Chapter Twenty-two
Chiara
It’s Sunday, and usually I’d be leaving church right now instead of heading to my parents’ house. I can’t say I’m not nervous, because I am. But I feel something else along with it. I feel like I’m doing the right thing, and I’m this close to being set free.
I thought about it while I was in the shower, how I’ve allowed myself to be defined by what my father does, or what my fiancé does. I’m tired of complaining that I didn’t get dates in high school because my father was a made man. I don’t want to be defined by the family that my father belongs to any longer. I want to be me, Chiara Rossi, educator.
I smile as I walk toward the door, but the smile fades, and my steps slow, when I see it open, and find my dad on the other side. His face is full of disappointment, but his eyes are burning with anger. I guess he knows. Somehow, some way, he’s found out that I’m seeing Misha Ivanovich.
I stop. I’m not entering his house with that look in his eyes. I have no idea what he’ll do to me. On the other hand, if I don’t go in, I have no way to protect Guilia. I’m trapped, again. Fuck.
I take a step closer, but don’t walk up the stairs.
“So, you’ve gone and done it, haven’t you Chiara?” he asks.
I’m not going to act naïve, we’re past that. So I nod. I want to explain myself, and I open my mouth to say something, anything.
But he speaks, and shocks me. “You’re seeing Dimitri Federov.”
What am I supposed to say to that? No, sorry, I’m not dating the next leader of the Federov family, but I am dating the Bloody Ivanovich? Instead, I remain silent.
“Dante saw him leaving your house this morning, the house that I built for you.” I bite my bottom lip. Whatever I say right now would be pointless. My only argument to his statement is no, you’ve got the wrong Russian. “You’ve passed over the future head of the family, for a married man. A married Russian man.”
I shake my head, and fight back a chuckle. This is so wrong. “I’m not…”
“We did a little digging, Chiara, and we’ve found out that the future head of the most powerful Bratva in New Jersey has been staying in a hotel here in the city for a week. And you were seen at that very same hotel. Can you explain yourself?”
While he’s talking to me, and he has me distracted, I don’t see the men moving behind me. And I have no idea they’re there, until I feel a pair of hands grab my forearms, and pull my hands behind my back. I turn, stunned that someone has put their hands on me but almost expecting to see Misha. Instead, I find Dante Moretti, his cruel face in a scowl. He’s not half as attractive as his oldest brother, especially since he always looks angry.
“Don’t fight me. I’m taking you to Frankie. I pity you when he gets hold of you, bitch. If you thought I was bad, you had no fucking idea.”
I scoff loudly at that lie. “I don’t think you’re bad, Dante. I know you are.”
He grins wickedly, and calmly says, “Who do you think I learned it from?” He laughs when he sees the expression on my face. “It wasn’t Matteo. Frankie always liked you, so you never saw what he’s really capable of. But you will, when you see him again.” He laughs, and pulls on my arms to try to get me to move. There are two other men on the lawn, flanking us.
That’s when I hear a booming voice from the doorway yell out, “Let her go, asshole.” I look up at my dad, to find Misha standing behind him with a gun to his head.
Dante releases one of my arms, and instead of standing still and waiting for him to pull his gun, I turn quickly and take a swing at him. I’ve only wanted to do that for fifteen years.
I’m not sure I hurt him, but I stun him, and he releases me. He’s pulling a gun out of the waistband of his pants, and I ball both of my fists together and knock it out of his hands. He reaches down to grab at it, but Misha lets out a loud “Stop!”
When Dante freezes, I move forward and knee him in his nuts. I’m surprisingly calm when I tell him, “That’s for kissing my sister, asshole.”
When he falls, I hear two other guns cock around me. That makes me stop suddenly. My eyes move quickly to Misha. He’s saying something to my father. My dad looks around, and yells, “Put your guns down!”
I pick up the gun that Dante dropped, and train it on the man to my right.
A black SUV drives up to my parents’ house, and screeches to a halt. “Time to go, Chiara,” Misha screams. I don’t think twice, I run toward the SUV. I climb into the back, and the tires squeal as the car pulls away.
That’s when I realize it’s just me and the driver. “Where’s Misha?” I demand, loudly. Shit, did I get in the car with one of Frankie’s men without realizing it?
“I’m taking you to the boss,” the man answers, in heavily accented English. I’ve recently become accustomed to the accent, and it isn’t Italian.
So… he’s taking me to see Mr. Federov. This isn’t exactly how I thought we’d be meeting up for dinner, but I’m sure it’ll be okay. We’re supposed to meet up with Dimitri, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.
I look down at the object in my hands, and realize I have a gun. I’ve shot on the range before. My dad thought I should learn how, for my protection. But I can’t believe Dante literally tried to kidnap me, and I actually took his gun and ran toward an SUV to escape. This is insane.
But I don’t drop the gun. I put it in my bag, and search around for my phone just as it begins to ring. I grab it, and note that the caller ID says Misha. I don’t say hello, I just ask, “Where are you?”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine. I’ll see you there, Chi,” he replies, but it doesn’t reassure me.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where are you?” I ask again. “What is happening? Why were you at my house?”
“I can’t tell you now. I’ll see you soon,” he says, and the call ends.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.
After several minutes of fretting, and wondering, the driver pulls up to a bar which seems to be near Misha’s apartment, with a sign out front that says, The Vodka Room. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to see Dimitri, but I might be wrong.
I wait several moments before leaving the car, to see if Misha arrives. The driver finally leaves his seat and opens the door, so I hesitantly step out. He leads me into the bar, and I admit I’m surprised by what I find inside.
There are several men standing around the entrance with guns. I count eight. Four people sit at a table near the bar. Two bottles sit on the table, with four shot glasses. Four sets of bright blue eyes watch as I enter. Three very blonde men, and one striking young dark haired woman sit silently, waiting for me to approach. One of the men is obviously older, the father I assume. The family resemblance is obvious.
I might be even more nervous now than I was at my parents’ house, because I knew Misha was there with me. My heart is pounding, and my hands are shaking.
These must be Misha’s siblings, and his father. I thought maybe I would meet them under happier circumstances.
“Hello, Ms. Rossi. Please sit,” the older man says, and motions toward an empty chair at the table. “Would you like a drink?”
A day that started out strange, with a visit from Dimitri Federov, then went from bad with my father probably assisting the Morettis in attempting to kidnapping me, to worse with this obviously contentious meeting with the Ivanovich family.
Where in the hell is Misha?