Page 9 of Brutal Vows

It’s time to show face and check in with Ivan’s new nanny—for now. His plans for her are much bigger, and she’s slow to catch on sometimes. Sweet and innocent little bird. I hope Gabriella made work of my plans to get out of this compound for good. She doesn’t know it, but she’s become my last resort. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do.

“I’m going, Papa, but I’ll be back later,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss his temple. My stay is coming to a close, I feel it in my gut. Ivan’s little bird will deliver because she understands what’s at stake. Maybe I was an idiot to trust Gabriella with my secret, but I’m not blind. Gabriella Scalera has secrets of her own, and I’ve teased out one of them already: she speaks Russian.

There will be more.

Time will tell.

“I’ll come again,” I say to the nurse as I try not to tear up while leaving the room.

The house is quiet. Almost eerily so as I make my way to the kitchen. Ivan’s daughters, Irisha and Katya, must be down for a nap. I’ll give this to Gabriella: as nanny, she’s perfect with the girls.

Ivan is, without a doubt, tumbling into love with her. Maybe because he plans to make her his wife. Maybe because she really is perfect for him. I know my brother. I’ve seen him give his all with his first marriage but only suffering with his then-wife. He deserves a home full of love and children’s laughter.

And this is the third reason why I had to come home. I had to come say goodbye. To Ivan, to Irisha and Katya, to Papa. To Yuri, who is like an uncle to me.

As I walk into the kitchen, I spot Yuri at the dining room table, working as usual, keeping half an eye on Gabriella where she’s unpacking some groceries. It hurts to know I’m hurting him, with my outbursts, my drunken behavior. It’s really embarrassing, but I’m desperate…a desperation Gabriella now understands.

When I came back from Russia because Ivan pleaded for me to come home, I never expected him to close the compound’s gates and refuse for me to leave again. He even cut all my finances and blocked me from doing any transactions in Russia. It’s a mess I didn’t anticipate. I’m so used to traveling between the US and the motherland, I didn’t for a single second consider my brother wouldn’t let me return to Saint Petersburg.

Soon, Masha will run out of money, and then we’re really fucked. She hasn’t been able to work for years. The money I earn from my piano recordings on music streaming apps is just a drop in the bucket and it all goes to her.

I try to be chirpy as I sidle up to Gabriella where she’s preparing ingredients.

“Can I help?” I ask, and she meets my gaze. “Last night’s dinner was so good, I can definitely learn a thing or two here.”

“Sure. The veal Saltimbocca recipe is in my head, but it’s easy enough.”

Everything seems easy for her. I hope my plan to escape with her help also comes without any obstacles.

“What’s new?” I whisper.

“Nothing new,” she says back softly.

But in her gaze, I read that she’s set things in motion. She spoke to her brothers, begging them to help me get out of this cage by any means, even if it implies marriage to a stranger.

Now it’s just a matter of time and maybe money—both things I don’t have.

5

MILANA

Later that afternoon, when Ivan comes home from the harbor where he spends a lot of his time, I sense his gaze on me. We’re in the garden, the girls playing outside after their nap, bursting with new energy. Spending time with them has been so good, even if it hurts me to the core of my being. To hold them physically breaks me, and I’ve been cold toward them, which breaks me even more. Now I’ve forced myself to be present, playing with them like we used to do, and as I meet Ivan’s gaze, he stares at me, thoughtful.

Something’s brewing, and I wish it would come to a head already. Right through dinner and the girls’ endless chattering, this domestic-bliss situation eats at me. It’s in such contrast to my own inner chaos, I just want to grab my brother by his shoulders and shake him until he lets me out of this cage.

I’ve given up by the time we’re done with the kids’ bath, and then Ivan walks into his bedroom. He picks up the hairbrush, and I watch how gently he brushes Katya’s hair.

“So,” he says. “Who’s ever dreamed of being a flower girl at a wedding?”

My stomach plummets, and I drop my gaze. Is this it?

“Me!” Irisha starts jumping up and down. “Me! Me! Me!”

“Is that so?” he says, a smile in his voice. “And what about Katya?”

“What’s a flower girl?” Katya asks, unsure.

He leans down and picks her up. “Well, at a wedding, little girls in the family throw flowers over the path when a bride walks to her groom. It’s tradition. Or something like that.”