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But as long as there was a chance to get out of Russia, go back to America… be with Frankie, I was willing to take that risk. Even if Frankie had moved on, found another woman, had a family, all of this would’ve been worth it.
I didn’t want to think about him moving on, although it was a reality. I couldn’t expect him to wait for me, not knowing what even happened to me or where I’d gone. But he knew who my father was, and I knew he was smart enough to realize I wouldn’t have left on my own if I had no other options.
“Stick with the plan,” Marina said softly and smoothed her hands down the train of the dress.
She told me there would be clothing, essential items for me at the safehouse, even a little bit of money for me to use once—if—I made it out of Russia. She was risking everything, her life, to help me get out of here.
I could never repay her. And the fact that if my father found out, he’d hurt her, kill her, it had me saying no to this, that I wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t put anybody else at risk. But she’d taken my hands in hers and said she’d lived her life, that cancer would take her sooner than later. She told me she lived a purposeful existence and there was nothing in life worth more than living and being happy.
And that if her time came, she’d smile and accept it, because it meant she’d be with Viktor.
I didn’t think I could cry any more tears after that, but they’d fallen seamlessly for this woman. This woman who was terminal and wanted to spend her remaining time on this planet helping me. The plan sounded straightforward, and I had a modicum of hope that maybe—God willing—I could pull this off.
While everyone was on the back property waiting for me to walk down that aisle, where most of the security guards would be as well, Marina would cause a diversion in the front with the help of some of the kitchen staff.
The commotion would hopefully draw the remaining guards to the opposite sides of the house, and then that’s when I’d slip out the side staff door. There would be cameras, but Marina assured me the car was not traceable and that I’d be safe. I prayed this all worked.
We hadn’t had a large gathering like this where everyone would be in one central location before. That was the only reason I thought I might be able to pull this off.
There were three large pounds on the door, and it startled me, causing my heart to jackknife in my chest and a cold sweat to burst out along my forehead.
“Shhh,” Marina whispered and grabbed a tissue, blotting my forehead. “Being nervous is one thing, but this reaction will tip them off.”
I nodded. I had to calm myself if I wanted any kind of chance of making this work.
There was another hard rap on the door, and the deep voice on the other side said, “It’s time.” It was one of my father’s men.
I looked at Marina, and she gave me a sympathetic but strong smile. “It is time, little mouse.”
I nodded and licked my lips.
It was time.
6
Frankie
I was on beer six, or maybe it was seven. I might not know the number I’d consumed already, but I did know I was getting good and fucked up.
Best thing about being hollow… just about anything could fill the void for a short time; that was… until reality set in.
What filled my loneliness?
Occasional drinking and constant fighting.
The buzz from the booze numbed me. The pain from the fights made me feel something more than the… nothingness. And although after the fact, I felt even worse, I gladly took these moments in which I wasn’t pretending like I had my shit together.
I finished off beer six or seven and gestured to the bartender for another. He wouldn’t tell me I had enough, ‘cause he didn’t give a fuck.
Tonight, I’d gone over to Ricky’s, a piece-of-shit establishment on the outskirts of town. There was always someone here, willing to start shit with me for no reason. And I channeled that anger, let it build in my gut until it exploded, and I let it all out on them.
And tonight, I was feeling especially volatile, thinking what a dead end it was to try to find Nadja, knowing I’d never see her again.
There was a live band playing tonight, the cover songs old ones from the south. The bartender put another bottle in front of me, and I tipped it toward him in a silent thank you right before I lifted it to my mouth and chugged it.
I looked over my seat and scanned the interior. The dance floor was scarred and worn, a few women dancing suggestively in the center. Their clothes couldn’t even be called scant. They wore them to get fucked. There was an old pool table off to the side, the felt worn and dingy in many places, the frame scuffed and slightly broken.
