It was easy to forget her silence, when she was more than boisterous enough to make up for her lack of speech. The barrier was never a hindrance between us—I only had to look at her face and know exactly what was on her mischievous little mind.
And her final expression is all I see whenever I close my eyes. The features have faded with time, but that tormented stare remains. The pain. The anguish. The betrayal.
“I can’t get a signal out in this fucking godforsaken…” Hissing, Fabio heads for the foyer. “I’m going to go see if I can get better service out by the car. Though honestly, we should be heading back. Even if you didn’t take the Stepanova girl, someone did. And someone tried to kill you as well.” Wincing, he stoops to stroke his thigh and sighs. “My knee is acting up the way it does before shit hits the fan.”
He storms from the house, and I should follow him. I don’t know what keeps me here, standing motionless in the center of this study.
I left this place the day I sold Safiya. I couldn’t bear to step one foot through the door and wander these halls without hearing her echoing footsteps. I couldn’t imagine sitting at this desk without having her sneak in to curl onto the floor beside me. Living here without her was out of the question.
After all this time, it’s still the damn same, stocked with what furniture I didn’t bother to salvage or sell. Books still line the shelves, old business tomes mainly, but even now, a few titles catch my eye. Her old favorites.
I’m drawn to one in particular, and my hand shakes as I wrench it from a thick layer of dust and observe the cover in the fading daylight.
Pollyanna. It was her favorite. I think she strove to fashion herself in the same way, hopeful and optimistic in the face of strife. My happy girl.
The pain of her memory feels sharper now more than ever. A constant throbbing in my gut, made worse by the marks I spy scraped into the dust on the floor. The rough outline of a small body is visible over by the chair. Someone bigger than Safiya but still diminutive and slight.
A woman too feisty, too fierce to be even a mafiya Pahkan’s daughter.
“Donatello.”
I turn to find Fabio standing in the doorway once more. One look at his face and my heart stops.
“Willow Stepanova was returned to her family earlier today,” he says hoarsely.
“Thank god,” I say, laughing with genuine relief.
But Fab isn’t smiling.
“What’s wrong?”
“She was found half-naked, covered in blood,” he croaks, his expression a cross between disbelief and horror. “Her clothes ripped from her body. Her underwear in pieces. I shouldn’t have to tell you where, should I?”
“Son of a bitch…” The room spins, and I collapse into the leather chair, rubbing at my temples. “She couldn’t be—”
“Correction, she is,” Fabio hisses, crossing toward me, his face red. “You kidnapped Mischa Stepanov’s daughter. You dragged her away from the city and raped her in your derelict family home—”
“I did not!” I bellow. “I barely touched her.”
He shrugs with a callousness I’ve rarely seen in him. “That’s what it looks like. And who do you think Mischa is likely to believe? You? The bastard he can’t even be bothered to grant an audience with despite you pining for it for years? Or his daughter’s torn clothing. His men found her, you think he won’t believe them? You’ve been waiting for death for a long time, Donatello. I think you’re about to get your wish.”
“Let him come for me,” I growl, still rubbing at my throbbing temples. Reality tempers my bravado a bit, and desperate hope is all I have to cling to. This is a dream. A nightmare. Any minute I’ll wake up to Vin taunting me about having hidden my whiskey. Still, I play along, scoffing at Fabio’s insinuation. “I can handle Mischa.”
It’s a lie, but only in the context of loss vs. gain. Mischa has far more at stake than I do—but what I do have worth protecting is too great to risk.
“Vincenzo!” I lurch into motion at the thought of him, rising to my feet. “I need him safe—”
“I’ve already suggested your men move him to another location,” Fabio says, and I sway with relief. I’d hug him if the man didn’t look liable to slap me. “But this is deep shit, Don. I can’t help you. Fuck, I shouldn’t even be seen with you.”
“So enduring your friendship and loyalty is, Fabio.”
“Don’t give me that shit,” he snarls, digging through his breast pocket for an item that makes my eyes widen in shock. “Don’t look at me like that, either.”
He proceeds to prop a cigarette between his two fingers. He withdraws a gold lighter as well and ignites the end, inhaling deeply. It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen him reduced to this.
“It will take more than your alcoholism to explain this shit away,” he adds, starting to pace. “You’re lucky I’m still standing here. And if you want to fix this, I can help you. But I want honesty. You mentioned that she tried to kill you, if I believe your little story. So what did you do after, huh? Enact your revenge?”
“No!” Gritting my teeth, I storm away from him and brace my hands against the desk. Contrary to his snide remark, I remember every fucking second of last night. All of it. “I’m telling you, I didn’t fuck her. I barely touched her.”
“So, what did happen, then?”
“I…” After sleep and in a somewhat clearer mental state, I know how crazy the truth sounds. Insanity. A madman’s paranoia.
“Now isn’t the time to play coy, Donatello. For the love of God!”
“Alright! I thought… I thought she was pretending to be Safiya.”
“Shit,” Fabio says as understanding
