The soft sunlight that shone through the window reminded me of how long I’d been standing there. With a sigh, I picked up my toothbrush and spread some toothpaste on it. I looked back at the mirror with a tiny smile as I remembered what today was all about and the relentless efforts that made it possible. I turned the tap on and placed my toothbrush under it for a second before bringing it to my mouth.
If not for myself, at least I have a reason to smile for others.
********
My feet had barely touched the ground when two security guards walked briskly towards me.
“Miss Markova, we’ve been expecting you. Good evening,” the shorter man greeted, nodding as he went to my right.
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” the one on my left added.
“Good evening. Thank you,” I answered, as we all headed towards the crowded entrance of the three-story building with my driver, Max, following closely behind.
Shouts of my name got louder as the two security men parted the sea of people and we neared the entrance door.
It was a fusion of the usual: camera lights, reporters calling my name, shutter sounds, and the small crowd praising me as the ‘Princess of Philanthropy.’
It was soon time for the ribbon-cutting to mark the opening of the new children’s hospital. Since I spearheaded the project from day one, I was to give a speech and cut the ribbon before the gala began.
I smiled as one of the organizers for the event called me to the front, and the crowd applauded.
“Thank you, everyone,” I started as I took the microphone from the slender lady. “I don’t need to state again that we’re here for the opening of the new children’s hospital because—well, I already did.”
The wave of chuckles and laughter rose and ebbed before I went on.
“I’d like to thank our donors, the very people who parted with their money and made it possible for this building to be standing here today. I also want to say thank you to the volunteers, those who gave their time and effort to make this day successful. Special thanks go to everyone who spread the word in one way or another. I appreciate the love. To the home team, the Markova Foundation staff, I appreciate you.”
As I took a step forward, more people joined the reporters in front, no doubt making live social media videos with their cameras pointed at my face.
“St. Petersburg is a wonderful city blessed with good citizens who have partnered with the government to furtheradvance different sectors of livelihood. However, this part of the city has had a cogent need for a hospital dedicated to children. The three public hospitals within a 40-mile radius have a few pediatricians, but these doctors are often too swamped to pay enough attention to each child. The fault isn’t on the doctors’ side, nor is it on the side of the parents who take their kids to these hospitals for adequate treatment. Instead of finding faults, we can find a solution. And that solution is what we’re celebrating tonight.”
Another round of applause rang out from the audience standing before me.
“One hand can’t lift many burdens, but many hands can lift several burdens. As we cut the ribbon and go in for the celebratory gala, I’d like us to consider this. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
More camera lights. More applause.
In an hour, I was walking out of the glittering building and into the car. I might have stayed back and mingled for a while longer, but today was not that kind of day. The fact that my dad had suddenly traveled out of Russia to God-knows-where and had been incommunicado refused to leave my head.
I wasn’t going to get bundled off to a foreign criminal without a fight, regardless of whatever my dad had in his devious mind. But the thought of his plan unfolding anytime soon made me feel squeamish.
“Ready to leave now?” Max asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“Yeah,” I breathed, resting the back of my head against the headrest and closing my eyes.
I felt the car start moving for about two seconds. And then it stopped. I opened my eyes to ask Max what the problem was, but when I caught him muttering as his eyes darted fromthe side mirror to the rearview mirror, I turned around to see for myself.
A black SUV was blocking the exit.
“Who the hell are these people? Are they blind?” I asked.
That was when the front door opened, and a tall man in dark jeans and a t-shirt stepped out. Another man in a similar outfit stepped out of the driver’s side.
“Oh, God!” Max whispered, his voice frantic as the men started coming towards us.
“What?”
“They are mafia men. From the Bratva,” he said, panic clear in his expression as he turned to answer me and probably to get a better view of the two men.
