Page 1 of Unwritten Vows

Liza

The first time the name Derrick Stepinov is mentioned to me by my father, I make the face he is probably dreading. My lips turn down, my eyes scrunch together, and I lean back slightly to get some distance between myself and his suggestion.

If I have my song-and-dance, he has his own, too.

Usually, he tries to persuade me with promises of a better future, along with the fact that he loves me and will be around for his grandkids if I do this now.

But I’m surprised to see that today he changes it up a bit.

His face switches from the usual defeat and quickly to resolve.

He rarely uses this with me, because despite himself, he loves me to pieces.

I know I have him wrapped around my finger.

I’m his sun and moon, but he is the same for me.

Why would I want a different man when no one could ever live up to the one in front of me?

“Solnyshko,” Little Sunshine , he says, his use of the Russian nickname belying his stern stance.

“You must give this one a chance. We cannot continue to have this conversation over and over again. I have met with him already, and now you will meet him and see how you feel. He seems respectful and loyal. His father is willing to make a good deal with us.”

Sometimes I think my father’s seemingly tenuous grip on the English language is the reason why his plans always sound so undesirable to me.

He’s been in America for a long time, but he was born in Russia, into a Bratva family low on the totem pole.

He worked himself up to where he is, and although I don’t know the details, he took his role as head of the New York City Russian mafia by brute force.

He made many enemies and lost many important treasures, with my mother as his biggest lost. Now we have only each other, and we know how lucky we are to even have that.

I know some things about the Bratva, but Daddy shields me from that part of the business in many ways, and I trust his logic, for the most part.

Still, it’s jarring when I find something new out about his life that I didn’t know before.

For instance, I know he can speak with a perfect English accent when he wants to.

The first time I ever heard him use it, I was a young teen and completely taken aback.

When I questioned him, he told me there was so much about him and this life that I didn’t know.

He told me he plays many roles, but the one he plays for me is his favorite, and closest to his heart. That was all I needed to hear.

I figure if he commands an entire city of mafia soldiers, he probably knows what he’s doing, so when he speaks to me in this stern voice, it is impossible to deny him anything.

“Okay, Daddy,” I breathe out, the words encapsulated in my sigh.

“I’ll meet with him if you want this so badly.

But you know his public reputation, don’t you?

You know how he conducts himself all around social media, right? ”

Daddy shrugs and picks at his poached eggs.

“ You know what parents in our circles usually expect from their children, correct? Derrick does not seem to be the boy he is on social media. He is smart and shows strength of character in discussions. The fact that he can show two faces so easily is not a bad thing, of course. I have taught you this, have I not?”

I shake my head and bite my cheek—a habit my mother used to hate, but that my father finds endearing.

I see him visibly soften, but he doesn’t give me the coddling I’m hoping for by ensuring I won’t have to go through with anything I don’t want to do.

I don’t have a choice in this, even if it’s just because I would never say no to any grave request he made.

I release my cheek from my teeth and give a non-committal half-smile. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll meet him.”

His face immediately breaks out into the warm grin he always reserves for me. It’s one of my favorite things to see. “Ah, that’s wonderful, my little love.” He taps his cheek and I kiss it before shooting him a smile back.

I realize what time it is just a moment later. “I have to get to school now.”

“Of course, Solnyshko , have a wonderful day.” He peeks out of the corner of his eye towards the kitchen as I exit the room to get my bag. I know that look.

I walk back in before leaving, and he gives me a guilty look as he bites into a pyshka , the Russian equivalent of a doughnut.

“Daddy! Your blood sugar!” I scold. “You know what the doctor said!”

“It’s just one of the small ones!” he says, throwing his hands up in defense. “I told Dmitri to make them smaller!”

The chef, Dmitri, comes out of the kitchen a moment later, knowing I’m about to upbraid him as well, I’m sure.

“I told you not to feed him this garbage!” I say to him in Russian. “Do you want to give him diabetes?”

Dmitri has been our chef for years and loves me like family, but he knows there is no winning in this situation. He’s just here because he knows I’ll be calling him in any minute either way. “As you know, Miss, if the boss asks…”

I grab the half eaten doughnut from Daddy’s hands and place it in Dmitri’s. “There. Dispose of it, and all the rest. I swear, if I find out he ate more of these, I will buy new padlocks and only allow you into the pantry supervised. By me.”

I know there’s not much use threatening him instead of Daddy, but it makes me feel better, and I know Daddy would be able to overrule me anyway. At least I outrank the chef.

“ Solnyshko .” My father tries a stern voice, but that hasn’t worked since I was a child, and is now more of a sweet back and forth than anything else. He can’t even stop himself from using my nickname.

“What is it, Daddy? You don’t want me to save you from premature death? Are you that anxious to leave me?”

He grumbles as I kiss his cheek again and straighten up. “Have a great day, Daddy,” I say quietly in Russian. As usual, he kisses my cheek back to show that he can’t be mad at me for more than a fleeting moment.

“You are lucky I’m in a good mood,” he says gruffly as I start to back away towards the front door again.

“You’re never in a good mood with anyone except me,” I say with a smile.

I leave him with that, and he doesn’t argue.