I sink onto the edge of the bed, clutching my phone like it’s the last piece of my life left.
That night, after Dad leaves and Micha stations himself in the hall like a stone gargoyle, I crawl beneath my blankets and text the only person who will understand, Tyra.
She gets my strange life because she lives one, too. Another mafia princess.
We’re an unlikely pair. She’s Black and Brooklyn-born; I’m American-Italian and pure West Coast. But when she moved to Los Angeles to live with her uncle, something clicked between us. We became best friends before either of us understood how rare that kind of loyalty is in our world.
Me
I’m being shipped off to be married. I’m NOT joking.
Three dots appear immediately.
Tyra
What the hell u mean shipped? Like some dude picked u out like a mail-order bride?
Me
YESSSSSS. A Russian heir claimed me. Dad says we can’t refuse. Yellow card rules.
Another pause. Then:
Tyra
Oh my god. Girl. Girl. GIRL.
Are u safe? Im not liking this at all.
Me
I don’t know. Dad is scared. Jarvis is scared. Micha my new russian bodyguard is... strange.
Tyra
I swear if they send my bestie to some dateless wonder across an ocean ill come get u myself
I swallow hard, blinking fast.
Me
Dad says I have to
I miss my mom.
Tyra
I bet. And I know ur scared
I am not surprised she didn’t offer a real escape. She knows as well as I do that what a boss decides is final, even if it is your father.
Tyra
U better text me EVERY day. Morning and night. I’ll check on u.
And I don’t care if I gotta sneak away, I’ll fly to Russia alone
A tear rolls down my cheek. Warm, comforting, and painful.
