Dance of Madness: Chapter 38

Pavel stares at me with shock and horror, much like Ivan and Demyon, the two guards at the front door, did when they first saw me like this: barefoot, hair a mess, in a tattered, filthy white dress.

“My father,” I hiss. “Where is he?!”

“He…” Pavel stammers, shaking his head. “He’s in a meeting, Ms. Kalishnik…” He stares at me again. “You are…okay?”

“Back from the dead,” I mutter. “And I’m guessing based on the number of men walking around with guns drawn and the general grim tone that my father will be more than happy to be interrupted from his meeting with that news?”

Pavel stiffens. “Of course, Ms. Kalishnik. I’ll get him for you.”

Just as he’s running off, I hear a choked sob behind me.

“Milena!”

I turn and almost fall over as Angelina and Vasilisa crash into me, crying wildly.

“You’re alive!” Vasilisa sobs as she grabs me hard enough to hurt a little.

“God in Heaven, Milena,” Angelina chokes, staring at me like I’m a ghost. “We thought…” She trails off, crossing herself and kissing the rosary around her neck.

“Your father has been tearing the city apart looking for you!” Vasilisa blurts, pawing at my hair, my dress, her eyes dragging over me with shock and concern. “Bozhe moy,” she whispers, looking horrified.

“I’m okay, it was all a misunderstanding,” I tell them, hugging them before pulling back. My brows furrow. “My father…uhh…” I glance down at my appearance.

“Come,” Vasilisa urges, grabbing my arm and dragging me through the house. She takes me into the laundry room by the kitchen and immediately starts pulling clean clothes off a rack: leggings, a t-shirt, a hoodie.

I strip off the horror-show of a dress and yank them on before I hug her again.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I’ll explain everything,” I tell her. “I swear. But first⁠—”

“MILENA!!”

There’s no stopping the grin that fills my face when I hear my father’s voice.

“Papa!” I scream, bolting from the laundry room as he rushes into the kitchen.

My God.

He looks like he’s aged five years in the last three days: his face is haggard and gaunt, with huge bags under his eyes. It doesn’t look like he’s slept at all.

Curiously, he’s shirtless, his torso glistening with sweat.

“Milena—!”

We both rush at each other, meeting in the middle of the kitchen as he flings his arms around me and hugs me so tightly it feels like I’m going to crack a rib.

“Solnyshka,” he whispers in a ragged, broken voice, hugging me like he’ll never let me go. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Nyet, Papa,” I cry into his sweaty shoulder, clinging to him fiercely. “Never.”

We pull apart, his glistening eyes running over me, making sure I’m not hurt in any way.

I’m about to ask him why he’s shirtless and sweating when my gaze drops to his hands, holding mine.

They’re swollen. The knuckles are bruised.

…And stained with blood.

My heart drops, a cold feeling stabbing into my heart as my eyes drag up to his.

“Papa,” I whisper. “Where is he? Where is he!?”

“Downstairs,” he finally growls.

“GET HIM!”

Papa’s face darkens as he shakes his head. “No, Milena.”

“Please!!” I scream. “Before they kill⁠—!”

“No one gets killed in this house without my say-so,” he grunts. “What did he do to you, solnyshka?’ he growls again. “What did that bastard⁠—”

“Nothing, Papa,” I blurt.

Papa eyes me closely. “You’re home now. You’re safe. You don’t have to worry⁠—”

“He didn’t⁠—”

“You were gone!” he barks, his voice shaky, his eyes haunted. “You were gone for three fucking days! I have been tearing this goddamn city apart looking for you! Whatever he did to you, my girl…” He shakes his head. “You don’t need to fear him anymore. You can tell me. But do not tell me that nothing happened, because I know you, and there’s no version of you that would willingly disappear without a trace for three days, knowing what it would do to me!”

My heart breaks. Because he’s right, there’s no chance in hell I’d ever do that.

It’s also so more complicated than that.

“It’s…” I take his hands again, bloody or not. “Papa, it’s complicated. A lot of it was a huge misunderstanding⁠—”

“A misunderstanding?!” he roars. “Yes or no, Milena: did you disappear for three days willingly.”

I wince, shaking my head. “No, Papa.”

His jaw sets. “And is the party responsible for that disappearance Nero De Luca?”

My lip trembles as I breathe in and out slowly through my nose.

“That settles it,” he growls quietly. “It’s not that complicated after all.” He squeezes my hand. “It might be best if you go up to your room,” he murmurs.

He starts to turn away, but I grab his hand again, fiercely.

“Where is he?” I snap.

“That’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Milena. You’ve been gone for days. I don’t know what that motherfucker did to you, but you are clearly not yourself. I understand there can be psychological confusion in situations like⁠—”

“Do you think I have Stockholm Syndrome?!” I choke. “Is that what you think is going on?!”

“I know that’s what’s going on, solnyshka,” he retorts. “Milena, I love you more than life itself, but this is clearly not a conversation we can have rationally right⁠—”

“I love him!!” I scream.

Instantly, the whole world goes quiet. The kitchen stills, the only sound a soft drip of the tap into a pan soaking in the sink.

Papa stares at me like I’ve stabbed him.

“Milena…”

“I love him,” I say again. “And that’s nothing new, Papa,” I whisper. “I’ve loved him for a long time. A lot longer than you know. Than even I knew.”

His brow furrows in confusion and hurt, his head slowly shaking side to side.

“You—”

“Love him, yes,” I hiss fiercely, seething. “And if you think for one goddamn second that I’m going to go up to my room while you charge down to the basement and hurt him, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Milena, my love, I know this is hard, but it’s really best if you⁠—”

“I’m not a little girl, Papa!”

“You’re MY LITTLE GIRL!!!” he roars back.

His face breaks, all the fire in his eyes shattering as he yanks me into a tight embrace. “You will always be my little girl. Do you have any idea what it felt like the last few days, thinking that someone I loved more than anything might slip through my fingers forever?”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I hug him back.

“Da, Papa,” I choke. “It’s how I feel right now with Nero in that basement.”

He breathes quietly, still hugging me. Then he slowly pulls back, his eyes tight as they search mine.

“We need vodka. Now.”

He walks over to the wet bar, grabbing a bottle and two glasses.

“Come, sit.” He taps the kitchen island with stools sitting around it. “You’re right, my daughter,” he growls, taking a seat. “You’re not a kid anymore. So…” He nods to the stool opposite his. “Sit. Drink with me. We can talk like adults.”

“Papa, where⁠—”

“Sit, Milena,” he growls, tapping the counter. “You want to have this adult conversation, we’re going to have it.”

I glare at him, but then walk over and sit across from him. Papa pours us both splashes of vodka and pushes one toward me.

“Where were you for the last three days.”

Fuck it, let’s get it over with.

“With Nero. First, I was his captive⁠—”

Papa’s eyes flame as his lips curl into a snarl.

“I’m going to kill that fucking little⁠—”

“It was a misunderstanding.”

“Exactly how is something like that⁠—”

“Are we going to have a conversation or are you going to yell at me?!”

Papa mutters some curses in Russian and takes a heavy sip of his vodka.

“Keep going,” he finally grumbles, glowering.

“Thank you. I’ll get to the misunderstanding in a minute, but yes, I was his captive. Then I…wasn’t.” I look at him pointedly as I take a sip of the vodka. “Do you want me to elaborate on that now, or do you have further questions.”

“Oh, we’re not remotely done there,” he mutters. “But yes, I do have several more questions.” He eyes me, his mouth thinning. “What happened to Leo Debolsky.”

I wince and look away.

“He’s…dead.”

My father spits another Russian swear. “Did that fucking psycho kill him?!’ he bellows. ‘Do you know how fucking furious his father is?!” He downs the rest of his vodka at once and slams the glass on the counter. “Vladimir Debolsky wants war, Milena! Levka has been meeting with him daily since Leo disappeared, making sure this doesn’t blow up in our face! Now you’re telling me it’s because of us!?”

“Nero didn’t want me falling into the hands of a predator!’ I fire back.

“NERO is the predator, Milena!’ Papa roars. “I don’t understand why you’re protecting him! I have every reason to go down there and bury him⁠—”

“You do that, and you’ll lose me forever.”

I don’t yell. I don’t scream. But when those words fall truthfully from my mouth, my father goes still and then blinks, like I’ve slapped him.

Silence descends over the kitchen again.

“I think,” he finally says quietly, “that our glasses are dry.”

I smile wryly as he reaches for the bottle and pours us both another drink.

“Papa?”

He smiles quietly as he looks at me. “Da, solnyshka?”

“May I ask a question now?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“What do you know about the conflict our family had with the De Lucas four years ago?”

Papa doesn’t love talking about that time, because he was so close to death.

“You know what happened, Milena. The De Lucas planted a sniper across the street from this house. They shot at us,” he frowns. “I was sick, Levka was running things. He responded like a true Kalishnik.”

I swallow, shaking my head. “That’s not what actually happened, Papa,” I say quietly. “There was no shot at us. No sniper. No provocation.”

His brow wrinkles. “Milena, you’ve been misinformed⁠—”

“Papa,” I say tightly. “I need you to believe me on this.”

He frowns. “And on what grounds are you making this claim?”

My mouth thins.

“Nero?” he groans. “Because Nero told you⁠—”

“If you love me,” I hiss, “and you trust my judgment⁠—”

“Do I?” he growls.

I glare at him, and he sighs. “Of course I love you. And aside from this mess, yes, I would trust you with my life.”

“Then trust me right now,” I say quietly. “Believe me, and trust that I believe Nero.” I look at him steadily. “Papa, the De Lucas didn’t attack us.”

His face darkens as he picks up his glass and takes a sip.

“What would that mean,” I press, “if the De Lucas didn’t attack first, and it was us who started the whole thing.”

Papa’s face is grim. ‘It would mean terrible things, but that’s not⁠—“

“It is, Papa,” I say quietly. “It is exactly how it happened. Think about it. Why did we use mercenaries that night?”

He looks up sharply. “We didn’t. This family doesn’t use mercenaries to fight its battles,” he grunts.

“We did that night.”

He shakes his head tiredly. “No, Milena. Your uncle reached out to the Panachev Bratva for assistance. He and Oleg Panachev were cellmates, back in Russia⁠—”

“Why not use our own people?”

Papa sighs. “Because when you shoot at a king, Milena, you cannot miss.” He raises his eyes to me. “If we used our own men, and missed, Antonio De Luca would have come for us.” His mouth twists. “Imagine we killed his family, but he survived. How do you think your uncle or I could ever sleep again, knowing the target on you?” He sips his vodka. “Anyway, Panachev’s men aren’t mercenaries.”

My brow furrows as I reach into my pocket and pull out the little thumb drive that I brought here from Greymoor.

…The one I pulled out of the TV in the basement.

“I need you to see something. Is there a laptop around?”

He frowns. “My office,” he murmurs. “Come.”

He puts his arm around me, leading me upstairs and into his throne room.

“It’s on the desk,” he says, going to the closet and pulling out a dress shirt. He shrugs it on, buttoning it halfway before he walks over to where I’m inserting the drive into the computer.

I click on the lone file, and the grainy video fills the screen.

“Are you ready for tonight?”

“Yes Papa, I’m ready.”

“You’ll make sure he’s at the spot we agreed on?”

“What the fuck is this,” Papa growls next to me.

“I’m as confused as you are,” I mutter back.

“Excellent. If that changes, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“That’s us…” Papa hisses. “That’s my voice. But I didn’t…” He frowns at the screen

“I’m proud of you, malyshka. Doing what the family needs you to do.”

“Wait. When have I ever called you malyshka?”

A grim smile spreads over my lips.

“Of course, Papa. This is what we Kalishniks do. Besides, he means nothing to me. It’s all a means to an end.”

The video ends. Papa looks incredulous and a little unnerved.

“We never had that conversation,” he growls. “I’m sure of it.”

“Me too,” I nod. “That misunderstanding I told you about?” I gesture to the screen. “See where that might’ve come from?”

“Nero had this?”

I nod.

Papa swears in Russian under his breath before he hits the play button again.

“This is our own security footage,” he growls, his eyes darkening. “That’s our back garden.” He turns to me. “Where did Nero get this?”

I shrug helplessly. “It was sent to him anonymously—obviously to divide us. It’s you and me talking, but the audio…” I frown. “It’s been faked.”

Papa’s scowl deepens.

“No one has access to our home security footage but myself and Rurik.” He looks up at me. “And Rurik’s loyalty to the family is unquestionable⁠—”

“Boss!”

Speak of the devil…

Rurik barges into the room, his face grim. I take in his disheveled appearance—hair a mess, brow sweaty, shirt unbuttoned halfway with the sleeves rolled up.

Flecks of blood across both the shirt and his fists.

He looks at me, and I can’t help but smile at the way his whole body seems to exhale a held breath.

“Thank God,” he chokes as he walks right over to me and hugs me tightly.

There are precious few men in the world who could do that in front of my father and not be summarily shot. That’s how close we are.

However that thumb drive got out, it wasn’t Rurik.

He turns to my father, looking grim. “Marko, we’ve just been hit.’

Papa stiffens, his eyes widening. “What?!”

“Our distribution warehouse in the South Bronx,” Rurik hisses. “They slaughtered almost everyone and torched the place. NYPD and NYFD are both on site.”

Papa swears viciously. “WHO?!” he bellows.

Rurik’s face darkens. “Two of our guys made it out, and IDed the attackers as Vladimir Debolsky’s men.”

I whirl to my father. “I thought you said Uncle Levka had been in talks all week with Vladimir to settle a peace!”

Papa’s face tightens as he starts to open his mouth. Then he goes still, his mouth opening slightly as he turns and stares at the video paused on the laptop.

“Bozhe moy,” he mutters quietly.

My God.

“Your uncle also has access to the security tapes,” he murmurs.

A chill ripples through my chest as Papa whirls toward Rurik.

“Where is Levka?” he hisses.

“He’s still down there,” Rurik growls. ‘With him.”

Nero.

My father turns to me, his face pale and tight. “You love this man? I mean love, Milena,” he says. “Not infatuation. Not lust. Do you love him.”

“More than anything in the world,” I whisper.

Papa flinches just a little. “More than me?”

I smile weakly as I take his hand. “It’s…a close race.”

He nods stiffly. Then he yanks the drawer to his desk open and takes out a gun.

“Are you armed?” He asks Rurik.

Rurik grimaces. “My sidearm is downstairs.”

“Here.” Papa hands him the gun and then pulls another one out of the drawer. Then he turns to look at me, his face lined and grim.

“You’re going to refuse if I tell you to stay here, aren’t you?”

“I’m my father’s daughter.”

He smiles as he puts a hand on mine.

“Just stay behind me, solnyshka.”