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“Sure. He might have the experience, but there’s so much he doesn’t know. So much he doesn’t need to know anymore but acts like… like…” She drains her glass and smacks her lips together against the burn. “He acts like my fucking father is still around and I’m some kind of figurehead.”
I step closer to her, ready to speak, but she’s suddenly on a flow.
“And I get that his death was hard. It was hard on a lot of people. They were friends. I get that, trust me. But he knows what Iknow. He knows how monstrous my father could be and yet he doesn’t care. I know he judges me for not grieving, but how can I grieve a man like that? The years I spent trying to earn his fucking approval, to show I was good enough…”
She refills her glass, and it strikes me that I should probably stop her.
“I worked my ass off, and all he cared about was my value as a woman. Because that’s all people see. Viktor might be able to overlook the number of times my father smacked me around. It was okay for the time period or whatever, I get it.”
“What?” My knowledge of Anastasia’s upbringing is minimal at best. I wasn’t in the inner circle until Viktor needed me up here and I knew Sergey was cruel in some ways. But I never imagined him laying a hand on his daughter.
“Yes. It’s whatever. Taught me to take a punch. But I wasted so many years seeking approval for a man who would look at me and get drunk, then blame me for killing my own mother as if childbirth isn’t already fucking dangerous. Some days, I wondered if it was my fault and maybe that’s why all he cared about was marrying me off.” She snorts darkly. “Of course, I fucked up so many engagements, the only worth he ended up seeing was how much he could sell me for.” She raises her glass. “But sure, I’m the one who’s difficult to deal with because I’m a woman.”
It hits me like the first sharp burst of cold on a frozen winter’s day. Anastasia, the ice princess, isn’t cold because it’s in Remizova blood to be cold and aloof. She’s cold because she was raised without a drop of love. Viktor speaks of Sergey through the eyes of a friend, and the stories I know are humorous.Of course, I’m aware of his outside reputation as the cold, calculating, and untouchablePakhan, but this is different.
This is his daughter revealing the ice palace she was raised in. Blaming a child for her mother’s death is insanity I can't even wrap my head around. Where she should have been raised with love, affection, and understanding, Anastasia was raised like a product. A woman to be married off like the old laws demand. Or, in this chilling case, sold.
Is this why she’s so determined to steer the family away from human trafficking? Because she nearly faced the same fate at the hands of her father?
“Anastasia.” I catch her forearm as she raises her glass for another drink. She tries to pull away, but I stop her gently.
“Let go.”
“You know you are not to blame.”
“Letgo.”
“Listen to me.” I meet her eyes when she glares up at me. “You are not to blame. I’m so sorry your mother passed that way, but there is no scenario where you are to blame for that.”
The strength of her pulling fades slightly, and she blinks rapidly. “I know that.”
“Do you?” I say softly. “There’s a difference between knowing something and believing it. You didn’t deserve to be raised like that, and you don’t deserve any of the cruelty from your father that lingers in your mind.”
She blinks quickly again, fighting the rising shine of tears that fill her eyes. “People have been through worse.”
“It’s not a competition. One person’s trauma doesn’t negate another’s pain.” I relax my grip as she no longer tries to pull away from me, then I take the glass from her trembling fingers. “I’m sorry you went through that. No one can expect you to mourn someone who hurt you.”
“And yet he was my father,” she murmurs, and her gaze finally falls away. “I miss him as much as I hate him. And I hate this world he left for me.”
“Some things take time. The Cartel might be living in the past, but that doesn’t change what good you’re doing. Steering this family away from selling people like cattle is beyond admirable. Especially in this world.”
A shadow of disbelief clings in her eyes when she looks back up at me, then down to where my fingers still linger around her wrist. “You might be the first person to say that to me since all anyone else cares about is fast money.”
“Construction is a hard business, but it will pay off. You have a deal with the Irish which your father never managed to secure. You’re doing things differently. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“Maybe,” she murmurs. “But none of it will matter if the Cartel have their way.”
“Viktor will make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Anastasia!” A distant yell distracts us from the topic at hand, and we step away from one another just as Faina bursts into the room. “Anastasia!”
“What is it?”
“It’s Viktor,” she gasps, clinging to the door handle. “He’s been shot!”
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ANASTASIA