Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

I can’t remember the last time I saw my father laugh.

And yet tonight alone, he's laughed at least three times. Each time at something Emery has said.

“Bizarre” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“… He did. Adrik stole me right out from under my date," Emery is saying, smiling and batting her lashes at my father. "In the middle of the party, he walked over, pulled me away from my date, and we danced."

My father leans back in his chair, twirling his dessert spoon delicately between the same fingers I've seen him kill men with.

Now, he can barely manage to feed himself. He’s hiding it well, pushing his food around on his plate and bringing small bites to his mouth. But he is sick and getting worse.

"Was my son a gentleman?" he asks.

“Not since the day I was born,” I drawl.

"Yes, he was,” she insists. "Well, he was a gentleman to me, at least. I'm not sure my date shared that opinion.”

That earns a chuckle from my father. "That's the Tasarov way. Go after what you want, no matter the obstacles."

"And he did." Emery slides her chair closer to me. With a tiny glance to the side, I’d be able to see straight down the front of her dress. It takes an enormous surge of willpower to resist the temptation. "The, uh, engagement has been a whirlwind."

My father takes a drink and clears his throat. "Yes, I was shocked."

His performance isn't convincing. I don't think it was meant to be. It’s an open secret that this is a sham, but no one will come right out and say it. There has to at least be the illusion. The last wish of a dying king.

“Especially given your… circumstances,” he adds.

I feel Emery stiffen against my side.

“What circumstances would those be?” I ask, eyes narrowing.

My father smiles, though as usual, there’s not an ounce of warmth in it. “Her daughter, of course.”

Emery and I are both taken aback by that. She inhales sharply, but does her best to hide it.

I lean forward. “How do you know anything about Isabella?”

“Is that her name?” he asks. “I saw the chair lift being installed and thought maybe you’d done it for my benefit. I was about to have the damned thing ripped out of the wall when I learned there was a crippled girl living here now.”

Emery jerks like she’s been physically hit. But her face betrays nothing brewing below the surface.

Despite my father’s ineloquence, she’s behaving.

Just as I asked.

Good little kiska.

“My son must really love you if he’s willing to take on that burden,” he continues blithely.

“Isabella isn’t a burden to anyone,” I snarl in a low, dangerous voice. “And she certainly isn’t ‘crippled.’”

“Pah!” He waves his hand. “You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t. But it’s forgotten—so long as you never speak about her like that again.”

My father levels his eyes on me over the length of the table. I can see the war raging inside of him.

Anger for calling him out.

Pride for standing my ground.

The kind of boldness that makes a son disobedient is the same stuff that makes a don powerful. The balancing act between the two is… fraught, to say the least.

In the end, he sighs and pushes away from the table. “Walk me to my car, Adrik.”

Emery stays in her seat as we stand and leave. My father doesn’t offer her a goodbye, and she doesn’t seek one.

Maybe she’ll survive in this world after all.

As soon as we’re in the hallway, my father’s shoulders sag. All throughout dinner, he sat tall and kept his chin raised. Now that we’re alone, he allows himself to slump out of that regal posture.

“That was convincing.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He twirls a hand weakly through the air. “Defending her daughter. I almost believed you loved the girl.”

“She’s a child. Pretty low-hanging fruit if you ask—”

“Not the girl, durak,” he scolds. “Her mother.”

I stiffen, my jaw clenched tight. “That is why most people get married, isn’t it?”

“Most people, perhaps,” he says. “But not you, my son. You’re getting married because I made it a prerequisite.”

He hesitates in the foyer for a moment before turning towards the front doors.

“You could stay in your suite here tonight,” I offer. “It’s ready for you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m more comfortable at my house. With my own bed. And my own morphine.”

I follow him out into the warm night, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. My father always did know how to manipulate a pause. No one can say more in a silence than he can.

“Tell Emery I said goodnight,” he mentions casually.

“You liked her, huh?”

“It doesn’t much matter if I like your wife, my son. Your feelings are more important.”

I roll my eyes. “You may be dying, but we both know you aren’t a fool.”

He sighs. “I wanted you to be married because I believed it would be good for you. And from what I saw of that woman, she’ll be good for you. Even if she is a hooker you hired and dressed up.”

“Emery is not—”

“Spare me,” he interrupts. “You found a fiancée two days after I said you needed a wife? If she isn’t a prostitute, you kidnapped her. No sane woman would agree to this.”

“She isn’t—”

“I don’t give a shit.” The old man sighs. “Like I said, I think she’ll be good for you. She certainly knew how to play the part, anyway. One is as good as the other.”

Arguing with him gets me nowhere. And I don’t actually care what he thinks.

I’ll be don when all is said and done. Until then, he can think whatever he wants.

A car is idling in the driveway. As we approach, the driver climbs out to open the back door for him.

“Getting out of the house is becoming difficult,” he says, gripping the top of the door to keep himself upright. I didn’t realize quite how much he was struggling to walk until now. “I’m not sure I’ll make it here again. Give my regards to your wife.”

“You said that already.”

“Then make sure you do it.”

“She isn’t my wife yet.”

“No, I guess not.” He narrows his eyes at me. “But she will be. I think she’ll be—”

“Good for me. I know. You already said that, too.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re cold and distant. Blocks of glacier already turned towards the open ocean. “I’m an old man now. What do I know? I thought Sofia would be good for you, too. And look how that turned out.”

Without another word, my father ducks into the backseat of the car.

* * *