Forced Marriage Vows

23. Anastasia

CHAPTER 23

Anastasia

M ikhail and I are trying to enjoy a Sunday afternoon, watching a movie together, when my phone suddenly starts ringing. I’ve never been a very religious person but I swear as soon as I look at the phone, chills spread up my arms.

It’s Sierra. She and Jalen just left the house about an hour ago. They popped in to see us and have lunch on their way home from church.

The second I answer the call, all I can hear is crying. I sit up, feeling my throat immediately close up. I push past it and struggle to speak.

“Sierra,” I murmur gently. “What is it? Are you okay?”

Mikhail’s alert behind me. He doesn’t speak, but I heart his breaths quickening and I know when I look in his face, all I’ll see is stark worry and fear.

“Ana,” she whispers sounding hollow and unlike herself, “they took Jalen.”

Over the next hour, a cavalry arrives inside our penthouse apartment. It takes only an hour to call anyone and everyone with any authority in this city, and Mikhail has them all searching for his son.

“I want every camera checked,” he barks, looking every bit like a general at the head of his army. “Whoever was responsible will be found.”

I’m comforting a crying Sierra on my couch, watching as my husband also tries his best not to fall apart.

In my heart, I already know who was responsible. And I think Mikhail knows too, but it isn’t until the Italians walk through our door that they give us the reality check we hadn’t wanted to face.

Adrian Rossi snarls at my husband, “So what? Finding Igor’s a priority now that he’s kidnapped your child?”

My heart stops and I want to tell him that’s wrong. My father would never harm that sweet little boy. Mikhail glances at me in the next moment, his jaw clenched.

“If Igor really took him, then I’ll tear this city apart to get him back,” he states.

The Don speaks next, his entire demeanor calm and alert. “Have any calls been made? If this is a hostage situation, I’d expect he’d contact us to make any demands.”

“He knows we’d be tracking any number he used to call us until we found his location,” Ivan Volkov speaks up from Mikhail’s side.

They’re all distracted so I use that opportunity to sneak out, heading to the bedrooms. I’m gripping my phone tight in my hands as I step inside. It’s been weeks since I’ve tried to communicate with my dad. The number I had is unsurprisingly out of service, but I’ve got a backup option.

I dial Coda’s number, hoping and praying he picks it up.

“Anastasia,” he says, answering on the third ring.

And the way he says my name like he’d been expecting me to call has my heart skipping several beats.

“Please tell me you don’t have him,” I beg, feeling a muscle spasm in my arm.

Coda hasn’t been in contact with me since Mikhail kidnaped me from my home. I took that to mean that he was safe and had managed to find and regroup with my father.

He doesn’t speak for several moments, and when he does his voice is colder, unaffected.

“Your father has a message for you,” he starts. “He said to tell you that he’s tired of staying in hiding. He has the boy and he’ll return him as long as Morozova surrenders and comes begging on his knees. If he doesn’t get what he wants in less than two hours, he said to tell you that the little boy dies.”

I gasp, pain threading through my chest, “He’s three!” I say, horrified.

“Tell your husband to stand down, Ana. Nothing has to happen to him. We’ll expect a call from you within two hours.”

Coda hangs up and I start pacing the length of the room, running a hand through my hair while I think of what to do. Finally, I settle on the best course of action, one I hope ends with no one getting hurt.

I walk into the closet to grab a jacket and pull on some comfortable boots. And then I’m grabbing the keys to Mikhail’s car, wondering how I’m going to be able to sneak out of the house unnoticed. Which was probably a fool’s wish because he’s on the other side as soon as I open the door.

He steps forward, crowding the doorway, blue eyes icy cold. “Where do you think you’re going, solnyshko ?”

I shiver at the carefully controlled note of anger in his voice. But I don’t cower before him. I make sure to look into his eyes as I try to explain.

“I know where they are, Mikhail,” I begin desperately. “If you let me leave, I can go and talk to him. Reason with my father. I can get Jalen back.”

“You’re not going anywhere alone.”

I feel a light pressure beginning in my eyes. “Mikhail, please, please just let me go. I have to at least try. I know I can fix everything.”

His eyes narrow as he takes a step forward, tugging me closer. “Do you really think that I would let you put yourself in danger like this? I already lost my son. I’m not going to lose you, too,” he snaps.

My eyes flutter shut. “I don’t know what to do.”

“The ball is in your court, Anastasia. We could keep searching and eventually find the location of the safe house. But it could already be too late by then.”

I nod in agreement. “I know where it is,” I whisper. “I could take you there.”

“He’ll die, solnyshko ,” Mikhail tells me. The words are delivered softly, to reduce the blow, but it stings regardless. “Your father dies today.”

I hear the unsaid words. Even if I don’t kill him, there’s no shortage of men who wouldn’t be itching for the opportunity. At the top of that list is Adrian Rossi. I never asked Mikhail why he hated my father so much. I think I was too scared to find out.

“Okay.” I nod, breathing in and out deeply. “I’ll take you to the safe house. As long as you promise I’ll get to talk to him first. Promise me, Mikhail.”

“So long as you’re not in any danger, solnyshko ,” he says tenderly.

When Mikhail goes to announce that he has the safe house location, everyone moves into action. We leave the penthouse in less than twenty minutes, guards packed into vans, men driving their cars. There’s a hint of violence in the air as we drive through the city, heading out of it.

Mikhail drives with one hand, while his other hand is threaded through mine. His touch is warm, comforting, and helps to calm the thoughts racing through my head. Sierra’s behind us in the back of the car. I tried to get her not to come but she refused, wanting nothing but to be reunited with her son as soon as possible.

She’s sitting very still in the back, unblinking. This has been really hard on her.

I just wish and hope and pray with every part of me that this doesn’t end in a bloodbath. Because we’re heading to that safe house with a small army, and we have no idea what’s waiting for us.

Eventually, we arrive at our destination.

It’s getting late, and all I can hear is my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I step outside of the car, standing at the edge of the clearing as I stare up at the house. My father thought I would never betray him when he gave me this location. But now I have, and I feel awful.

But I have to save Jalen. The poor kid is probably terrified.

Mikhail’s men are scattered all around me, waiting for the signal. Guns, cold eyes, all ready to do whatever it takes to get Mikhail’s son back. And Mikhail… he’s beside me, tense, watching the house like a predator. I can feel the fury radiating off him, barely contained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

I have to do something. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat nearly choking me. I can’t believe it’s come to this. Why would my father do this? Why would he take Jalen?

None of the men can move yet, just in case my father’s got snipers who can take shots from the windows of the second floor. Whatever happens next is on me.

I take a step toward the house, but Mikhail grabs my arm, his grip like steel.

“No,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not going in there alone.”

I turn to him, my eyes pleading. “Mikhail, please. I’m the only person they won’t take a shot at immediately. And you promised. I need to at least talk to him.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing. His looks at me for a long moment. I can see the conflict in him. He wants more than anything to keep me out of danger, but I have to do this—for his sake and mine.

“Mikhail,” I whisper, taking a step closer. “Please.”

His eyes flash, his grip tightening on my arm, “If you’re not out in twenty minutes,” he says, his voice like ice, “I’m coming in. And I don’t care how many doors or windows I have to break to get to you.”

My heart leaps. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to cup my face, and before I can react, he presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips warm.

“Be careful, solnyshko . Your father is not the man you think he is,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

I turn around and walk toward the house, my legs heavy with fear and uncertainty. There’s a keypad next to the door and I type in the code, the numbers familiar beneath my fingers. It’s my birthday, making me feel so much worse.

The door clicks open and I step inside, the silence swallowing me whole. The house is eerily quiet, the only sound my own breathing as I walk through the hallway. The living room is just ahead and I force myself to keep moving even as my heart screams at me to turn back. When I step into the room, the sight that greets me freezes me in place.

My father is there, standing in the center of the room, a gun in his hand. His face is twisted in fury, his eyes cold and dark as they lock onto mine. On the couch in front of him is Jalen—a small, unconscious little boy. He looks so tiny, vulnerable, surrounded by the guards my father has stationed around him.

One of them is Coda. My gaze meets his for a moment before I look forward.

“Daughter,” my father spits, his voice filled with venom. “You’ve brought wolves to my front door. I trusted you!”

My heart cracks. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. Not now, not with everything on the line.

“Papa,” I whisper as I step forward, my voice breaking. “Why are you doing this? He’s a little boy.”

His hand tightens on the gun in his hand, “You betrayed me, Anastasia,” he snarls. “I didn’t want to believe that you would choose him over me, but you did. My own daughter stabbed me in the back.”

I shake my head, my voice trembling. “I didn’t choose this, Papa. You did. You forced my hand when you kidnapped an innocent child.”

“He’s his child,” my father growls, pointing the gun at Jalen’s sleeping figure. My stomach twists with worry. “Don’t underestimate what I’ll do to take down my enemies, Anastasia. I’ll kill this boy if I have to.”

“No,” I say, my voice louder now. Desperation clawing at me.

He stares at me, his eyes searching mine for something, some kind of understanding. Maybe he’s searching for the little girl he once knew. The one who was obsessed with him and would have done anything he asked. The one desperate for his attention. But that little girl is gone.

And I can see it now. Something I’ve been too afraid to admit to myself. The father I knew is gone, as well. Maybe he never even existed. I suck in a sharp breath as I prepare to ask something that I know is going to break my heart, but I need to ask anyway.

“I’ve been having this recurring dream for as long as I can remember,” I start, and his eyes narrow suspiciously. “In the dream, I’m walking toward the door of your office in the mansion.”

I’d been deluding myself into believing that the room was an unfamiliar one, but that’s not true. I remember it being in the home I grew up in. The rest of the details are obscure, though.

“I can’t remember how old I am or what I’m doing. All I remember is seeing a man choking a woman to death on a table. But it terrifies me. That dream has haunted me for so long, Papa. I want you to tell me what you know about it.”

His expression cracks for a moment and I catch a glimpse of the father I once knew. But then it’s gone in a flash.

“You were five,” he starts, his jaw clenched. “I made a mistake. I should have closed the door.”

Three sentences. Thirteen words. That’s all it takes to shatter everything I once knew and believed in. My hands shake as I curl them into fists.

“Who’s the woman you killed?” I ask him.

“I didn’t kill her,” he corrects. “Your mother and I had gotten into a fight. She passed out during our scrape. When I looked up, you were standing in the doorway, watching. I think you were in shock. You wouldn’t talk for days, and when you finally did, it was like you’d blocked out the memory of what happens.”

Oh .

He’s being intentionally vague, but I can fill in the details. My father was abusive. Toward my mother. I remember the rage etched into his face that day, the danger I could feel. He had terrified me. And somehow, I had deluded myself into forgetting.

My mother makes a little more sense to me now. It must have been hard, being with a man like him. It must have been even harder seeing his daughter show that man love and care. Her abuser.

It doesn’t excuse what she’s done to me all her life, but everything makes sense now. Mikhail’s rage when he heard about my dream. Anthony constantly trying to make me see sense. They knew. All of them knew who he really was. Except me.

“Let him go, Papa,” I say, my voice sounding far away. “There’s nowhere to run or hide anymore.”

“If I die, I’m taking Morozova’s kid with me.”

The man in front of me is a stranger. He’s so completely, utterly different from the man I used to love. But I’m starting to realize that man doesn’t exist. My eyes well up with tears. I take several steps forward and no one stops me until I’m standing in front of Jalen, shielding his body with mine.

“If you want to kill him, you’re going to have to kill me first,” I state, maintaining eye contact with Igor.

“Do you really think I won’t do it?” he drawls.

For a split second, everything freezes. His grip on his gun tightens and I see something flicker in his eyes—anger, disbelief, something darker that I can’t name. For a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to do it. Then I hear glass shattering, followed by the heavy sound of boots pounding through the hallway. Men shouting, storming into the house.

Mikhail kept his promise. I whip my head toward the noise, panic rising in my chest. My father does the same.

Then he turns back to me. His eyes lock onto mine again, his face twisted with fury and betrayal. His gun rises slowly, pointing directly at me. My heart stops. And I know he’s going to shoot me.

But I don’t get to find out.

The sound of a gunshot echoes through the room, deafening. My father crumples to the ground in the next moment. His body hits the floor with a sickening thud, blood pooling beneath him, and I’m still frozen, staring at him in shock.

When I finally look up, Mikhail’s standing there, gun still raised. The room spins as I take him in. My knees buckle and I fall, my eyes moving back to Igor’s body on the ground.

Your father dies today .

I should have known he’d be the one to deliver the kill shot. He rushes toward me as the room explodes into action. Mikhail’s men round up my father’s guards. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Coda being led away.

Mikhail heads straight for me and Jalen, who’s on the couch behind me. First, he checks on his son, and his entire body sags with relief when he sees that the boy is safe. Sierra appears, too, and she pulls Jalen into her arms, crying softly as she holds him close.

We need to get him to a hospital. Figure out why he’s unconscious.

I want to say the words, but my lips refuse to move. I think I’m numb. Mikhail kneels down in front of me, his expression careful.

“Talk to me, baby,” he prompts.

But I don’t get the chance to say anything. More men rush into the room—the Italians. Adrian Rossi makes an inhuman noise as he takes in my father’s body on the ground. Something cracks in his expression at the sight. He rushes at Mikhail, who gets to his feet in time to receive the punch. His head snaps back from the impact and he reflexively clutches his jaw.

“I see you still got a mean right hook, Rossi,” my husband murmurs.

“How fucking dare you?” the other man roars. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You promised me revenge! That man deserved so much worse and yet you gave him the mercy of a quick death! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’s about to punch him again but Mikhail glares at him in a way that has chills running down my spine. He won’t allow him to punch him twice. When he looks at me, the softness in his eyes tells me all I need to know.

He did it for me.