Chapter 22

Audrey

I 've yet to figure out a way to escape. Security is too tight. Along with the two guards constantly outside my door, the entire floor has been strategically occupied, and they've got armed men on every level handling the staircases and elevators, making sure no one suspicious slips past them.

Anton comes in every other hour, bringing me food and drinks. He's careful not to say anything about our father's movements, each time trying to strike up a more casual conversation instead, but I tell him off every time. I'm too angry with him to do anything else.

"Vitaly is here," he says as he brings me a fruit salad from the hotel's restaurant. "He would like you to join us for dinner downstairs this evening."

"What's he doing in Chicago? Who's manning the mothership back in New York, then?" I frown as Anton sits across the table from me, watching as I scarf the salad down, one juicy chunk at a time. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to leave this room, so how am I supposed to join you for dinner?"

"Our father is due to meet with Arkady in about an hour," Anton replies, "to put an end to this whole skirmish and negotiate a ceasefire. We've done enough damage to get the bastard interested in peace talks, so that's a good thing."

"I asked you something else entirely."

"Papa called Vitaly in to talk some sense into you while he handles the business side of things," my brother says and sighs deeply.

I scoff. "He couldn't trust you to get me to come along nicely, huh?"

"Can you blame him?"

"No, and I can't blame you, either. You can bring Vitaly in to try, but the outcome will always be the same—sooner or later, I'll get away from you again. You'll find me in another couple of years, drag me back, and then I'll run off once more. Over and over, until you all understand that I do not belong in New York, I do not belong with the Bratva, nor do I want to be there."

Anton's eyes search my face as if he's trying to figure me out. Oddly enough, he is one of the very few people in this world who actually knows me. I don't know what's left for him to learn. "You've grown stronger," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't so determined to piss off Papa before," he says. "You'd just say yes to whatever he demanded, but then you'd go and do things your way anyway. You've gotten bolder. You have courage."

"Where did that get me, huh? I'm still a prisoner."

"I can't help you, Audrey. I wish I could. Honest to God, I did try."

I shake my head slowly. "Well, technically, you could. But I get why you won't."

"As for who's manning the ship, it's Derek."

My brow furrows with brief confusion until I remember who he's talking about. "Ah, Vitaly's right-hand man. Is he still alive?"

"And kicking," Anton chuckles. "The guy's a hard-ass. He may not be a Fedorov or even Russian, for that matter, but he is made of steel, and he is beyond trustworthy. Papa allowed him to take Vitaly's seat in our brother's brief absence. Of course, you know Papa also has eyes on Derek."

"Yeah, he probably knows what time Derek takes his morning dump, too," I mutter.

My brother cannot disagree. It's the truth. Our father will continue to run the New York Bratva for as long as he can draw breath. Whoever is put in charge, whether it's Vitaly, Anton, or any one of their trusted lieutenants, our father will always have one hand on the wheel and his foot on the gas. The man takes micromanagement to a whole new level. He's a control freak. No wonder he's so adamant about bringing me back into the family and forcing me to do his bidding.

But I'm not giving in this time around.

I've seen what life is like outside our family. I want my freedom now more than ever.

A couple of hours later, I join Anton and Vitaly in the restaurant downstairs. To my surprise, the whole place has been reserved for us. There are no other customers, just the three of us, while six men stand outside the glass doors to steer anyone else away. I can tell the staff isn't comfortable with this arrangement, but they are courteous and hospitable, nonetheless.

"Please, tell me you paid handsomely for this dinner," I tell my brothers.

Anton was nice enough to shop for some dresses and shoes earlier in the afternoon, so at least I'm looking the part.

Vitaly can't take his eyes off me. I notice he's gathering a few fine lines under his grey eyes. He looks more like our mother. Not a day goes by that I don't imagine what our lives might've been like if she were still alive.

"What is it, Vitaly?" I ask, my tone clipped as I refuse the waiter's offer to pour wine into my glass. "I don't want to drink. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. I'm just admiring you, little sister," he says, half-smiling. "You've grown."

"I was done growing way before I left New York"

He gives Anton an amused glance. "You were right. She's meaner."

"No, I'm just tired of having to deal with you people after I specifically made it clear that I didn't want anything to do with you," I shoot back, prompting the two of them to give me their signature puppy dog eyes. "Oh, don't give me those looks. You know damn well that I don't want to be here."

Vitaly leans forward while the waiter carefully backs away from our table.

"Audrey, for what it's worth, we've kept our distance and we've kept our father in the dark regarding your whereabouts," Vitaly says.

"But you still don't have your spines fully developed," I grumble.

"You tried; I'll give you all the credit in the world for that," he says. "But it's time for you to admit it, little sister. There is no life outside the Bratva for a Fedorov. There never was."

"It's no use," Anton chimes in. "She'll scram the first chance she gets."

"Until then, however, we need to try to convince her to accept reality. Because even if she does run off again, our father will keep hunting her."

"And I'll keep running until he dies. He's not going to live forever," I reply.

"Audrey, let me put it this way. For Jason's sake, you'd do well to obey and return to New York with us," Vitaly says. "You know Papa will do whatever it takes to make sure you never think of running away ever again."

"And he expects me to just smile and wave as he marries me off to some old, impotent fart who, up until yesterday, still had a bounty on my head," I scoff.

"We're still trying to talk him out of the whole arrangement with Piotr," Vitaly sighs. "I need a bit more time for that. But I promise we'll find something agreeable for everyone involved."

"The only scenario that is agreeable for me is if you let me go right now," I say. "Nothing else matters. I've built a life here, Vitaly. I'm happy. For the first time in my miserable existence, nobody cares who my father or brothers are. Nobody knows me."

"Well, the Chicago Bratva knows," Anton reminds me.

Bitterness lingers on the back of my tongue but I don't have a snappy comeback for that particular remark. I notice a frown pulling Vitaly's eyebrows tightly together as he swirls the red wine in his glass.

"Something is bugging me," my oldest brother says.

"What's that?" Anton asks.

"I get the kidnapping part, but why'd they try to kill her the other night?" Vitaly replies. "It doesn't make sense. Audrey would be more useful to Arkady Abramovic alive, not dead. Her death would only lead to an all-out war that not even the Feds could stop. The streets of Chicago would run red with blood. Our father may be the way he is, but I know for a fact that he would burn the whole city down if Audrey were to ever—"

"Don't even say it," Anton cuts him off, genuinely startled. "I don't want to think about it."

"Vitaly's right, though," I say. "What was the point of them trying to kill me?"

It's a good question. Unfortunately, none of us have the answer. Only the certainty that the feud between the Fedorov and the Abramovic families must be resolved sooner rather than later before it gets worse.

"There is one thing I can guarantee, Audrey, when all this is over," Vitaly says.

"Amaze me," I grumble.

"Jason and his daughter will be safe. I spoke to our father, and he gave me his word. The Abramovic Bratva will know to never go anywhere near them," he replies.

"Does that come with some kind of condition? Come on, spit it out. Papa would never do me a solid where Jason is concerned. There has to be a catch."

Vitaly smiles. "Assuming you stay put and stop embarrassing him."

"So let me get this straight. If I'm a good girl and do as I'm told, Papa will make sure that the Abramovic Bratva never touches a hair on Jason or Lily's heads. But if I run away again, he will no longer be responsible for whatever might happen to them, am I right?" I ask, my blood running hot and cold at the same time.

"Basically, yes," Vitaly says, his gaze softening slightly. "I'm truly sorry, Audrey. You don't deserve any of this, but it is the hand that you were dealt. You have to play it. You can't leave the table."

The conversation isn't going anywhere, and they cannot help me. Our father's grip on them is simply too tight. Unshakeable. They were conditioned into their roles and responsibilities, and while they may have averted their eyes from choices I made for myself, our father wouldn't allow it.

Therefore, they must enforce his will, whether they like it or not.

As long as Grigori Fedorov is alive, I will never truly be free, nor will I be able to fully rely on my brothers for support.

I must fend for myself.

As the hours pass, my brothers switch from wine to vodka. After the last of the dessert plates are cleared from the table, we linger, talking about our childhood—happy memories, of which there are few; not-so-happy memories, of which there are some; and terrible memories, of which there are plenty. We wouldn't be the people we are today without them, but I dare imagine a version of myself that didn't require all that suffering to become precisely that.

I'm stone sober, and I watch in mild amusement as my brothers ramble on in a mixture of English and Russian, reminiscing with glassy eyes about what it was like when Mom was still alive.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Anton asks Vitaly.

"You barely remember her," Vitaly sighs. "You were so little when she passed. Audrey even more so."

"I still see her in my mind's eye," I tell them. "It's a vague picture without an actual photograph for reference."

"Time tends to do that to people. It makes us forget," Anton says. "Eventually, you'll forget all of this, too. Someday, you'll need a photograph for reference when you try to remember what Jason Winchester looks like."

"Wow, you went straight for the heart with that one, huh?" I mutter, crossing my arms.

Anton smiles wryly. "Just telling it like it is, little sister. In my defense, I really did try to help you out."

"I know."

It's past midnight, and most of the restaurant staff has gone home, except for one waiter.

I should try to get some sleep, too, but my current situation has me constantly frustrated and restless. My gilded cage is closing in around me, and there are moments when I feel like I simply can't even breathe.

Glancing past the glass doors, I see our family's private security detail. Six men, each of them tall, dark, and menacing. There's a subtle yet nagging feeling pecking at the back of my neck. Something doesn't feel right. The men stir, and a long shadow stretches into the hallway.

Vitaly's phone buzzes. He briefly checks the screen before he answers. "Yes, let him in," he says and hangs up, giving me a troubled look. "Arkady Abramovic is here."

"Wait, what?" Anton mutters. "Isn't he supposed to be in a meeting with Papa right now?"

"I thought so, too, but the guys at the door checked him for weapons. He's clean. Says he's just here to talk," Vitaly replies.

As soon as the restaurant doors open, my heart stops. I freeze in my seat while my brothers get up to cautiously greet the man. I've seen him before. The scar on his temple . He was the one watching my apartment. He's the one who tried to kidnap me. He had his arm around my waist. My blood runs cold as ice, and sweat blooms along my temples as I watch him casually approach our table.

"My apologies for interrupting your dinner," Arkady says, then gives me a warm smile that makes my skin crawl. "Forgive me, Miss Fedorova."

"For what? For stalking and trying to kidnap me? For trying to kill me the other night?" I spit out, my tone harsh as anger takes over.

"What are you doing here, Arkady?" Vitaly asks with a furrowed brow. "Where is our father?"

"Oh, he's fine. Probably still at the Stadium, waiting for me to show up," Arkady chuckles dryly. "It's not him I wish to speak to. It's you, Vitaly."

My eldest brother seems confused. "I don't understand."

"Grigori is old. One foot is already in the grave. But you and I, we can do some great business together," Arkady says. "I just want that bastard out of the way first. He's got his boot so far up your asses; you don't even realize what a privileged position you find yourselves in."

"This isn't right," Vitaly says. "Our father should be here."

"Hello, did anybody hear me?" I snap. "This prick tried to kidnap me!"

Anton nods once. "We're well aware, and I'm hoping it's one of the reasons why he is here tonight. Perhaps to apologize?"

"Are you seriously trying to be nice to him?" I croak. "Our father would never—"

"Your father isn't here, though, is he?" Arkady hisses, giving me a hard, ill-tempered look. "For what it's worth, I do apologize. It was never my intention to hurt you, Miss Fedorova. Only to make good use of your presence in Chicago."

Vitaly shakes his head and proceeds to call our father. "No. Papa needs to be here."

"Ah, I now see why the old hound still runs the family business. You two are positively spineless," Arkady declares.

My skin tingles all over. Something wicked this way comes, and I can't pinpoint it. I'm paralyzed, staring at Arkady as he carelessly debases my brothers while he callously smiles at me.

"If this is your way of addressing peace talks between our families, you're off to a really bad start," Vitaly says. "I've reached out with an olive branch before, and you ignored my messages. Yet when our father came into town, you went all-in, guns blazing, and now you want peace talks? What gives?"

Arkady tips his head. "I may have overplayed my hand. I've rarely had to deal with Grigori but my father did warn me about him before I took over, and based on the recent events, I can certainly see why I should've stayed in my lane."

"That you should have," Anton scoffs. "What did you think was going to happen once you had Audrey?"

"Anton," Vitaly tries to shut him up, but Arkady waves his concerns away with the flick of his hand, smiling in a most unsettling way.

"Now, now, he's entitled to his opinion," he says. "I haven't exactly abandoned my original plan. A man's weakness can be found in his children. And I figured I'd make the best out of a bad situation when Audrey slipped through my fingers. It was only a matter of time before I'd get all three of you in the same room."

"What are you talking about?" Vitaly asks, understandably confused.

The words leave my lips before I can process them. "It's a ruse," I whisper.

"A what?" Anton asks.

"I just needed the old fucker out of the house, so to speak," Arkady replies and takes out a small gun from his jacket pocket.

I scream.

He shoots Vitaly first.

My scream pierces the restaurant's heavy silence, echoing across the room.

Anton reaches for his gun, but Arkady fires his next shot. My brothers are both down, each injured and bleeding on the floor, their eyes wide with shock as Arkady points the gun at me. I cannot move. I cannot breathe. Fear grips my senses, and my survival instincts tell me that I need to be still.

"The trouble with Grigori is that his men don't respect him as much as they used to, and since his sons are still under his thumb, they haven't made themselves worthy of such respect, either," Arkady casually remarks. "Do you have any idea how little it cost me to bring twenty of your men into my fold, Audrey?"

"What?"

I follow his amused gaze somewhere beyond the glass doors and realize that our security detail are all still there, quiet and unmoving, watching as Arkady commands the room.

They betrayed us.

Arkady bought them off, and they let him walk in here with a gun. I don't know if the people we have upstairs are also on his side, but it doesn't really matter anymore. He's got me.

"It was a matter of when, not if," he says.

I glance down at my brothers. "Vitaly," I cry out and try to reach him, but Arkady pulls me away, squeezing my arm so tightly it hurts. "Anton!"

"They'll be fine. I didn't nick any arteries; relax," Arkady replies.

"You son of a bitch!" I scream.

He smacks me hard with the back of his hand. "I won't tolerate disrespect," he says, suddenly transforming into a cold, ruthless bastard. He raises his hand to hit me again.

"No! I'm pregnant!" I blurt out, wincing as half of my face is stinging from the smack.

"Oh," Arkady stills, hand still in the air, eyebrows arched with genuine surprise. "Oh, that's interesting. It doubles your value, sweetheart."

The pain spreads through my jaw as I struggle to keep a clear vision. Arkady grabs me by the back of the neck as I steal one last glance at my brothers. They're alive but severely injured, and if they don't get medical help soon, they could die. Oh, God, this can't be happening.

"Come on, we've got places to be," Arkady snarls as he drags me out of the restaurant.

"Do something!" I scream at the treacherous bodyguards who stay behind, watching us leave with sour looks on their faces. "Call for help!"

Anton reaches out for me. I can see him, albeit briefly, on the restaurant floor just before I'm dragged out into the lobby. I cannot help him. I cannot even help myself. The one thing I feared has come to pass—Arkady will use me against my father.