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Then, my chest clenches as I think of what Andrew said: that he’d hurt my brother if I stepped out of line.
Dimitri chuckles and puts his headphones back on, diving back into whatever video has captured his attention, not noticing my change in mood.
After scrounging the kitchen for more food, I decide to go upstairs to find my father. I need to talk to him—maybe he’ll listen to me. Mama is out for the day, so I figure it’s a good time to pop into his office.
I approach his door, taking a deep breath before knocking, my knuckles tapping against the wood.
“Come in,” his voice calls from the other side.
I push the door open and step inside, finding my baba buried in paperwork at his large mahogany desk. The room smells faintly of leather and his favorite cologne. He doesn’t look up, his pen scratching against the paper with a sense of urgency.
I try to ignore my nerves; all my conversations with him in these last months have felt different, calculated. Ever since he told me he’d be arranging my marriage, our easygoing father-daughter relationship has morphed into something more businesslike. It’s as if my existence now is only important because of the arrangement. The thought saddens me.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, his tone brisk, eyes flicking up to meet mine before returning to his work.
I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other. “No, I just wanted to talk.”
He pauses, his eyes softening for a moment as he sets his pen down and leans back in his chair. “I don’t really have time to talk right now, Arioula.” His words are accompanied by a weary sigh.
The pang in my chest intensifies. I step closer, wrapping my arms around myself as if to ward off the growing distance between us. “Are you mad at me?” I ask, my voice coming out unsteady, as if I’m five again, and I’ve just broken a precious vase.
He looks puzzled. “Why would you think that?”
“Because of me not wanting to marry Andrew.”
My father sighs again, shaking his head. “No, I’m not mad at you. But it is your duty, your responsibility toward your family.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
My stomach sinks, even though I expected the response, the same one he’s given me every time we’ve spoken about this. But I can feel there’s something else he’s not telling me. Something more to all this.
“I can’t do this, Baba. Andrew is not a good man. He—” I cut myself off, unsure of the consequences if I tell him the truth. “I can’t swallow the thought of marrying a stranger.”
His brows furrow, the lines etched deep into his forehead. “Andrew is an exceptional man and will be an asset to this family, Aria. The faster you realize it, the easier this will become.”
Tears swell up in my eyes as frustration washes over me. How can he not care about my wishes? How can he stand by and watch his own daughter drown in unhappiness?
I just then glimpse a side of my father I have never seen before—stubborn, uncompromising, and seemingly indifferent to my feelings. A sharp reminder of the power he holds over my life.
I can’t believe it. Growing up, I was undeniably a daddy’s girl. He was my hero, the one I turned to for comfort and guidance. But all of that seems to have vanished into thin air. He’s treating me as if I was just another business transaction, nothing more. The coldness in his eyes, the detachment in his voice—it all feels so foreign, so harsh.
I want to tell him what Andrew did, of his threats, but before I can respond, Baba picks up his pen again and gestures toward the door. “I have a lot of work to do now, Aria. We’ll talk later.”
I nod, my throat tight with unspoken words. “Okay.”
Leaving his office, I feel even shittier than when I entered, and I can’t help but wonder if we’ll ever bridge the gap that has grown between us.
21
DION
Tell me everything you know,” I snarl at the man in front of me, his arms and legs bound on a chair.
The air is thick with the tang of dampness and the acrid stench of fear. Dim, flickering lights cast shadows against the cold concrete walls. The sound of dripping water echoes through the space.
“Please. I don’t know anything,” he cries, and I slap him across the face with my Glock.
Before me, lies a canvas of suffering, a broken soul, eyes wide with terror, body trembling with anticipation of the horrors to come. The man is still slowly emerging from the depths of his sedation but is awake enough to realize it’s not looking good for him.
I decided it was time to up my game. If I couldn’t find any valuable information about Philip and Andrew’s plan using technology, then I’d resort to the old-fashioned way: getting my hands on one of Philip’s men.
