He’s never really been kind to me. Not the way other fathers are. He provided me with food and a roof over my head. He gave me money and paid for my college education… but not once has he ever shown me love or even the slightest bit of affection. I realize now that what he felt for me wasn’t hate. It has never been hate. It’s indifference. I’m a prop for him. A thing that was useful in keeping up appearances to his men. To the rules of his lifestyle.
That’s why this is so easy for him. Nothing is more important than the Bratva. Not even his own child.
I sit up and look around the empty room. The light’s gone from the window. I’m not sure how long it’s been since the sun has set. I imagine the time is coming when he’ll send his goons to kill me. Will he wait until the wee hours of the night and take me someplace where no one can hear me scream? Will he make Arseni do it? Or will he actually have the balls to do it himself?
Fucking piece of shit. The only thing I ever asked of him was for him to love me, and he couldn’t even bring himself to give me that. Even looking like my mother, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
I cross my legs and take a deep breath. The room smells faintly of carpet cleaner and the perfume I used to wear when I was a teenager. It’s a sweet and metallic smell like the flowers in a hospital room. This could be the last room that I ever see.
Or not. I might be nothing to Vladimir Petrov, but I’m not going to lie down and make this easy for him. He can’t win after everything he’s put me through.
I walk over to the window and try to open it. As I recall, there’s a thin ledge that goes around to the back of the building. If I can get out to it, I can probably edge all the way to the back porch awning and jump down from there.
The window doesn’t budge, however. I look around the edges where the window pane meets the frame and note the well blended paint along the corners. Painted shut. If I were stronger or if I had a knife or some keys, I could probably cut through that layer of paint and loosen it. I press my fingernail into the painted over crevices and watch as the hard paint doesn’t even budge. Itwould take me days that I don’t have to pick away enough paint to loosen this window.
And so the door. The first thing I notice is that the doorknob looks different. My doorknob used to be one of those big, plastic diamond shaped ones. Now it’s a brass orb. I squat down and look at closely. The lock is on the other side… but I’ve seen locks like this before.
When we were in high school, Ilya showed me how to pick locks using a credit card. It was something she learned from a boy she started dating behind her parents’ back—for good reason. As I recall, he’d already been to juvie twice when she met him.
I don’t have my wallet or my purse with me. I don’t have anything close to a credit card…
Wait. Yes I do! I reach into my back pocket and pull out one of Anton’s business cards. It’s still here! These jeans have only been washed once and somehow, the card has stayed in the pocket. Good thing, too. It’s about to become really, really handy. I look at it in the dim light of the room, the plastic feel of it delighting me.
Thank goodness he’s so extra about his business cards. This will do just fine.
I wedge the card between the door and the frame slowly, listening for the clicking of the locks as they disengage. I hope that this isn’t a lock that can’t be picked, some extra-special thing that my father paid a pretty penny for…
Sure enough, the lock clicks and the knob turns. I nearly jump for joy as a light breeze comes in from the hallway. Thank goodness my father has so little faith in my survival skills.
I creep out into the hallway. Now what? I can’t exactly slip out the front door. His men are more than likely out there. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t know the first thing about stealing one of my father’s cars. Ilya never taught me anything about hotwiring or anything close to that. I guess she never dated anyone who was arealcriminal.
I’ll have to figure all that out once I actually get out of the house. I’d say that I’m probably in more danger in this hallway than I would be just about anywhere else on the property.
I creep down the hallway carefully, my bare feet helping me out greatly as I move across the carpeted floor. There’s only one way off the second floor and that’s toward the staircase at the end of it. I get that far and stop at the corner, listening for any sign of anyone walking around. I peek around the corner to see it’s empty. From here, I can’t see over the banister in order to tell if anyone is walking around in the foyer. If I can make it that far, maybe I can make it to the back doors leading the pool house. And from there, I could probably slide out the gate and from there to the road.
After that, I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when I get there.
I step out into the second hallway, sticking close to the wall just in case there is someone downstairs. Once I get to the landing, I crane my neck as far as I can to see into the kitchen. I still don’t see anyone. Good.
I make it down the stairs and start to move toward the kitchen and possibly my freedom. The sound of my father’s muffled voice startles me and I freeze. I look over to see that it’s coming from his office down the hall.
The last time I eavesdropped, I found out something I most certainly didnotwant to know. This time, however…
If I make it back to Anton, I’ll need to warn him about what my father is planning. For that, I’ll need more information than what I have. Shit.
I creep down the hallway until I get to my father’s office. The first thing I notice is that the door is open slightly. I lean in and peer inside.
My father is sitting at his desk, a pen in his hand as he talks to Arseni. I can only see Arseni from the back, but I’d know that dopey stance anywhere.
No one’s saying anything right now. My father is staring up at him menacingly. Finally, he says in a low, threatening tone. “Say what’s on your mind.”
Arseni sighs. “I didn’t mean anything?—”
“Arseni, I don’t have time for this. Either say what you came in here for or leave me at peace and do what I’ve asked you to do.”
He jumps at the sharp tone in my father’s voice. After a second, he says, “The woman… it was a bad play to sleep with her, sir.”
My father just stares. I know that look. That’s the look he gets right before he punches the shit out of the wall or somebody’s face. “You’re questioning my methods?” he asks.
