I scrub my face.What am I supposed to do now?
The crib is the only thing that feels natural to me these days. It brings me a sense of ease to put it together. Yet I also feel the haunting anticipation of its completion.
When it’s built, what will I do next? Wait for Liya to walk out the door?
I sit up.I can’t let that happen.
My muscles move of their own accord. Smooth wood meets my palm. The act of breathing comes easier the more I move. And as I stare at the crib, a memory rushes to the forefront of my mind. A memory that I had buried after a night of vodka. Not just a memory, but a faded nightmare.
The nightmare where my daughter begged me not to kill her boyfriend. Where I ignored her pleas. And each time I ignored those pleas, the clearer her boyfriend’s face became.
Except it wasn’t her lover.
It was Liya. I was killing Liya.
My head feels heavy. I rest my cheek against the cool wood, sensing that the project is keeping me saner than a drink ever did. The only reason I had that nightmare was because of what Karina told me.
Because of what Father did to the boy she loved.
I close my eyes with a sense of defeat.Is that the man I want to become?
Monster. Killer. Destroyer.
Do I want to live up to the life my father intended by becoming all those things?
I don’t think I know how to do anything else. I stand up and test the strength of the crib. It’s been fine each time. I keep doing it just to make sure.What would I do without the Bratva?
Dozens of answers rise from the depths of my soul. Among them are the simplest of things—walking down the street without getting shot, going camping with my family, buying a house upstate, and adopting a dog.
Most importantly, I would just be able to sleep at night with Liya by my side.
I want Liya by my side.
There’s one way to ensure that. It might not work right now, but it’s worth doing regardless.
I have to do it. For her.
I pack up the toolkit, push the crib out of view, and move the box in front of it. I wander toward the stairs, glancing over my shoulder one more time to make sure it’s not going to be disturbed. Then I turn out the light and return to the second floor.
The house is quiet. Layers of dust sit on the sleeves of my shirt. I unwind the sleeves, button them back into place, and play with the knot of my tie. Soft white light leaks around the edges of the bedroom door. When I reach it, I knock twice, gently pushing the door open.
Liya sits at the desk, her form hunched over her phone. She notices me and shoves her phone into her pocket.
“I was just reading the news. The article is spreading.”
Sparks in her eyes glow like embers. Fear. She’s probably received another horrifying picture.
I step forward. “You heard from Cardona.”
The way she hangs her head confirms it.
I close the space between us while slipping my tie from my collar. I toss it aside and rest my hand on her shoulder. Though she doesn’t lean into me, she seems to relax under my touch. I tilt her chin up.
My thumb drifts over her lower lip. “I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday.”
Confusion steals her features for a split second. And then, her eyes darken. Emotions slither away. What remains is a ghastly expression—haunted and empty.
I want to bring her back.