Page 92 of Jump on Three

I stayed quiet. Nothing I could have said would have made a difference. He expected the men he worked with to be deferential, but Marco did not come from our world. My father was an investor—that was it. This was Marco’s club. He’d put his blood, sweat, cash, and muscle into it. Hell, even I had more ownership than my father. Yet he had walked in like king of the roost.

I saw why Marco had stormed out. If I knew the consequences wouldn’t be dire, I would have too. My father could say any shit he wanted about me, but I did not like him speaking about Marco that way. Not when he was doing the work to bring buckets of cash in every week and commanded respect because of how he treated people, not because they were too afraid to go against him.

Once his rant was complete, my father moved on to the next topic. “Now, tell me about this parents weekend, Vanya. I have to meet your teachers?”

I shrugged. “There are tours of campus, teacher meetings, information about colleges—”

“Bah, college.” He waved his cigar, smoke trailing after it. “I will do the tour so I can see where my money is going. If there’s time, I will speak with your teachers.”

“Time?” I was surprised that was a concern. As far as I’d known, he’d come exclusively for this.

“I will be returning home Sunday morning. Your mama wasn’t feeling well when I left. If I hadn’t promised you I’d be here, I would have canceled everything.”

Alarm straightened my spine. “She’s unwell?”

“Flu or something like it. Nothing to concern yourself with. Tatiana is staying with her while I’m away.”

Tatiana, my twenty-two-year-old sister, was studying to become a nurse. My mother was in no better hands than hers, which was exactly why my father had sent Tat to nursing school. He’d seen a need for a medical professional in the family and had chosen my sister for the role.

“I will call her to check in,” I said.

“Yes, you will. But now, I want you to explain, in detail, why all the reports you’ve been sending me have been so goddamn glowing.”

On the surface, my face was blank, but beneath was molten lava. It had cooled when I’d moved away from his watchful eye. Now that he was here, the pressure was building in my gut, through my veins, inside my head, and all I could do was let it. It was the only reaction I was allowed.

One day, I would free myself of his boot on my neck. It was either that or live and die this way, and that wasn’t much of a choice at all.

Chapter Thirty-one

Evelyn

Luciana’s family was very nice. Her big sister, Helen, and her husband, Theo, were her guardians. Helen was a skateboarder I’d suspected may have committed a few crimes in the past and was now on the straight and narrow. Theo had sparkly blue eyes, repaired cars, and adored Luciana, Helen, and their baby daughter, Madelina.

That being said, their house was busy and loud. By Sunday morning, I was ready to go back to the dorm. Delilah had promised it wasn’t rude to leave early, so after thanking Helen and Theo for their hospitality, I caught a rideshare to SA.

Climbing out of the car, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings until a loud Russian caught my ear.

Ivan and an older man, just as tall as Ivan but twice as wide, were exiting the dorm. My stomach lit from within, excitement stirring at seeing him again after two long days.

I reached into my knitting bag, clutching the scarf I’d just completed while relaxing by Helen and Theo’s pool. I would have finished it sooner, but I’d had other projects to complete first. Luckily, this one hadn’t taken long, and my Noro yarn looked gorgeous and felt even better.

Happy to see him, I walked straight up to Ivan and the man who had to be his father despite being quite ugly. His mother must have been the beauty. I hoped his other siblings had inherited their mother’s looks too.

When he noticed me, Ivan’s eyes flared, and he subtly shook his head, which I took to mean he did not want me to kiss him in front of his father. That was fair. Not all parents cared to see their children engaged in public displays of affection.

His reaction had his father swinging around to look at me. He didn’t smile, though I did. A quivering one put together with glue and toothpicks, easily knocked down.

I dug my fingers deeper into my knitting bag, burying them under the soft yarn. Something was off, but I couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

“Hi, Ivan.”

He lowered his chin. “Hey.”

His father swung back to him, speaking in Russian. Mine wasn’t perfect, but I had a good enough handle to understand him.

“Who is this girl?” he spat.

Ivan didn’t glance at me. “She’s no one important. Just this weird girl who follows me around,” he returned in Russian.