Chapter 32: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 32

I bang hard on the old, familiar door, and I wait. In the car behind me, Grigor, Alexan, and Tigran are all glaring at my back. My husband, in particular, took more than a little convincing to make this trip possible, and even more arguing to get him to agree to let me handle it all by myself.

Now that I’m actually here, standing on the stoop at ten in the morning on a blustery Philadelphia day, I’m starting to think that maybe I made the wrong choice.

Maybe it’d be better if Tigran were by my side.

But no, I can do this. I’m not the weak, terrified girl I was when I first married him. I’ve been through enough already, was nearly killed, had a man die in my arms, got pregnant, redecorated a house, fought with a mafia killer, befriended a bunch of criminals, cooked some good chickens. I’m more than my trauma. I don’t have to let it define me anymore.

The door opens and my brother stares at me.

“Dasha?” he says with genuine shock in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Evan.” I hesitate, then launch myself and give him a big hug.

He laughs, hugging me back. We were never a super affectionate family, and I bet it’s a real surprise to see me out in the world, much less hugging him, but this is good.

“It’s great to see you,” he says, pulling back. His eyes stray past me and to the street. “Is that your husband and two scary guards?”

“Ignore the big men with the guns and invite me in.”

“This is your house,” he says, stepping aside. “But shouldn’t we ask them to come too? I mean, at least Tigran, right?” He waves, but I pull him away.

“I’m here for myself.” I walk with him to the kitchen. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing since I left.”

“Basically, the same old stuff. I’m way more interested in you. How’s Tigran? How’s life? How’s—” He glances at my belly.

“Happy. Healthy. Surprisingly good.” I fill him in on the major events while he makes tea. It feels so weird being back in my old house again.

Everything’s the same, but it’s also completely different. The chairs feel smaller, the clutter bothers me more, and the dishes in the sink are annoying. And I know that really, nothing’s changed at all, except for me.

I’ve changed so much that I don’t fit in here anymore.

“Dad was pretty messed up when he got back from his visit.” Evan sits across from me, shaking his head. His shoulders slump. “I swear to God, Dash, I didn’t know. About the wedding, about that fucking Irish diseased dicksmear, about any of it.”

“I know you didn’t.” I remember how surprised and angry he was the night of the wedding. Evan’s clever, but he couldn’t have faked that. “I don’t blame you even a little bit. How have things been here with me gone?”

“Tense,” he admits. “I flipped out when I heard what happened. He tried to hide it, but you know, he came back—” He gestures at his face, meaning, beat to hell. “And when he told me the truth, I lost it.”

“Where is he now?”

“Doing his rounds.”

“I want to talk to him. Think you could call and tell him I’m here?”

Evan shrugs, looking uncertain. “You sure about that? I mean, I feel like it might be better if you visited without the old prick ruining it.”

“Listen, I’m so happy we got to see each other, but I came for him. Would you mind?”

He smirks slightly and drinks his tea. “Should’ve known. My sister, coming to visit me? Never in a million years.”

“Evan—”

“I’m teasing. I’m honestly just happy you’re out and about.” He pauses as he pushes to his feet. “I mean, you are out and about?”

“More than I ever was before,” I say with a smile, and I really mean it. “I’m going to check out my old room.”

“All right, I’ll go track down the old man. I’m sure he’ll be interested in talking.”

I head upstairs while Evan makes his calls. A strange wave of sadness rushes over me, tinged by a sepia-toned nostalgia.

If I hadn’t married Tigran, where would I be right now?

I step into my old suite and look around the deeply, sadly familiar living area.

It feels so drab. Same old couch, same old table. Same TV, magazines, books, and carpet. It’s so much smaller now, at least compared to the suite back home.

But it’s also mine. This was my space for twelve years. The reading nook. The me-shaped indent on the far end of the couch. Pictures from high school on the bookcases, little collectible Tamagotchi toys I got super into ordering for a while. The strange stages of my life laid out like rock strata. I can almost trace the way I’ve changed from year to year just based on the books on the shelves.

The bedroom’s the same. Bathroom too. Like Dad never bothered to come in here after I left. There are a few things I want to take back with me, and I find a bag in the closet. Old yearbooks tumble out and I smile to myself. Tigran will get a kick out of pictures of awkward teenage me. I lose track of time reminiscing, hating myself for wasting so much time in here and generally letting a wave of strange emotion flood over me, and I don’t hear the door open until my father appears in my bedroom door.

He looks in at me. His nose is healed, but there’s still a bump on the bridge where it snapped. The bruises on his neck are long faded now. But there’s something new on him I haven’t seen before.

Fear, genuine fear.

“Hello, Dad.” I stand up and toss the packed bag onto my bed. “The place is just like I left it.”

“I kept it this way in case you decided to come home.” He frowns at me but doesn’t move to come closer. “I saw your husband out front. He didn’t come in?”

“I’m here on my own.” I stare at my father and harness all those emotions I’ve been dealing with. My anger, my sadness. So much missed opportunity, so many good years flushed into seclusion.

Dad nods, looking old and small. He lifts his hands and flexes his fingers. “I hear you’re pregnant.” He lets his palm drop. “Congratulations, Dashenka.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you know the sex yet?”

I shake my head. “We’re finding out at the twenty-week anatomy scan. I think I’m about ten weeks right now. I probably shouldn’t even be telling anyone until after twelve.”

“I’m happy for you. Is he treating you well?”

I cross my arms, straighten my spine, and raise my chin. This time, I’m not going for meek and submissive. I’m not going for prim and distant.

This time, I let him see my anger.

“You failed me,” I tell him, staring into his eyes.

He flinches. “I know. But you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand then.”

“Seamus’s father was too powerful. If we had killed the boy like I wanted, there would have been enormous problems for the Bratva. In the end, Oleg ordered me to take the deal, and when the pakhan speaks, you must listen.”

I bristle at that. What a cowardly explanation. He was just following orders?

God, that’s pathetic.

“You failed me,” I say again, this time speaking through my teeth as rage fills my chest. “I don’t care if the old pakhan ordered it. You should have found a way to kill that sick monster.” My voice trembles and I’m mad at myself for getting so emotional. I wanted this to be a rational discussion. Instead, I’m thinking about flying at him and clawing out his eyes.

Now I get why Tigran nearly beat him to death.

“I know, Dashenka. All those years seeing you living here, afraid of your own shadow, they killed me, and I knew I chose wrong. But you thought he was gone, and you still ended up here anyway. What difference would it have made?”

“He wouldn’t still be alive, and he wouldn’t be trying to kill me now,” I snap at him. “Don’t make excuses. Don’t pretend like you did the right thing. You were supposed to take care of me, and you didn’t.”

“I tried, I really did. I gave you support, space, anything you wanted for twelve long years⁠—”

“And then the moment that became inconvenient, you sold me to the Armenians.”

“That isn’t fair,” he says, hardening. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Right, your pakhan ordered it.” I step closer to him and point a finger at his chest. “I bet you’ve justified every shitty decision you’ve ever made in your life. I bet you’re good at pretending like they were all outside your control. But you did them, Dad. You and only you. And now I’m here to see if you’ll do something decent for once in your life.”

His face twitches as he stares me down. “And what’s that, Dashenka?”

“Convince Valentin to send the Brotherhood whatever support they request in their war against the Irish. Maybe this time, you can have a hand in killing the man that threw your daughter in a cage and left her scarred.” I rub my palm against my cheek and turn so he can get a good look at the reminder I can’t ever escape.

His face goes flat. He tilts his head, studying me. “Tigran put you up to this,” he says.

“No, Dad, Tigran tried to talk me out of it.”

“You really want Russians to get involved in Armenian problems?”

“I want the Zeitsevs to live up to their promises!” I throw up my hands, beyond frustrated. Then I stalk over to him. Dad looms over me, but I don’t back down. “You’re going to make it happen. Valentin listens to you, and you’re my father. You’ve got some moral standing here. Explain to him the situation. Tell him you want to personally bring some soldiers, guns, and money down to Baltimore to help take out Seamus McGrath like you should have twelve years ago. Don’t take no for an answer.”

Dad’s face is granite now. This isn’t my father anymore—it’s the powerful member of a vicious Bratva organization. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll die knowing you’re a coward.”

We don’t speak. The moment hangs thick before us. All those years I spent in this room a silent testament to my cause. He has to feel them the same way I do, weighing down my shoulders.

Except for me, they’re slowly peeling away. I feel lighter, freer, stronger than I ever have. Standing up to him like this would’ve never, ever occurred to me even two months back. But now?

I’m barely keeping myself from physically assaulting him.

And it feels good to be a vicious queen.

I smile, showing teeth, because Tigran’s going to be proud.

And when he’s proud, the handcuffs come out.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says at last. “But I make no promises.”

“Do more than your best,” I snap in his face. Then I storm back to the bed and gather up my bag. “Step up for once in your life.” I brush past him and he cringes out of my way.

“If I had known what would happen sending you down to those Armenians—” He calls out, but stops when I turn on him, passion burning off me like flaming gasoline on the edge of exploding.

“Don’t finish that stupid sentence, Dad. Just get me the soldiers and guns.”

I storm out of the room, heart pounding in my chest.

That went better than I thought. I’m grinning, exultant as I head back downstairs. I’m not sure it’ll work, but I feel like I’ve grown ten inches in ten minutes.

Evan’s waiting for me in the foyer. He looks serious, his face hard, as he pulls me into a rough hug. “I heard some of that,” he says gruffly.

“Yeah? And what do you think?”

“If Dad doesn’t come through, I will.”

“Evan, come on⁠—”

“I know men, little sister. Dad’s not the only one with a voice in the Bratva these days. You’ll get what you need.”

I smile, excitement running through my core. “Thank you.”

“Anything for family.” He gives me another hug. “Now, your husband’s waiting.”

I leave my old house. As I head down the stoop, I’m fairly sure it’s for the very last time.

I don’t plan on ever coming back here.

“How did it go?” Tigran asks. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

“I stood up to him,” I say as all my rage slowly melts away and I fade back into myself. Just regular old Dasha. Except a little flame’s still burning away, and the last of my old armor has turned to ashes.

Leaving only me and nothing else to hide behind.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, kissing my ear.

“How fast do you think Alexan can drive?”

“Not fast enough.”

I heft my bag on my shoulder. “Should we get a hotel?”

“I’m going to leave you a moaning, sweating, incoherent mess,” he whispers, squeezing my hand tightly.

“You’d better.”