choice but to continue to show you why we are your best chance at a good life. For you and our granddaughter.”
My hands grip the armrests. “Stay the fuck away from my daughter.”
“We can’t?—”
