Thanks to Ilya, I was able to get a job working as a bus girl at the diner down the street from her apartment. It pays dick, but it’s honest work. The little bit of money I made tonight I have to divvy up and sock away when I get back to the apartment.
And the craziest thing is that there’s a part of me that actually wants to call my dad and ask him for money. I start fantasizing about playing the innocent role just for a few dollars to get my nails done or something. Lucky for me, that part of me is small, though. The rest of me remembers what it means to live under his rule. At least now, I can do as I please. Go where I want. Live however I want to live. And as soon as I have enough money for my own place, I’ll be completely free. Maybe I’ll find a place on the other side of the city. Or maybe I’ll just move out of town completely, leave for someplace completely different from this city. Maybe someplace sunny like California. Or maybe even Hawaii. I guess the sky’s the limit.
It’s really late. The diner closed around two, but I had to stay behind and roll silverware for the waitresses. A stupid, tedious task that they ought to be doing, but it doesn’t matter. As long as I get my share of their tips at the end of the night, then I could give a fuck. I made almost a hundred bucks tonight. It’s not a lot, but it’s the most I’ve made so far.
One of the guys, Martin, I think his name is, offered to walk me home, but I declined. I’m a block away from the apartment and besides, I know he’s just asking because he likes me. He’s a sweet guy, tall with blond hair and hazel eyes. The kind of guy I might’ve gone for before…
Before Anton. In two weeks, it’ll be two months to the day when we fucked and even though I spend most of my day preoccupied with other things, late at night when I’m looking up at the ceiling, I still think of him. I still imagine his hands on my ass even though the bruises are long gone.
I don’t know if this is normal or not. I’ve never had somebody in my system like this before. When I do see someone I might halfway be interested in, my mind decides to compare them with Anton and usually, it’s just no contest. Normal guys with their college aspirations and their shiny sports cars just don’t do it for me anymore.
Well… let’s be honest, I don’t think they ever really did it for me. I only liked Andrei because he was kind and handsome and he seemed like a good choice for me. Maybe if I’d had a halfway normal upbringing, he’d have been a good choice.
I round the corner and the air splits with the sound of tires screeching, interrupting my thoughts. The sound makes me start and I jump back as a car comes skidding around the corner across the street. It hits the curb and topples, landing on its roof.
Seconds later, another car pulls up and screeches to a halt. Two men get out and…
Anton. It’s him, walking briskly toward the men trying to get out of the car wreck, gun in hand. The look on his face is focused and cold as he raises his gun.
Two shots, one from his gun and the other from his partner’s. I jump as two of the three men are shot and killed. The one lying on the ground is screaming at him in Russian and English. Begging him not to?—
Bang!Anton shoots him down in cold blood. There’s no fanfare. There’s no grand speeches. He just kills him. I can’t take my eyes off the man as he lies on the asphalt, a pool of blood forming underneath him.
I manage to look away just as Anton sees me. The ice in his eyes has changed to surprise. There’s no anger or shame, just shock, and for good reason. I am not supposed to be seeing any of this.
There’s an audible click of a gun and we both turn to see another man standing a few feet away from Anton, his gun trained on me.
Shit.
A gunshot rings out and it throws me completely out of my frozen state. I see the flash and smell the gunpowder, but I don’t wait around to see what’s happened. I’m running. My feet are acting on their own to get me to safety.I’m shot. I’m shot. I just don’t feel it yet. I need to get home. To safety. To…
I get to the apartment and I rush through the front foyer. As I pull out my keys with shaking hands, I realize that I don’t see any blood. Maybe he missed. He probably missed me.
Or maybe Anton shot him first. I don’t know and at this moment, I don’t care. I just need to get to safety.
I find my key and let myself in, then I dart up the stairs to the apartment.
When I rush in, I see Ilya at the window across the room, leaning out and peering down the street. At the sound of the door closing behind me, she starts and turns. “I heard gunshots.” She pauses, her eyes looking me up and down. “Are you okay?”
I nod and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Bitter bile forms at the back of my throat and suddenly, I have to throw up. I run to the bathroom.
My dinner, my lunch, and maybe even my breakfast come up in a bitter wave of vomit just as I reach the toilet. I heave and heave until nothing comes up and then I heave some more. It takes a minute for me to realize that Ilya’s with me, holding my hair.
Finally, the dry heaves stop… and the tears start. Ilya takes me in her arms, hugging my head and saying, “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re all right.”
Iyla just staresat her cup of tea silently, stunned into silence. It’s about thirty minutes later and we’re sitting on the couch drinking chamomile tea that she made once I calmed down. The last thing she said to me was, ‘What the hell happened?’ and then I just vomited the whole story out to her. Now, as I guess is completely expected, she’s struck silent.
“Say something,” I say softly. “Anything.”
She swallows hard. “This is bad, Nat,” she replies. “You know that, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. This is crazy. My entire life, I’ve never seen any of them get so much as a hangnail and now… God, I feel like my father had his hands over my eyes this whole time.”
She sighs. “You just got a front row seat to the Bratva life.” She pauses as I take another sip of tea. It’s warm and sweet and feels really good on my throat. “Are you sure it was Anton Romanov that you saw? Maybe it was someone else?”
I nod. “It was him, all right. I don’t know if that’s better or worse. You think he’ll actually come for me over this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not? How good was the sex?”
