Page 2 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
"What about you?" Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "What about Witness Protection? They offered it to you, didn't they?"
"They did. For both of us." His jaw tightens. "But there are too many corrupt officials, Mariya. Too many people on the Bratva's payroll. I don't trust that we'd truly be safe, even in their program."
"Then come with me to America," I plead. "We'll disappear together."
"I can't." The sadness in his eyes breaks my heart. "I have to stay, at least for now. I have to make sure the testimony sticks, thatthe families I'm putting away actually go to prison. And I have to keep them focused on me, not on you."
"Papa—"
"Listen to me." His voice is urgent now, commanding. "You're my daughter, and I love you more than anything in this world. Your mother, God rest her soul, would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. So you're going to do exactly as I say."
I want to argue, want to refuse, but I see the determination in his face and know it's useless. When Yegor Pushkin makes up his mind, nothing can change it. It's what made him valuable to the Bratva, and now it's what's going to make him their enemy.
"How long?" I ask. "How long until I can see you again?"
"I don't know." The honesty in his answer hurts more than a lie would have. "It could be months. It could be years. But I promise you, Mariya, when it's safe, I'll find you. I'll always find you."
He releases me and walks to the counter, picking up an old jewelry box I recognize from my childhood. It belonged to my mother, filled with her jewelry and small treasures. He hands it to me, and I take it with trembling fingers.
"Inside you'll find some of your mother's jewelry, some family heirlooms, and money," he says. "Enough to get you started in America, to help you build a new life."
I clutch the box to my chest. "I don't want a new life. I want this one. I want you."
"I know, my darling girl. I know." He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have finally escaped. "But this is the only way I can keep you safe. And keeping you safe is all that matters to me."
We stand there for a long moment, father and daughter, knowing that everything is about to change. The clock on the wall ticks steadily, counting down the minutes until he has to leave for the courthouse.
"Be smart," he says. "Be careful. Trust no one, not completely. The Bratva has a long reach and an even longer memory. Change everything about yourself if you have to. And whatever you do, don't come back to Russia. Not until I tell you it's safe."
"I promise," I whisper.
He kisses my forehead, then steps back. "The car will be here in an hour to take you to the airport.”
Papa picks up his briefcase and heads for the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, looking back at me one last time.
"I love you, Mariya. Never forget that."
"I love you too, Papa."
And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that sounds like the end of everything I've ever known.
I sink back into my chair, the jewelry box heavy in my lap, and stare at the cold tea on the table. In an hour, I'll leave this apartment where we've been hiding out these past few months, this city, this country. I'll leave my entire life.
I'll leave behind my father and head to America, alone and afraid, carrying nothing but an old jewelry box and the weight of secrets I don't even fully understand.
The morning light continues to filter through the curtains, indifferent to the way my world is crumbling. Somewhere acrossthe city, my father is walking into a courthouse to testify against the most dangerous men in Russia.
And I'm about to become a ghost.
2
ANDREY
Isit in the library of my estate, watching dust motes dance in the morning sunlight that streams through the tall windows. The leather chair beneath me is comfortable, the room warm, and the company… well, the company is testing every ounce of my patience.
"The weather has been quite pleasant lately, hasn't it?" Sophia Belyaev says from the chair across from me, her hands folded primly in her lap. She's dressed impeccably, as always, her long black hair styled perfectly, her green eyes bright with what I can only assume is forced enthusiasm for this conversation.
"Yes," I reply, taking a sip of my coffee. "Very pleasant."
