Page 58 of Devil's Vows
It’s as if we both know how precious these moments are with the girls, both of us coming from a dark place where we’ve seen things we want to protect them from. I’ve seen the scars on his body, this bullet-riddled house, but he has seen none of mine, and he never will, for I’ll never be his.
“Good night,” I whisper, not trusting myself.
“You still wanted to talk to me about, you know,” he says as Irisha leans back to cuddle with her dad.
“No, it’s fine. There’s really nothing to talk about.” The last thing I need is to talk to Ivan about Milana.
“Okay, maybe in the morning.”
“I’ll just head down to the kitchen to clean up from dinner.”Just keep busy.Nobody wants to go down in the morning and find last night’s mess in the kitchen.
“There wasn’t much left to do. Yuri and I cleaned up. No need to go down again.”
I nod, realizing in my panic about Milana, I’d forgotten that I’m essentially being watched. Maybe, now that Ivan’s back at home, Yuri will give me space.
But it isn’t only Yuri. For all I know, there’re hidden cameras, like the ones Dominic uses, in every single room in this house. Maybe not. Half the place seems to have been blown to bits. I have more questions than ever before—about the whereabouts of the old Pakhan, who the hell Dimitri was, why this house was riddled by bullets—and no means to get any answers.
“See you all in the morning, then.” I walk out to the corridor, past the security gate, and to my room.
I’m still baffled how Milana jumped from one conclusion to the next about me. That I’m here tospy. She insists there’s a deal between Ivan and my brothers, but I don’t know of any, nor do I see a connection that would lead Matteo, as Don, to make a deal with Ivan, as Pakhan of the Petrov Bratva, that involves me.
I close my bedroom door and sink onto the bed, feeling for Mom’s golden cross underneath my T-shirt. To be honest, it won’t be the first time in my life I’m the last to hear about my fate in the maneuverings of men.
Somehow, I still have it in me to run, but I’m used to short sprints between convents. This is turning into a marathon, and I’m not trained for that.
29
IVAN
I stay with the girls until they’ve fallen asleep then scoot out of bed. I still have some work to do tonight, and maybe I’d actually get some shit done without the need to watch Gabriella all the time. The old Pakhan also deserves an update. I haven’t checked in with Papa in person since Gabriella arrived, and the least I can do is tell him about her.
He will have watched her with the girls, but I can round out the information he’s gathered—that she’s the perfect woman to love the girls, to be a mom to them. They clearly already like her, and that will evolve into love over time. Gabriella is like that—big-hearted and pure. Everything Darya wasn’t.
I don’t know what magic she worked on Milana, but tonight was the first time we had dinner together as a family in months, and I couldn’t be more grateful. If this is the start, then there’s hope for the future. I need hope, after months of just hanging from this ledge, clinging by my fingertips alone.
As I walk past her closed bedroom door, I pause. Something was wrong earlier, but she wouldn’t open up to me. I’m used to a woman being a closed book, but I want us to be, I don’t know,different? She isn’t ready. Not yet. I have time, now I’ve put everything in motion.
I head down the stairs and through this maze of a mansion, toward the end of one corridor, and then turn to a door that isn’t visible until you reach it. This set of rooms has its own outside entrance and forms part of the house’s original guest suites. It’s on the first floor, which is essential. I punch in the security code at the door, and it opens.
The night nurse glances up as I walk in, stands and greets me in Russian.
“How is he?” I ask, padding over to where my father is lying in a hospital bed, which faces the garden through some larger windows overlooking the girls’ playground, chicken coop, and rabbit hutch. During the day, the nurse on duty can move the bed to have a view over the forest when the girls aren’t around. Like most of the windows in the house, he can see out of them, but from the outside, nobody can look in.
“He’s the same,” the nurse says, her tone resigned.
I nod as I reach for Papa’s hand where it’s lying limply on the bed, like every part of him. He looks asleep, and at this time of the night, he might even be. Four hand-picked nurses look after him, working shifts, giving him the best care money can buy, but it kills me to see him like this. This once-powerful man reduced to a body connected to oxygen. He speaks only in halting slurs, unable to communicate any other way, and needs help with literally everything. The first stroke was bad. The second one, which followed a week later, should have killed him, and I wish it had, but here we are, stuck in a dreadful limbo I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
“Papa,” I say, squeezing his hand.
A soft squeeze back, and I close my eyes. There’s still life here, and I squeeze a little tighter, putting all the love I have for this man into such a simple gesture.
“You’ve seen the girls? And their new nanny?”
Squeeze and squeeze.
“What do you think?” I ask, putting a bit of a tease in my voice, hoping it will lure him out.
He finally opens his eyes, icy blue, if watery and tired, but still aware. This is why I don’t have it in me to help him on to the next realm.
