Merciless Union by Faith Summers

5

Aria

My heart stills when the door swings open, and my lungs constrict.

Dad comes in carrying a tray with food, and I gear myself up for tonight’s round of war with him.

Every day has been something different, and I’m always on edge. If I say the wrong thing—which is all the time— he hits me. If I say something in a tone he doesn’t like; he hits me then too.

Tonight, he’s dressed more casually in a long-sleeved jumper and black slacks. Normally, he’s in business attire he’d wear at the office.

I’ve seen him every day at this time—dinner time.

At all other times, when food is brought to me, it’s done by a maid who looks like an old school marm with a haggard appearance.

I tried to talk to her once, but the look she gave me cut me off. She was Russian, which I thought was a little odd, even with Dad’s ties to the Bratva. None of his staff have ever been anything other than Italian.

The look on his face is smug as if he has everything he ever wanted. I suppose, though, he does have that. While my days are definitely numbered. It’s three weeks until my birthday. I was hoping to have gotten my memories back by then. It was just a goal for my bucket list. Now I’m hoping to just stay alive.

I don’t know what Dad’s been doing during the day or what’s happening in the outside world. I don’t even know if this house we’re in is one of ours or somewhere he’s rented.

I’ve just been kept in this room for the last ten days, locked away.

It has an en suite bathroom and a window with a bar on the outside. That’s it. I get fed, and I have a simple tunic I wear as a change of clothes. There are five more like it in the wardrobe.

I’ve been keeping sane by thinking of music. I might not remember how to play the violin, but there are tunes I’ve listened to and memorized that feel familiar to me.

Music is the only thing that helps me keep control of my grief over Lucca. When I remember our song, that memory of our first meeting when we were kids spark in my heart. Although I can’t quite recall everything else about our childhood relationship, my heart remembers, and I hold on to him. Even though I know I need to let go.

“Here is your dinner. Make sure you eat it,” Dad says. “The maid said you are refusing to eat again.”

“If I were fucking refusing to eat, I wouldn’t eat anything at all.” I’d go into starvation mode and stop eating and drinking altogether.

If anything, I’ve been eating to keep up my strength, so I can think about how I’m going to get myself out of this mess. The days when I find it difficult to eat are the ones where I can’t stop thinking of Lucca.

Dad smiles a crude, wicked smile, and I know he can read my thoughts. This is the result of living with someone who watches your every move.

“Oh, I see. I forgot you’re a widow now,” he taunts.

“Don’t speak to me about him. Do not speak to me at all.”

He chuckles. “Foolish girl. That man managed to twist your mind and charm you out of your dignity. You’re so blinded by love the truth never really formed in your mind, did it?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What truth are you talking about now? There are so many to wrap my head around.”

“Whenever it was you met him in the past, he would have only been there for one thing,” he sneers.

He still doesn’t know Lucca and I actually met as children, so he’s talking about three years ago. I make him none the wiser. He can stay in his ignorance about that because I don’t want the few precious memories and dreams of that time in my life tainted in any way.

“Obviously, that was to gather intel on you and probably watch the people closest to you.”

He shakes his head. “Does that even make sense, Aria? Think about it. Your late husband was a Bratva assassin. Do you seriously think he would have needed to go through such trouble? That man already had all the intel he needed on me. He was there to kill you, my dear.”

My blood stills in my veins, and as I stare back at my father, I feel foolish for not factoring in something so obvious. Dad laughs when he notices my shock.

“That is the man you fell in love with. Death is what happens when you meet Lucca Dyshekov. A person never usually lives to tell much of a tale after. I wondered if he allowed you to live because you fucked him, or maybe it was for something else.”

Jesus…could it really be true?

If so why didn’t he kill me?

The answer comes to me in an instant and I know what the something else is that stopped him from killing me.

It’s because of the past—our past. The past was the same reason he allowed me to live when he found out what Dad did to his family.

Lucca was going to kill me, though.

My God.

How fucked up am I to still feel love for him?

“You can leave now,” I grate out.

“Not just yet. Come here,” he demands.

I walk over to him because I don’t want him to come to me and pull my hair the way he did the other day.

“What is it?”

He sets the tray down on the table between us and leans closer. “You’ll be leaving this place in five days. I’m going to be away for the next four. I want you to be ready to leave when I get back, and I don’t want any trouble while I’m away.”

“Where am I going?”

“Campania,” he answers, and my temper flares.

Italy?“Why the fuck are you sending me there!”

“For safekeeping. I don’t want anybody trying any shit with me over the next two weeks.”

“What kind of shit would they try? And who? Who would try anything?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. All you need to do is be ready.”

“What about the rest of the family? What are you going to tell them?” When I think of Sienna and my aunts, I know they’ll be worried about me. But they’re used to dealing with my father. I think he might have them under his thumb the same way he rules as governor of the state.

“They will be told what I want them to know.”

“And after my birthday, what will happen then?” I want to hear it. I want to hear him say the words. I know I’m a loose end he needs to tie up.

I guess I just want to hear my father confirm he’s going to kill me, so I can accept my fate.

He smiles, once again catching the essence of my worries. He reaches out to touch my cheek, and I flinch away, not wanting him to touch me. He, however, grabs my neck and squeezes hard.

“I’ll make use of you. Don’t worry. I will make good use of every part of you.”

I don’t like the way he sounds, nor the wicked glint in his eyes.

When his fingers dig into my skin, my eyes flick down to the plate of food, and I notice the dinner knife next to the fork. I’m always thinking on my feet, always thinking of ways to use everything around me to escape.

The knife might be plastic, but it’s still a weapon.

I grab it and stab him in the edge of his shoulder. The knife breaks, but the impact also cuts through his skin. I growl as I wedge it deeper.

Dad cries out as he releases me. I use that moment to get away from him.

I run to the door, open it and break into a run down a long hallway.

God, where the hell am I?This corridor is so long, like one of the hallways in the dorms at college.

But this is clearly someone’s home. It has that vibe from the paintings on the wall and the chandeliers above.

When I turn the corner, I hear Dad coming after me, cursing me for being a fucking bitch.

Finally, I see a wide staircase and quicken my pace when I get to it.

I take the stairs two at a time, leaping where I can. There’s a door ahead at the base that looks like it would be the front door to the house.

I almost taste freedom, almost feel it on my skin, but then Jon steps out from the corner and grabs me with one strong hand.

One strong hand secures itself around my neck and hoists me into the air.

My legs dangle as he holds me high, and I thrash against his grip.

When he lowers me, he stabs me in my neck again with a syringe, just like he did back at Lucca’s house when he took me.

“Looks like you need to calm down.” He sets me on the ground, and my legs give from the effect of the tranquilizer, making me fall as the room spins.

“Asshole,” I blurt. “How could you do this? Traitor. How could you work for my father? He killed Lucca’s family.”

Jon doesn’t even look fazed to hear the news, and I realize he must have already known.

Jon crouches down and gives me a blank stare. “I’m not working for your father, Aria,” he informs me. “I don’t care for your father one way or the other.”

“Then who? Who are you working for?” I blink to try and keep my focus as footsteps echo on the floor behind us.

“Me,” comes the voice from my nightmares.

My head snaps around, and I see Pasha walking towards us. His cool, calm demeanor sickens me.

My mouth falls open when he smiles, and my whole body starts to tremble with the memory of all my fears.

This man was the first person to ever hurt me—the first man to damage my soul.

In my nightmares, he’s the monster—the monster who abused me for years as a child.

“You,” I gulp. Jon works for him. So, it was Pasha who ordered Jon to kill Lucca. My God.

“Yes, my little Kukla. Me,” he confirms in a deeper Russian accent. “Jon, make sure she doesn’t talk for a while. I need to concentrate.”

My eyes roll back in my head, and I’m not sure if it’s the tranquilizer taking effect or the shock.