Page 11 of The Bratva’s Monster

He scoffs. “She’s trying to get out of it. You know, she’s decided to go to Europe for the summer, if you can believe that.”

I scowl at him. “Europe? What about school?”

“What about it? She’s an adult. She can finish school or piss it away. It’s on her. Besides, all things considered… She could use the break. She did lose her father, after all.”

So did we. I almost say it, but I stop it at the back of my teeth. We’ve lost a lot these past weeks and the truth of it is if either of us could, we’d join her.

But there’s work to be done and a rat to be caught. “She’d better stay out of trouble,” I say instead.

He smirks and finishes his drink. “All she’ll ever promise is to stay out of jail, and even that she might break. The girl’s wild.”

That almost brings a smile to my face.

“Anyway, keep me updated about Gedeon’s wife.”

I nod, then I’m dismissed. As I walk out of his office and out of his house, all I can think about is how deep this whole thing has gotten. Gedeon was craftier than I ever thought he’d be. Or maybe I underestimated him somehow.

He was at the top of his game as a brigadier. Maybe that’s all this was. Another game for him to run.

If Liz is following in his wake, then she’ll get the bullet that I should have put into her husband.

6

LIZ

My father called me out of nowhere this morning. I was shocked to see his number in my phone as I lay in bed, eyes sore from crying off and on the last two days.

I’ve spoken to him off and on in the last few years since I got married, but it’s never been a normal conversation of any kind. He’s never asked how I was or even cared to know. I think that he was only satisfied that I was still alive.

He’s never approved of my marrying Gedeon. And more importantly, he’s never been the one to call me first.

When I picked up, he told me something I never thought I’d hear in all the time that we’ve been semi-estranged. “I’m in New York on business. Let me treat you to lunch.”

My father is a salesman. So, I’m sure he’s come here dozens of times. He’s never told me when he came into town and he’s never bothered to ask me out to eat.

But worse than all that, he’s managed to call right when I need a parent the most, I guess. I don’t know if I’m going to tell him about this baby. I don’t even know if I’m going to tell him that Gedeon has died. All I know…

I don’t know what I know anymore.

I’m sitting in this diner, looking out at the traffic from this booth, wondering if walking out into traffic would really be all that terrible of a solution. I’ve never once contemplated suicide, and really, I’m not suicidal. But I’m carrying a traitor’s baby. It might be better if I just ended it all for both our sakes. At least it would be on my terms.

The bell hanging over the front door jingles. I look up just as my father walks through. He looks generally the same as he always has. Short white hair, pale jacket over his Polo shirt and khakis. He’s gained a bit of weight over the last four years, but he looks healthy.

He sees me and a smile spreads across his face as he comes over. He kisses me on the cheek, which is both a surprise and welcome, then sits down across from me.

“Elizaveta,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

He always says that no matter what I look like. Today, I’m in sweats with no makeup and my hair tied back into a ponytail. I guess all daughters look beautiful to their fathers.

“Thank you,” I say. The waitress comes right over and takes our order. I just have a coffee. It’s about all I can keep down today.

He orders a pancake breakfast along with his coffee. Once the waitress is gone, he says, “You’re not eating?”

“I’m not hungry,” I say. Then, “I had a big breakfast.”

“Well, you should still eat,” he says. “You’ll waste away like these skinny New York women. They all look like they need food. I’ve never understood it.”

His accent has gotten better. When I was little, it was so thick that he could barely be understood. I used to ask him if he would rather speak in Russian and he would almost always say no. It’s important that I know the language,” he’d always reply.