"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"Misha was right. You are stupid." Pyotr says, shaking his head in disgust. "Volkov run girls. Lots of girls. You understand?"
The meaning sinks in slowly, then all at once. "He traffics women."
"See? Not that stupid after all."
"That's what would happen to me."
"If you lucky, he keep you for himself. You are prettyenough. Blonde. Young. Maybe he like stupid American girl." Pyotr's voice is flat, matter-of-fact. "If not lucky, he sell you. Or put you in club where men pay."
"So, that's why I can't leave?"
"That is why you stay in penthouse, eat good food, wear Boss's shirt, and complain." He settles back against the wall. "You have one choice: Cage with Petrov, or cage with Volkov."
We stand in heavy silence. He's right, and we both know it. My options aren't freedom or captivity. They're different versions of captivity, and at least this one doesn't end with me in a brothel.
"I still don't understand," Pyotr says finally. "Why you? Why American who know nothing? Boss could have any woman. Makes no sense."
"I don't know."
"This is what worry me." His eyes are hard. "Boss never act like this before. Never keep woman in home. Never look at woman the way he look at you."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Stay alive. Don't be stupid. Let Boss do what he do best." Pyotr's expression hardens again. "And if I tell you to run, you run. You understand?"
"Why would you tell me to run?"
"Because if I tell you run, it mean Boss can't protect you anymore and you die if you stay." His voice drops lower. "I don't want to see pretty American girl end up in Volkov's hands."
"That's almost sweet."
"Is not sweet. Is practical. Boss care about you. If you die, he do something stupid and get him killed. You alive? He alive. Simple."
"Everything comes back to loyalty with you guys, doesn't it?"
"Loyalty is everything." He says it with absolute certainty. "Boss save my life in Chechnya. I owe him everything. Even if that mean protecting American girlfriend."
"Again, I'm not his girlfriend."
"Sure." But he doesn't sound convinced. "Whatever you say, Boss's woman." He pauses, then his eyes widen slightly. "Fuck. I talk too much."
"You just told me your life story. Pretty sure silence isn't your best line of work."
His scowl returns, deeper than before. "Boss can't know I talk to you."
"Relax. I won't tell him you watch for the signs."
"I don't—" He cuts himself off, jaw tight. "No more talking."
"Back to the silent treatment?"
He doesn't answer. Just positions himself by the elevator, arms crossed, wall firmly back in place.
The conversation is over.
I head back to the guest room and grab my sketchbook and the expensive pencils Ivan bought me. Mind racing, I settle by the window where the light's good.
