“Youknewhim,” he corrects. “And even then, there were a lot of missing details. This isn’t up for debate.”
He’s right, of course, even if I slightly resent him for it. I knew the version of Kostya that he wanted me to know. I thought he was a restaurateur with a kooky family. I had no idea he had any connections to the Russian mafia, and I certainly never suspected he’d hurt me the way he did.
“I’ll use the alarm if I need it,” I promise. “But I still think you’re overestimating Kostya.”
“Maybe,” Andrei says. “But maybe you’reunderestimating him.”
After that, he ushers me out of the apartment and toward the car. I feel almost giddy as he closes the door for the last time and leads me away. Even if this nightmare isn’t over, at least we’re done hiding in the shadows.
The drive home feels surreal. We’ve been on the outskirts of the city for so long, it feels amazing to be back in Manhattan. It’s the same as it always was. The traffic is just as horrendous, and the people are just as self-obsessed and unaware as ever. No one knows that my entire life has tilted sideways. No one would guess I’m surrounded by armed men in unmarked cars, being escorted like something fragile or valuable or both.
I press my forehead lightly to the window and watch everything blur past, trying to memorize it. The ordinary. The boring. The safe.
By the time we pull up to my building, I think happiness might explode out of my chest. I’m home.
One of Andrei’s men opens the door before I can reach for the handle. I step out slowly, half expecting something to feel different, but it doesn’t.
The lobby smells like the same overpowering lemon cleaner and the faint burnt scent from the old coffee machine near the mailboxes. Exactly the same. Comfortingly dull.
My throat tightens. I didn’t realize how much I missed the normalcy of it all. Unfortunately, though, in my new state, the smell brings up a new round of nausea. I’m even more desperate to get to my apartment.
When the door swings open, the familiar feeling of my space wraps around me instantly. I’m glad I thought to leave it clean. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be coming back for a month, but I knew I didn’t want to spend the day after my engagement party doing chores.
There are no dishes in the sink, the bed is made, and besides a little bit of extra dust, it’s exactly the same as I left it. I almost cry.
I step inside slowly, like I’m afraid the moment will disappear if I move too fast. Everything is exactly where I left it. The blanket folded over the arm of the couch. The book on the coffee table with the receipt still marking my place. My shoes by the door.
My life. Frozen in time.
Behind me, the guards stay respectfully distant, giving me the illusion of privacy even though I know they’re watching everything.
I walk straight to the kitchen sink and turn on the faucet, filling a glass with tap water just because I can. It tastes normal. Slightly metallic. Perfect.
The plants are still alive. Barely. I water them carefully, whispering apologies to them.
For a few minutes, I get to pretend I’m just a woman in her apartment on a quiet afternoon. Then I realize, ridiculously, that I can’t even remember what day it is. Time has moved so differently inside the safehouses. What I do know, though, is that I want to be surrounded by my own luxuries again.
I go to my closet and pull out the new set of luggage Kostya bought me as an engagement present. He said we could use it on our honeymoon. What a joke.
Then I’m left with a conundrum. What do you bring when you don’t know how long you’ll be gone? When nothing about your future feels certain?
I start grabbing anything and everything I can. Thankfully, it’s a big suitcase. I include my favorite sweaters and pajamas and t-shirts. I throw in face masks and makeup and a curling iron. I grab my favorite tennis shoes because I’ve been wearing an uncomfortable pair that one of Andrei’s men bought me at a mall.
When the suitcase is almost completely filled up, I throw in a few of my sketchbooks and my favorite pencils. I grab a small, framed photo of my mom, and her perfume bottle that I’ve kept all these years. I don’t know what the next phase in this strange new reality will hold, but I want to have a piece of her with me.
20
ANDREI
Inotice her absence acutely. My world feels bleaker and more sterile without her in it. It’s silent in a way that grates instead of bringing peace.
I usually prefer the silence. I like that my home is a fortress for my own thoughts and feelings, and I don’t have to put on a show for anyone here. Before I met Alina, this penthouse was my favorite place to be.
Now, I just wish I was with her. I should have insisted on going with her to her apartment, but that would have blown the plan. Our future depends on Kostya taking the bait and finding her alone.
So, to distract myself, I open my laptop and go over new reports that Anderson and Petya have assembled. Numbers, locations, and names swim before my eyes, all pieces of a much larger puzzle that I’m still trying to put together.
Concentration does not come easily. Again, I’m startled by how loud the silence is without Alina around. I’m also unsettled by just how large this space feels after being in shoebox safehousesfor a month. What do I even need all this space for? What good is this view when I usually don’t even take the time to appreciate it?
