Maria
My heart races from excitement even as my breath slows down. I pass several streets, occasionally stopping to listen for approaching footsteps, or worse, Dad’s Ford truck.
But tonight, I’m lucky.
Soon, I hear music and laughter coming from my friend Diana’s house at the end of Clover Road.
Party time.
I grin like a fool, thinking about how much fun I will have tonight. I should feel guilty, but I won’t. It’s my high school graduation, for fuck’s sake, and I have a right to celebrate.
As I approach the house, laughter and music spill out from the open front door, welcoming me inside. I slip into the house and instantly start smiling at the crazy energy of my friends and classmates as they jam out to vintage late 90s and early 2000s music.
A small group of people stand by the pool, drinking beer and laughing loudly. I take a deep breath and walk toward them, grabbing a Coors from an open cooler as I try to blend in.
“Maria Rostova, as I live and breathe!” Diana squeals in delight when she sees me. “You made it! Oh my God, I love this look! Come on, girl. Let’s show them how to dance!”
Diana’s skirt is shorter than mine, and her eyes are already glassy from drinking. She’s wearing heels and not Chucks like me. But most importantly, her parents are nowhere to be seen, despite all the cars in the driveway. To hear her tell it, they don’t really care as long as the house doesn’t burn down and the cops don’t show up. It’s not the first time Diana has thrown a party like this.
God, what I wouldn’t give to have her parents instead of my overbearing dad.
She pulls me to the patio, and the pulsating beat of the music ignites something inside me. I throw my hands up in the air and shake my hips to NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye.” My yelps rise above the rest of them.
Diana’s eyes widen as she watches me act wild. The attention urges me on and I throw all caution to the wind, acting crazier and crazier. Slowly, the fear dissipates that my dad will appear to snatch me away like he’s done so many times before. I’m just happy to be out of that house and having fun like normal people.
Even if it’s just for one evening.
The first of many evenings, I resolve silently.
“It’s always the quiet ones.” Diana is laughing when I open my eyes. She grips my hand and pulls me close to whisper in my ear. “Check it out—Trevor’s got his eyes on you.”
I glance over my shoulder and see that Trevor—our high school’s star quarterback with an athletic body toned from hours in the gym and on the field—is watching me.
My heart skips a beat when he catches my gaze. I had—no, still have—the biggest crush on him. And if I’m throwing caution to the wind tonight …
Just play it cool, Maria. Don’t get weird. Don’t get nervous. Oh God, he’s coming over.
“Hey, Maria!” He grins like he has me already. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”
“Neither did I,” I admit stupidly. Ugh. So much for playing it cool.
Trevor smiles. “I’m glad you’re here.” He takes my hand, and we start to dance. Our bodies move in sync with the rhythm of the loud music. As our arms circle each other’s waists, I feel his chest against mine. His hands caress my back, moving lower. Our lips are inches apart, and I feel the heat coming off his body. Our mouths are about to meet when an unexpected panic wave swallows me whole.
This is all happening too fast. What am I doing?
My father will ground me forever if he finds out.
No.
When he finds out.
Because somehow, my father always finds out.
“Wait.” I press my hand against Trevor’s chest and gently push him back, breaking our connection.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I want to … but not here,” I whisper, and the heated look returns to Trevor’s eyes.
I want my first kiss to be special. I don’t want to make out on the dance floor while everybody from school watches.
“Afraid your dad’s going to make a surprise appearance?” Trevor teases, brushing a strand of my curly hair behind my ear. “He won’t.”
Everyone at school knows about how strict and controlling my dad is. And I’ve endured more than my share of hidden whispers and gossip.
I gaze down at my feet. I want fun. But there are boundaries I’m still not ready to cross. Should I thank my dad for that? For ruining my fun while he’s nowhere in sight and keeping me safe whether I want it or not?
“It’s just you and me.” Trevor grins, pulling me closer. “And I’ll treat you right.”
I stare at him and he’s waiting for approval. I nod hesitantly and Trevor smiles, lowering his head. My heart beats wildly against my chest. My common sense tries to tell me to stop, but it’s too late.
“It’s okay,” he whispers in my ear as he pulls me close. His other hand pins my waist against him, and I feel his hardness—warm, throbbing, and inviting—press against my stomach.
“Will you be my first?”
This is what I’ve wanted for so long, right? A guy who wants me badly enough to do something about it. One who will give me everything he’s got and not be afraid of my father.
Suddenly, the music stops.
Oh no …
Shocked silence grips the room, and my eyes fly open to find everyone staring at me. My heart drops like a stone when I see my father, Michael Rostova, standing by the patio doors, watching me. His face is contorted in anger, but his eyes are filled with hurt. My cheeks sear in shame as I quickly disentangle myself from Trevor, who goes wide-eyed with fear when he sees my father.
Dad strides toward us with such intensity that it feels like a tornado has just hit the party.
“Step away from my daughter.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s no need for him to. The hurt in my father’s eyes is gone, and in its place is something new. Something I’ve never seen before.
He looks like he’s ready to kill.
“Fuck you, man,” Trevor speaks up, drawing my father’s baleful glare instantly.
He grabs Trevor by the collar and lifts him up like he weighs nothing.
“Dad! Stop!” I shout, trying to pry his tight grip off Trevor. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Enough,” he says, never raising his voice, yet there is no mistaking the power behind his words. His free hand grabs my arm with an iron grip that I had no idea he was capable of. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Let her go, asshole!” Trevor shouts and reaches for my dad.
Wrong answer.
Everything happens in a blur. Without warning, Dad hurls Trevor across the patio, knocking another boy into the bushes. Other than the sound of rustling branches as Trevor struggles to get up, there is only silence.
“Home. Now.” Dad’s voice is iron-hard like his grip, and there is an edge to his voice that tells me he will not tolerate backtalk or dissent.
All my life, he’s been strict and overprotective. But this … this is extreme, even for him.
He drags me toward his truck, ignoring the tears welling up in my eyes as he publicly humiliates me. I turn my face away from my friends’ gaping stares burning into my back. I don’t dare look at them, and I hope I’ll never see any of them again.
Not after this.
As we approach his truck, I yank my arm free, tears streaming down my face.
“Why do you always have to ruin everything?!” I scream. My voice ends in a whine, a fact that I resent almost as much as him ruining my life.
Maria"I don't want you to get hurt, Maria."Dad opens the passenger's side door when we get home. He stares at me, and I sit there with my arms folded as if I could defy him. But slowly, my resolve crumbles, and I leap out of the truck, running past him to the front door. It's pathetic. I have to wait for him to open the door because I don't have a key."There are things I need to protect you from," he replies, unlocking the door. "Things you don't know about.""Then tell me!" I demand. "You can't keep me in the dark forever! It's my life you're ruining, not yours!""You're like your mother," he says quietly, taking in a ragged breath. "Maybe I wouldn't worry about losing you if she was still here."He always wins our arguments when he mentions her. He told me that she passed away from cancer when I was still a baby, long before I could even form any memories. But whenever I ask for any details, he never goes into it.Almost as if he can't bear to.Dad has raised me by himself my ent
MariaThe moment I step off the bus, I'm hit by a blast of humidity in the face. I'd pause, but everybody is moving fast, and I'm trying to keep up as I exit the Port Authority. I speed walk as if I know where I'm going, and I hope I do. Times Square is like stepping into another world, with bright colors and Broadway billboards over my head. For a moment, I stand still on the sidewalk, soaking in the chaos surrounding me. It's exhilarating and overwhelming all at once—until a woman jostles me out of her way.Stay focused, Maria. Stop acting like a tourist.I start moving again, looking for a pay phone, but they must only exist on old TV shows. I pull the card with Mercy's address out of my pocket and start walking, not entirely sure how I will actually get there.I'm hoping I can stay with my cousin for a little while. I've never been sure how we're related, but we've called each other "cousin" since we were babies.Until Dad stopped us from talking.I try to keep pace, walking on pa
MariaIt doesn't take long for me to get to the address on Mercy's card, and true to Mikhail's words, it's a bar. The name "Somewhere Bar" is lit up by neon lights, and even though it's not too far from Times Square, it looks surprisingly empty.I wonder if I've made a mistake when I spot her red hair—same as mine—before she sees me. I wave at her like a fool, and her dark eyes narrow on me for a moment before they light up with recognition. She coughs and tosses her cigarette to the ground."Maria!" she calls out. "What the hell! What are you doing here?""Hey, Mercy!" I shout back, dodging a pedestrian to reach her.Mercy wraps me in a tight hug. Her welcome is the reassurance I need right now. She steps back and looks me hard in the eyes. "Where's your dad?"I swallow hard. "I ran away.""Ran away?" She laughs loudly, verging on a coughing fit. "You're eighteen, for Chrissake. Call it what it is: you left home." She gives me another bear hug before pulling back, smiling."Well, you
MikhailI stand tall in the dusty and stuffy anteroom of Sorokin Castle, my heart racing as I adjust the cuffs of my Saville Row suit. My reflection stares back at me in the mirror and I try hard not to grimace.For years, I've both anticipated and dreaded this moment. And with my father, Gennady's, recent passing, it somehow doesn't feel real.Inhaling, I exit the small room and enter the grand hall where my coronation is taking place. I kneel before the head of an ornate conference table and lift my head to heaven while the others remain standing. Grigori Schevchenko, the priest, nods and begins the liturgy of ascension, reciting the familiar words as my late father's gun is placed before me."You care for no one but the Bratva," he drones. "And you shall love none other than the Bratva."This was never supposed to be my burden, I think bitterly as I repeat the words. It was always supposed to be yours, Desmier.Father lost the son he loved—the son he always wanted to pass the Bratv
MikhailA dark cloud lingers over my thoughts. Andrei Barinov's war has put unnecessary scrutiny over all of the Bratvas of the East Coast. A web of violence and deceit is slowly unfurling, and the threat of outside interference has only grown in the months since. To prepare, Father and I had begun a massive recruitment and armament drive. But his untimely death threatens to throw the entire thing off balance.And with the Lanzzare circling like sharks around us, looking for any and all moments of weakness, there is not a moment of rest to be had.Our conversation continues, and the brigadiers each rattle off information about our manpower, reserves, and operations. Each bit of news is accompanied by praise for my father and flattery for me, but I see through their attempts. They're probing me to gauge my reaction. But they played their hand already when Gunsyn disrespected me the moment I walked into my own home.And when it is time for them to leave, I gaze at the eastern horizon, p
MariaI run up the subway stairs and out onto the busy streets of SoHo, clutching the card from Mikhail the other night. The city buzzes around me, making my heart race with excitement. I'm going to my first contemporary art gallery! It's a feeling I've never experienced before, and I feel giddy on the inside while doing my best to keep my cool on the outside.My gaze is drawn to a sleek concrete and glass building with teal banners above the door, displaying the name "Chrysanthea" in bold gold letters. This is it. I stare at the abstract painting in the window by Kimoto Kaori, briefly wondering if I might actually meet her. I step inside, immediately captivated by her work adorning the walls.The air-conditioned space is a welcome relief from the humid summer heat. The room is alive with the hum of other patrons commenting on the art on display. Finally, I have found my tribe.I feel a sense of pride for going out alone and avoiding Mercy's club scene. The low lights and loud music w
MariaOur conversation flows effortlessly from there, moving from art to the city. I'm careful not to reveal too much about myself, but I can't help but be drawn to him. His charisma is intoxicating, and I find myself flirting with him more than I ever have with anyone before. I can't help but let myself be swept away by the possibility of falling in love. Maybe not with him—he's still a total stranger—but I want it to happen one day.Mikhail is nothing like the high school boys I know, and I feel embarrassed for being so eager when Trevor's hands were groping me at the party. I inhale as discreetly as I can when he looks away for a moment.In New York, I can create myself, just like a work of art."There's something about Kaori's art that transports a person into another world," I say breathlessly as we finally walk away from the painting and move on through the gallery. "I'd love to be in her world, even for a moment."Mikhail nods as he smiles knowingly and leads me over to a self-
MikhailMaria tries to run the moment we take her out of the limo beneath my building. Rurik catches her quickly, but not before she kicks him in the shin. Cursing, he hands her to me. My grip on her arm is unyielding as she stumbles off the elevator and into my penthouse.When the door opens at the penthouse, her fear is displaced by wonder and awe. She stares slack-jawed at the pristine floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city below us, and then she does a double take at the artwork on the walls.Warhol, Basquiat, Malevich, Mapplethorpe, Nevelson. And, of course, Rothko.The open-concept living area is filled with modern-era furniture, a sleek fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and artifacts. There is undeniable admiration in her eyes as she tries to take in every detail of her new luxurious surroundings.Maria walks in a trance toward a wall that's not there. Her fingers touch the glass as she looks out at the world at midnight. The lig