Eileen
The mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad, so I gathered the nerve to go to the mountain, instead. After some intense conversations with Ian and the security crew, I managed to convince Anton to allow them to accompany me back to my father’s house.
I stand in the foyer, waiting to be received by my stepsister, while four large gentlemen from my security detail stand outside. There’s a panic button device in my jacket pocket, just in case. I told them I wouldn’t need it in my childhood home, but it was one of the conditions in order for this visit to happen while Anton was away on a business trip.
“Mrs. Karpova,” a middle-aged woman comes downstairs to greet me. I recognize the staff uniform but I don’t recognize her.
“You must be new,” I say, giving her a warm smile. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met.”
“I’m Shelly, ma’am. I look after your father these days.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that his health is declining, but no one is willing to give me any details,” I say. “It’s a miracle I was even allowed back inside my own home,” I bluntly reply.
Shelly gives me a tense smile. “My apologies. Given your delicate condition, your father insisted on the secrecy.”
“Where is he?”
“With his doctor, as we speak. He will join you in the tearoom soon enough. Allow me to escort you.”
I look around for a long moment. Everything looks so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. This was once the safest place in the world for me. Now, it reeks of secrets and anger, hardened feelings left stewing on a low heat until eventually boiling over.
My stepsister has a way of infecting everything and everyone with her mood.
“Where is Ciara?” I ask as I follow Shelly across the hall and into the tearoom. I know this place by heart, but I abide by the house rules. Technically speaking, while I did retain my last name, I’m not considered a resident anymore.
“She’ll be here shortly,” Shelly replies.
I take a seat by the window, soaking in the sun with a soft smile, both hands cradling my growing bump.
Finally, just as my mind wanders away from the stress of reuniting with my family and back to Anton and my new family, the door opens.
“Ciara,” I murmur as I get up.
Ciara comes in, looking slim and pretty, as always. The ballerina dress she’s wearing is a lovely shade of pink, which brings out her eyes and plumped glossed lips.
“Honestly, I thought you’d be much bigger,” she says with a flat tone, barely looking at me as she joins me at the table.
I take my seat again and give her a long look. “And here I thought you’d set the weight-related jabs aside for once.”
“It’s actually a compliment,” she says with a forced smile. God, she’s hurting so much underneath this snarky façade of hers. “You look great, Eileen. Marriage and pregnancy both suit you.”
“Thank you. And thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“It’s time to bury the hatchet, I suppose. I’ve done my grieving, my angry shouting, my therapy hours. We’re good.”
“Are we?”
Ciara takes a deep breath and lowers her gaze. “I know you and I never really saw eye to eye on a lot of things. I should’ve respected your choices a lot more over the years. You know how stubborn and intense I can be.”
“Oh, yeah,” I chuckle softly.
“I get that you didn’t mean to take my fiancé away,” Ciara says. “It was a hard pill to swallow, but everything turned out okay in the end, didn’t it?”
“Sort of. I heard about your possible engagement.”
Ciara stills for a moment, a cold grin slitting her pretty face. “Sergei Kuznetsov is quite the catch, it turns out. The engagement ring he gave me was twice as snazzy as the one I got from Anton.”
“So it’s happening for sure then? Ciara, are you certain you want to do this?” I ask her with genuine concern. “That man tried to kill me.”
“Rumors. Unfounded rumors. Sergei didn’t do anything.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“It’s what I know,” she replies, her tone sharper than before.
“How’s Dad?” I decide to change the subject, hoping to avoid an all-out confrontation.
“He could be better,” Ciara says quietly.
It’s the way she avoids looking right at me that gets my suspicion up. “What does that mean? He wouldn’t tell me anything, either. He’s my father and I worry about him. I deserve to know what’s going on with his health.”
“What do you want me to say? His health is declining. Old age, the stress of mob life. Your whole stunt with Anton didn’t sit well with him, either. I’d hoped my engagement might spruce him up a little, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”
“Where is he? He’s supposed to be here with us.”
“Didn’t Shelly explain all this already?”
I shake my head in anger. “Ciara, I’ve had enough. Hate me for the rest of your life regarding Anton, I won’t blame you. But do not ever cut me out of the Donovan family ever again. I gave you space, I gave you time. I’m done. From now on, we’ll be communicating like adults, especially when it comes to family matters.”
“Why don’t you bang your fist on the table, too, for good measure?” she chuckles dryly.
“You think this is funny?”
Her humor fades into a stone-cold expression. “What’s funny is you walking in here like you still own the place, so to speak. You don’t. You’re a Karpov, now.”
“Still a Donovan.”
“You’re a Karpov! And given the disrespect that the Karpovs have shown to Sergei, be thankful that I even allowed you back into this house!”
“Wow, you’re not even married yet, but you seem to be taking your role seriously as a Kuznetsov wife.”
“You weren’t married yet when you got knocked up by a Karpov,” Ciara shoots back.
Every goddamn word stings. I’m trying so hard not to lash out, but it’s getting damn near impossible to keep my temper in check. The pregnancy hormones aren’t helping, either.
“It is how it is, Eileen. We were raised as sisters, but we’ve never been on the same page, not really. And yeah, I do take my role seriously. I’m going to be a loyal, supportive wife. Besides, Sergei got lucky. Daddy wants me to take over.”
“I never wanted the Donovan business.”
“Yeah, you made that clear a long time ago. Don’t be surprised if you get completely left out of the picture once I’m married. Sergei didn’t take kindly to Anton’s betrayal, and rumor has it the Karpovs won’t be leading the Bratva for much longer, either. With the Donovans’ support behind him, Sergei could very well take over.”
Blinded by her own pride and ambition, she doesn’t even realize when she overshares in an attempt to gloat. She’s giving me useful information, which I will absolutely relay to Anton and Andrei. Surely, the brothers know that Kuznetsov is angling for a power play, but we weren’t so sure about where my father’s support would be.
“Dad’s still kicking,” I decide to rain on Ciara’s parade. “So there isn’t much you can do without his say-so. I’m his blood, and he would never toss me to the wolves just to appease your psycho, two-faced future husband.”
“I suggest you mind your words!” Ciara explodes. “I won’t tolerate any disrespect from the likes of you!”
“The likes of—” I raise my voice, but my father booms across the room, cutting me off and making mine sound tiny.
“ENOUGH!”
Ciara and I both freeze. Slowly, we turn around to find my father in the doorway. He’s barely standing, one hand on the
frame to steady himself. My heart sinks, and I can feel the breath leaving my body as I whisper, “Dad.”
Tears spring to my eyes. He looks awful. He’s declined so much in the last two months, that it’s as if death itself stands right behind him, its hand touching his shoulder. He’s lost a ton of weight, and he’s pale as a corpse. His breath is ragged, and his eyes are hollow.
“Dad,” I say it louder this time. “What is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you, Eileen? Is this how you intend to reconcile with your stepsister? Through a shouting match?”
“We got carried away—” Ciara tries to play it off, but he interrupts her with a sickly grunt.
“Don’t even. I warned you. Keep your tongue mellow. Eileen isn’t the type to blow up without provocation, Ciara. We both know you started it,” he says. “For heaven’s sake, girls, how the hell can I leave this world with you two still bickering like this?”
“Are you planning to leave this world anytime soon?” I quietly ask.
“Are you blind, child?” he scoffs. “I’m obviously not in the best shape of my life. The last thing I want is to leave you two behind with nothing but strife and harsh words. You need to make amends with one another and you need to make them now.”
“Where’s your doctor? I’d like to speak to him,” I say.
“Pfft, good luck,” Ciara sighs. “He keeps citing doctor-patient privilege, and Daddy won’t tell me anything, either.”
“Is that true?”
“I’m ill. What more do you need to know?”
I gasp, struggling with the entire concept. “Ill with what? Is there a treatment? Anton has plenty of connections in the medical system,” I say.
“Do you think I like being poked and prodded?”
“Nobody likes that part,” I shoot back. “But it’s necessary.” I pause to cradle my growing bump. “Don’t you want to meet your grandchildren, Dad?”
He stills, prompting a harsh laugh from Ciara. “Wow. Go straight for the heart,” she whispers. “Maybe that’ll get the old bull running again.”
“Whatever it takes,” I whisper back.
“What are you having? Boy or girl?” Dad asks, his voice noticeably lower.
“We weren’t able to get a good look at the last ultrasound but we did find out that we’re having twins,” I reply with a warm smile.
He gives a silent gasp before his hand goes up to his chest. It was meant to be a wonderful surprise, yet his reaction strikes me with a pang of worry.
“Twins.”
“Dad, are you okay?” Ciara asks with a trembling voice.
“Yeah, I’m…”
Within less than a second, I watch as my father collapses onto the floor. I hear Ciara’s scream as I bolt toward him. I kneel down and turn him over. He appears even paler, barely conscious. His chest makes terrible, raspy sounds as he breathes, while his hands quiver uncontrollably.
“Where’s his doctor?” I demand.
“Dad!” Ciara calls out to him.
“Where’s his doctor?” I ask again.
She gives me a terrified look. “I… I don’t know.”
“Find him, I’ll call 911.”
For the first time, Ciara doesn’t fight me on something I ask of her. My heart is pounding, my fingers trembling as I keep one hand on my father’s chest and use the other to reach for my phone.
“Hang in there, Dad,” I tell him.
Two hours later, Ciara and I are in the ER waiting room. I can hear the doctors and nurses talking. Orders bouncing back and forth. Machines beeping.
Ciara takes a seat closest to the door, looking lost.
“He’s going to be alright,” I try to comfort her, but she waves me off.
“You weren’t there. You didn’t see him fading away, day after day. You didn’t hear me begging him to run a few more tests, seek a second opinion.”
“You all shut me out,” I reply. “How is this my fault?”
“It isn’t,” she shakes her head slowly. “Dad didn’t want anyone to tell you.”
“That proud, stubborn old fool.”
Dad’s personal physician enters the waiting room. I catch a glimpse of my dad behind him, an oxygen mask on his face, hooked up to multiple machines monitoring his vitals. The image causes further chaos and panic in my mind.
“Dr. Rattner, what is wrong with him?” Ciara jumps to her feet, her eyes wide with fear.
“It’s the worst episode yet, I’m afraid,” he says.
“What is the issue, exactly?” I ask.
“He hasn’t been the most cooperative patient,” Dr. Rattner says. “Recent blood tests and the EKG show weakness in his heart. There could be some neurological damage, as well. We’re going to run a few more tests, including a CT scan. He’s also scheduled for an MRI later today.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Ciara inquires.
Dr. Rattner gives her a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could say yes, but I’m not sure, not right now, anyway. We’re finding several issues, but without a known cause, prescribing a particular treatment might do more harm than good. He’s stable for now, but we’re going to keep him under observation over the next couple of days, at least. The CT scan and MRI should tell us more. Hopefully.”
“And if it doesn’t?” I ask, my brow furrowed. I can hear Ronan snarling at the nurse when she tries to draw his blood.
“I’m counting on you two ladies to convince him to stick around and let me do my job,” Dr. Rattner replies. “The last time we brought him in for a similar, albeit less severe issue, Mr. Donovan discharged himself before nightfall.”
I give Ciara a troubled look. “For real?”
“It’s like he’s asking the Grim Reaper to pick him up, I swear,” she nods with exasperation.
“I’ll talk to him. We’ll talk to him,” I tell Dr. Rattner. “Do you have any idea of a diagnosis so far?”
“We’re not sure,” he says.
“Last time we were here, Sergei was with us. We were having lunch out in the garden,” Ciara mumbles. “You said it could be severe arrhythmia, right, Doc?”
I look at Ciara again. “He had lunch with Sergei?”
“No, we had lunch with Sergei, my fiancé. He’s been coming around the house every other day for the past couple of months. Sergei is the one who put us in touch with Dr. Rattner.”
“Mr. Kuznetsov and his family have been on my patient roster for the better part of the last two decades,” Dr. Rattner says. “The arrhythmia was just a guess. We’re still not sure.”
“How are you not sure?” I wonder aloud. “A specialist of your caliber, with your resources and knowledge. I’m stumped, Doc.”
“I am, too,” he admits. “But I need Mr. Donovan to cooperate, as well. There is only so much I can do here without his support and cooperation.”
Ciara exhales sharply. “Yeah, we really need to drive that point home for Dad. Eileen and I will talk to him. When can we see him?”
“As I said, they’re still running a few tests, but I assume he’ll be moved into a private room in the next couple of hours. You’re both welcome to wait here or downstairs in the cafeteria. I’ll send a nurse to get you once he’s in a room.”
I nod before Dr. Rattner turns and heads back into the ER.
Everything I’ve seen and heard up to this point is deeply unsettling. I don’t like Sergei being so close to my family. Granted, I can’t exactly stop the process, given that he’s going to marry my stepsister. My father’s pig-headed nature isn’t helping matters, either. He’s old-school, maybe a little too old-school for this day and age.
I just wish he had a bit more fight left in him,, because he was right about one thing. I shudder to think what will happen to Ciara and me when he’s gone. For better or worse, even married to a Kuznetsov and a Karpov, respectively, my stepsister and I still benefit from the presence of Ronan Donovan—alive and able to issue orders across the board.
The Bratva needs the Irish support.
And we still need our dad.
