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GEORGIA
“Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?”
Andrei looks my way, his presence heavy and palpable, but I force myself to stare out the window instead, grateful that at least he didn’t blindfold me. I huff out a breath. The tension in the Jeep is stifling, our usual zing of chemistry filling up the small space. But today it’s more than that. It’s how we left things last night.
Slowly, without taking his gaze off the road, he says, “I’m taking you to see your father.”
“Seriously?” I’m stunned. Of all the things I thought he might say, I certainly didn’t expect that. “I thought it was too risky for me to see my father right now?”
“It is. But I’ve figured something out.” His words are sharp, but even so, he can’t hide the tenderness that lies beneath.
I would ask why he’s doing it, but I know why. This could be the last time I’ll see my father again. No one dares voice the truth, but I’m going to be released back into the keep of a dangerous man with nothing to lose. I’m no longer afraid, just realistic.
“Thank you,” I mumble. I want to tell him how much this means to me, how grateful I am, but he doesn’t want my words today. He wants nothing to do with me.
I lay awake for most of last night trying to make sense of how I left things with Andrei. He was clear that he never wanted this connection between us. He fought it from the start, so I was sure he’d be grateful that I’m ending it now. A clean break. Except he’s not saying that. Or anything, for that matter. He’s quiet and broody and as tightly wound as a spring. His shoulders hiked up around his ears.
I don’t know what to say to break the tension between us, so I say nothing, just continue to stare out the window watching rural roads giving way to long stretches of desolate highway. We’re still on Long Island, but we’ve been in the car for over an hour.
I can’t help but ask, “Are we going to my home?”
He runs a thumb over his bottom-lip, while his beautiful face remains stoic. “It’s not safe for you in Brighton Beach. Oleg can’t ever know that you’ve been with us.” His voice is cool and indifferent, laced with steel. “Yulian’s team will debrief you tomorrow when we have more information.”
The vice around my heart squeezes tighter. I want to say more to him, but the finality in his tone brooks no room for follow-up. He’s done with this conversation, with all of my pestering and really, if I am going to be honest, with me.
A half hour later, we pull up to a one-story, wood-shingled fishing cabin near the water’s edge. It’s a simple structure, nothing fancy. No multi-car garage, no guards patrolling, nothing that would suggest the city’s most dangerous gangster spends time here. Just a cozy cabin surrounded by oak, walnut, and cherry trees.
I unbuckle my seatbelt but don’t make a move. “I never really took you as the fishing type.”
“Maybe you don’t know me all that well,” he says before getting out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind him.
His insult lands as intended—an arrow to the heart, a ball of pain expanding in my chest. Maybe he’s right, and I don’t know him at all. But that doesn’t sit right. I know Andrei like I know the back of my hand. I know the art collector, the man who desperately wants to find his sister, the hurt little boy under all those layers who could not save his mother, try as he might.
There’s the cold and calculating bratva boss that would murder, cheat and steal to get his way. The man who is using me as a means to an end. Who always intended to use me and made no bones about it.
But all of those sides make him who he is. And I know him. I fucking know him, and I want to call him mine. Even if that’s impossible.
* * *
Dad hobbles into the room, looking older, more frail—his leg that the Antonovs crushed will never fully heal, but the bright smile on his face makes up for everything.
“Dad,” I cry, my heart thundering in my chest. “It’s been so long.”
He envelops me in a strong hug, his familiar smell—a mix of Old Spice and tobacco—providing comfort. The day I was taken to Oleg’s home was the last time I saw my father, and communication has been practically non-existent. I didn’t have a phone or access to a computer. Oleg’s men would let me email once in a while, but they closely monitored any communication. I always made it seem like everything was fine, that I was almost happy there. I’m sure Dad knew that was far from the truth, but I didn’t want him to worry more than he already was. Guilt over the situation ate at his soul.
As my father hugs me and repeats my name like a mantra against my hair, I can’t help the hot tears that flow down my cheeks as all the roller-coaster-like emotions built up over the last two months crash over me like a wave.
Dad holds me to him and tells me it will be all right until I calm down and focus on the fact that he’s with me right now, in the flesh. Time and stress may have taken a toll on him, but he’s still alive. As am I.
Andrei clears his throat behind us, and I turn to see him standing by the front door of the cabin. Dark amber eyes stare into my soul.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swiping at a rogue tear. “I got a little carried away.”
A fierce expression crosses his face. He takes a step towards me, then stops himself. His body is rigid as his eyes bore into mine. “Natalia organized lunch for you. It’s on the back deck when you’re ready. I’ll leave you to catch up with your father.” He gives me a meaningful look. He’s already told me I can’t share details with my father, just the big picture. Truthfully, I wouldn’t want him to know what lies ahead for me, it would horrify him.
I mouth ‘thank you’, and he nods before leaving. My heart takes off at a steady gallop, overwhelmed by this gift of seeing my father again and knowing that my supposed captor has kept him safe.
I gesture for Dad to sit on one of two vintage couches set against the back wall of the lodge across from a wood-burning stove. I curl up beside him and take his frail hand in mine.
