Page 42 of Unwritten Vows

Liza

I roll my eyes, but Derrick lets go of my hand right away. “I have a lot of calls to make anyway. Your father has been so generous in… helping me out with that.”

“Oh my gosh,” I whisper, coming to a realization. “You’re the new underboss of the Rhode Island bratva.”

He nods. “I have to reassure the masses, you know?”

I breathe out deeply. “Fine. But I’ll be coming in to see Derrick as soon as I get back tonight.”

“Eliza.” My father is trying to be intimidating, and while it might work with others, he knows it won’t work with me.

“What?” I ask innocently, although I know why he wants me to stop talking about this.

I know he wants me to take more time, think rationally the way he believes he is.

He wants me to erase Derrick from my mind, but can’t stand seeing me upset when I don’t get to see him.

I get that he’s torn, I truly do. But he needs to let me figure this out for myself.

“Dear Liza,” Derrick says in a barely-there whisper. “Go. I have a lot of work I have to do. The world we live in needs me to step up, and so does your father.”

I bite my lip, wondering when I’ll get to see him again and what it’ll be like when I do. Although I don’t know exactly what my father plans to do, I know he won’t go easy on Derrick. And his idea of interrogation, I believe, is probably some kind of pain.

I get up in resignation, but as I pass my father, I grab his hand and pull. I push up onto my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. We are two opposite sides of the same coin, warring forces with equal power.

“I know he’s had a terrible few days,” I say it in Russian, quietly, next to his cheek. “He’s not the bad guy. Don’t make him pay for what his father has done.”

My father’s hard, stern expression softens just a fraction as his eyes turn down to meet mine.

He might be thinking about himself—about my mother, killed for his transgressions.

I still remember that, and the rumors of torture for days, finally pushing a pair of hedge shears through the eyes of her murder, so slowly before they got to the man’s brain.

But nothing can bring my mother back, and I can imagine that he feels that guilt even now.

I peek back just once more before I leave the room. My father stays back, waiting for me to leave. I know he’s going to do what he believes he needs to do, and I know Derrick wants to answer his questions. But I hope I will at least have saved him from the worst of the physical pain with my words.