“There is a man—a very powerful man—known as The Reaper.” Biba waves his hand dismissively. “Ignore the silly nickname. He has displayed an impressive ability for leadership, and I’ve decided to bring him into the fold. Together, we are stronger. Once we are all family, we own this city. And you … you get to be the one who makes it all happen.”
I can’t even balk at his audacity because my brain snags on the name Reaper.
Holyhell.
What kind of monster earns a name like The Reaper? And Biba wants to marry me off to this man for his own selfish reasons? This is so grossly unexpected that I can hardly comprehend it. I thought … I don’t know exactly what I thought, but it wasn’t this. Never this.
My head begins to shake in small, jerky movements. I know I can’t outright refuse, but rising panic overrides my logic with the need to escape.
“Now, Danika.” His tone lowers with an edge of warning. “You need to understand how important this is. It will be a huge honor, and he is a very wealthy man. This will set you and yourmother up to live like queens. I know you’d like that. No more living in that shithole apartment of yours.”
For a man who’s been clever enough to control a small army of Russians in the middle of New York City, he sure is clueless. Instead of reassuring me, every word he utters incites my anger. As if I want to marry a stranger for money. Our apartment may be small, but it’s no shithole. That’s myhome. A place my mother worked hard to provide and where so many happy memories have been made.
I collect myself and make my very best attempt to respond without offense. “I appreciate your effort to provide for me, but I don’t think I’m the right person for this responsibility.”
His features take on a frightening savagery as he stands and slowly stalks around the desk toward me. He doesn’t speak until he’s close enough to look down his nose at me. Close enough that his menthol-laden breath constricts my lungs to a painful degree. “You misunderstand. I am not asking your permission. Youwillmarry The Reaper, or I will take everything you love in this world and burn it to the ground. Your mother included.” His slowly enunciated words drip with malice.
The temperature in the room plummets to arctic lows. I have to fight back a shiver.
My head spins, and tears burn the backs of my eyes.
This can’t be happening. What do I do? I can’t let him hurt my mom and gran. They’re all I have in this world. All that matters, that is. And if the threat came from anyone else, I’d call it a bluff, but not coming from Biba. The man has no humanity left. Where does that leave me?
I slowly nod, my eyes unable to meet his.
“I am glad we understand one another, Danika, because disobedience is messy, and I have too much riding on this marriage for childish games. My hope is that in one week, you will be married, and life will be much more peaceful.”
“A week?” I squeak, unable to stop myself.
“Da. I suggest you spend the time wisely. Learn to see this as the opportunity it is. We will get you all new clothes, and you will never have to work again. It will be good, you will see, so long as you don’t do anything stupid. Giving me a reason to punish you will only make you miserable. I promise.”
He returns to his chair opposite the desk, fingers twining together with finality.
With the issuance of one final threat, I’ve been dismissed.
I stand on unsteady legs and walk robotically down the hallway, feeling as though I am not in control of my own body, but rather a puppeteer is pulling my strings. That’s exactly what’s happening in a figurative sense, and I have no idea how to free myself.
God, please tell me this is a nightmare.
This can’t be real. I can’t spend the rest of my life—however short that may now be—bound to a psychopath.
What choice do you have? You can’t risk Mom and Gran.
He won’t just kill them. He’ll torture them to get back at me.
I only make it two steps outside before my stomach seizes beyond my control and forces me to retch against the crumbling brick exterior of the building. Biba’s thug mutters what can only be a string of Russian curses, judging by his disgusted tone. As I wipe my mouth with my hand, I hear the door slam shut behind me before the lock clicks shut. Why am I not surprised? Of course, it would be too much to ask for a napkin or a sip of water. And on top of everything, it looks like I have to find my own way home from this shady Brooklyn neighborhood.
I want to bang my fists on the glass door, screaming and raging until Biba comes out and realizes his mistake, but that won’t happen. For starters, my arms are too shaky to pound on anything. Then there’s Biba. He’s a spineless, malicious virus ofa man who infects everyone around him with toxic cruelty. He won’t relent until he gets what he wants.
I hate him, and that hate is utterly meaningless because he holds all the cards.
Does he?
My mind goes silent as the suggestion sinks in. I do have at least one other option: the police. This is modern-day America. People don’t get toownother people. Law enforcement is here to protect us from men like Biba, but they can’t do their job if we don’t report a problem.
My feet intuitively take me in the direction of the nearest subway stop while I try to convince myself that the authorities can help. They’ll keep us safe if I can summon the courage to do what’s right.
With a renewed flare of hope energizing my pace, I take myself to the nearest police station. I hardly notice anyone or anything around me until I see a flash of my reflection in the mirrored glass of the entry. I do a double take of my splotchy cheeks, wispy tangles of strawberry-blond hair—heavy on the strawberry—flying in every direction, and a pair of wide eyes with way too much crazy staring back at me.
