The image in my mind disgusts me. This is exactly what I warned Zoya about. But she didn’t listen.
My paternal instincts are flaring. I know what I have to do. Once Cardona waves me away, I tip back the rest of the vodka, stand, and bow to him obediently. I’m ushered from the room and pushed into the parking lot, a round of laughter echoing behind me.
Cardona’s men are definitely rooting for Sharp.
But I won’t let that happen. I won’t let either of those scenarios happen.
I stumble to my car, drop into the driver’s seat, and start the engine, peeling away from the docks as fast as I can manage. The dilapidated scenery slowly improves as I make my way back to the city. By the time I reach the bridge, my heart is racing and I’m pouring sweat, soaking right through my damn suit.
“That asshole,” I grumble. “That fuckingprick.”
I slap the steering wheel.
Discouraging Zoya sooner would have prevented this situation. Hell, pushing Pavel to marry her would have been even better. I’d be commanding men instead of driving around these shitty back streets just to get to my sparkling shithole of an apartment.
But most importantly, my pregnant daughter wouldn’t be out there somewhere without any protection.
I scroll through the contacts in my mind. Every connection I ever made is in the Bratva or in Felix’s pocket.
There’s only one person that can handle a sick fuck like Felix Cardona. He’s the only one who will understand my plight and who might even be more than sympathetic to my situation. If I phrase it correctly, maybe he’ll even feel just a little bit guilty about the way things went down between us.
I touch my chest mindlessly.
But I’m not sure. Zoya fucked us over the moment she jumped in bed with Jonas Bernadetti. And then Jonas fucked us over when he ate a bullet to the brain.
So now, the same guy who might be able to help me might not want to do so. He might not want to helpus.
But he’s the only one left.
I have to speak to Pavel.
Consequences be damned.
Chapter Six
Liya
A wicked siren blares from my phone. I lift it from the charging station and check the screen, noticing a notification for a missing person.
ZoyaMalinskaya.
My heart drops into my stomach. I take a few steps back, trying to process what I’m seeing on the screen. My thumb hovers over the notification while I debate whether or not I want to see her face. What picture did they decide to put out?
Does it matter?
Nausea rolls through my gut. I gag and then head down the hallway to the kitchen, where I grab a can of ginger ale from the fridge. Ever since the baby shower, I’ve been addicted to these things, finding solace in them whenever I get another roiling wave of nausea.
I’m not sure if it’s because it helped ease my shock after Jonas died or if it really does help the nausea.
Could be both, and I don’t care.
I pop the tab and take a sip, sighing with relief when the bubbles tickle my tongue. After a few sips, I hold up my phone and click on the notification. A darling petite girl with black hair and blue eyes smiles brightly at the camera while hugging her father. Kiril is smiling too. And it’s so weird to see them like this.
At the wedding, nothing but disdain and disappointment dripped from his expression. Lines crowded his face, aging him more than he probably appeared on a regular basis. His movements were jagged, almost frantic. I didn’t see him again after that.
But this picture? They look like the happiest family ever.
It’s weird. It’s haunting.