The Deep End

Chapter 19

•Polina•

My head lolls to the side as I gain consciousness, the drug in my system wearing off. I peel my eyes open, the bright light making my head pound and my vision swims.

What's going on? Where am I? How did I get here?

I glance around the unfamiliar room. It's a large bedroom, the wood floor gleaming beneath my feet. The furniture around me blurry blobs. I shift in my seat, trying to push my hair out of my face when I realize I'm tied to a chair. Nausea churns in my stomach, whatever drug I've been given made me feel like I was going to vomit at any moment.

The door opens and I squint at the figure that steps inside the room. I can't make out the blurry silhouette until it grows closer and my heart sinks as my father comes into focus, stalking straight for me. He's dressed in a button up, slacks and loafers just as he always was. His graying hair styled neatly away from his face. Wrinkles marred his skin, visible proof of both age and the rough life he lived being becoming Pakhan. He looked much older than his age and moved slower than he should've, just as he had ever since he took two bullets to his right hip. You can't let his appearance fool you though. A wicked man lives under that old mask, one who still manages to out maneuver anyone when it benefits him.

He used to be a handsome man, which I suspect is how he roped my mother into marrying him, but his face has done nothing but weather since her death. Life has a way of bleeding the beauty from the ugliest souls. I find it quite poetic although it hasn't stopped him from garnering attention from many women.

"You're a traitor to the Bratva, to your family. What happened to you, Polya?" He shouts the question, but his loud voice isn't what makes me flinch; it's the use of the nickname he hasn't called me since my Mother died. He always keeps it at his disposal like a weapon, ready to use the pain of her death against me whenever necessary. "Did I not put you through enough training sessions? Did I not make you cry enough, force you to kill enough?" His face grows redder the longer he screams, spittle flying.

My jaw is clenched so tightly I'm surprised I don't chip a tooth. I cannot show even a hint of weakness under his gaze or he will exploit it until I'm a sobbing mess on the floor at his feet and now that I'm back in front of him after being around Riot for so long I don't fear him as much as I once did.

"I trained until I could no longer stand, you made me cry plenty, and killing once was more than enough for me to learn my distaste for it." I retort.

"You're ungrateful is what you are! A snake in my own family, I could gut you open for what you've done and not feel the slightest bit guilty for it!" He bellowed, swinging his hands around and that's when I saw it.

There clutched in his hand is Riots knife, the sharp blade glinting under the lights as his arm moves and my heart stops at the sight.

How did he manage to get that? Where's Riot and Luca? What has he done?

Rage fills my body, my facial expression quickly morphs from stoic to anger. "What have you done?" Anger bleeds from each word until it's all I can taste.

Fire heats my veins, burning me from the inside out and for the first time ever bloodlust sinks its fangs into my brain filling it with the urge to end a life. His life. Every death sentence I have ever carried out has been forced upon me, I was made to do it without any other choice but this time it is a decision all of my own and it is my father of all people I feel it toward.

He snarls. "I don't answer to you, little girl. You're the one that's been whoring yourself, giving away all of our secrets and helping those Italian assholes dismantle everything I worked years for!" He presses the tip of the blade to my lip in warning. "I should cut your tongue out for the things you've done."