“I came across his information in your file.”
Of course he did. These men have networks I can barely comprehend. Information flowing through channels I’ll never see.
“I met him when I was twenty-three.” I stare at a point on the wall over his shoulder. It’s easier to talk if I don’t look at him. “He was charming. Sophisticated. He said all the right things and made me feel like the most important person in the world. I was young and stupid and desperate to be loved, and he knew how to use that.”
“How did you meet?”
“At a gallery opening. He presented himself as a legitimate businessman interested in sponsoring young artists. He heard me play piano at an event and told me I had the most beautiful hands he’d ever seen.” I curl those hands into fists in my lap. “I should have known then. Normal men don’t say things like that.”
“When did things change?”
“After the wedding. Small things at first. Comments about my clothes, my friends, and the way I wore my hair. He isolated me so gradually that I didn’t realize it was happening until I had no one left. My sister warned me, but I didn’t listen. I thought she was jealous and didn’t understand our love. Then Kira came, and everything got worse.”
“How so?”
“He became possessive in new ways. Obsessive about where I went, who I talked to, and what I did every minute of the day. He installed cameras in our apartment. He checked my phone constantly. He accused me of things I would never do, and when I denied them, he…” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
I feel Pyotr waiting for me to continue. He’s patient in a way that makes me want to tell him everything and nothing at the same time.
“I left three years ago,” I explain. “Packed a bag in the middle of the night and took Kira to the train station while he was away on business. She was barely two years old. She didn’t understand why we were leaving or where we were going. She held onto me and trusted that I knew what I was doing. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew we couldn’t stay.”
“He found you.”
“Within weeks. I don’t know how. I was so careful. New city, new name on the apartment lease, and cash only for everything. I didn’t contact anyone from my old life. I didn’t use credit cards or social media or anything that could be traced. But he found me anyway.” I finally meet Pyotr’s eyes. “He’s been in the shadows ever since. Reminding me that I belong to him. That Kira belongs to him. That no matter how far I run, he’ll always know where I am.”
Pyotr’s jaw ticks. “The blocked calls.”
“Every few days, sometimes more often. He likes to keep me off-balance. I don’t know when the next one will come or what he’ll demand.”
“What does he want from you now?”
This is where I should tell him everything. The money laundering, the blackmail, and the accounts in my name that have funneled money for years.
But admitting the full scope feels like handing him a weapon I’m not sure he won’t use against me, no matter what he said about doubting the evidence.
“Control,” I offer instead. “He wants control. That’s all he’s ever wanted.”
It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.
Pyotr studies my face, and I wonder if he can tell I’m holding something back. But he doesn’t push.
“And the man at the grocery store? Semyon?”
“Semyon was a reminder that Bogdan can reach out and touch me whenever he wants.” I wrap my arms around myself, cold despite the warmth from the furnace. “Yesterday, when I had the panic attack, Bogdan had called to tell me he’s coming to St. Petersburg next week. He said he’s coming to collect what he’s owed.”
Understanding dawns in Pyotr’s eyes. “Kira.”
“If he files for custody, drags our family name through the courts, and exposes my connection to the Kozlovs…” I’m unable to finish the thought.
“He’s using her as leverage.”
“He’s been using her as leverage since the day she was born.”
I’ve never said any of this out loud. Not even to Polina or the women at the shelter. Keeping it inside felt safer. Like speaking it would make it more real.
But it’s been real for three years, and pretending otherwise hasn’t protected Kira or me from any of it.
Pyotr leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, but there’s an edge of danger in it.
