Page 50 of Mr. Match

“I always do,” I reply.

“Has she been in contact?” Ellen asks.

She. That’s all they care about. Her. “No.” I shake my head.

“You’re sure?” Ellen asks. “Because I have it on good authority that someone saw you buying a disposable phone the other day.”

Who the fuck saw me? I was so careful. Lily and I were at the Super Target. I slipped into the electronics section while she was looking at pajamas. I didn’t see anyone. Do they have access to that security footage or something? “Yeah,” I snarl. “The one I used to talk to Gori, you stupid bitch.” I spit at her, but my insult falls short.

She laughs. “Do you really think Lucio Gori is going to let you go once this over? Really? Come on, Katya. You have to know you’re in it for life. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

“First of all,” I say, refusing to let her words bother me. “I’m not in anything for life. What they have with me is a contract, and all contracts have an expiration date.”

“You’re property,” Ellen says, clearly enjoying her opportunity to remind me of things I already know. “The Russians sold you.”

She has a smug look on her face, like she thinks this hurts me. But it doesn’t. I let go of the Russian part of me a long time ago. I’m no one’s property and maybe the Russians did get something in return for handing me over to Lucio Gori, but it wasn’t with my consent. And that’s the only part that matters.

“Yup,” I say, letting that go. “I am. But not for long. I have done everything asked of me. I have not fucked up once. And next week this will all be in the past. A bad dream and nothing else.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Katya. You probably need to believe that more than anyone I’ve ever met.” And then she pats me on the head like a dog and walks off, calling over her shoulder, “You better get that information from Weston Conrad, Katya Kalashova. Or your sister’s name will be added to your contract, just like you were added to your parent’s.”

I rush forward and grab her throat, pushing her up against the brick wall of the building so fast, she doesn’t even have time to scream before I’m pressing on her neck. Her hands claw at mine, but I just squeeze harder. God, I hate her. I hate them all. I want to end her life—

Ellen gets a knee up and delivers a blow to my ribs so hard, I stumble back. She has both hands on her throat as she gasps for air. I can’t help myself. I laugh. I laugh loud. So loud, Ellen gets nervous and glances at the street to see of anyone is watching this little altercation. Bitch isn’t smug anymore.

A group of college girls walks by the alley. We watch them pass. Ellen, still gasping for air. Me, stifling a laugh.

And then I look at Ellen and point my finger right at her face. “I don’t report to you, Ellen. You can tell him I said that. You can tell him if he’s got a complaint he can come here and take it up with me himself.”

Ellen is still pawing her throat. “I’ll pass it along, Katya,” she croaks. “But one wrong move and you know what happens.” She makes a slicing motion across his throat. “Only this time it won’t be you who gets cut. It will be her.”

Ellen doesn’t wait for me to answer. Just turns and walks towards the busy street and crowds of people beginning their day. I don’t have a comeback anyway. Every time they threaten my little sister like that I just freeze. It sends a panic through my whole body.

I lean against a brick building and take deep breaths until I stop shaking. And then I force myself to walk the opposite direction. Get as far away from the past coming back to haunt me as I can.

They will not get my sister like they did me. I will do anything to keep that from happening.

But they do scare me. My legs are trembling with the adrenaline rush from the confrontation. And there’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that everything is about to go very, very wrong.

I’m almost feeling normal when I get to my building. The doorman has the elevator for me, but I wave him off. “I’m gonna to take the stairs,” I say with the most cheerful voice I can manage. “I need the exercise.”

“Sure thing, Miss Kalashova,” he calls back.

I open the door to the stairs, but instead of going up, I go down to the garage level. Then one more, to the storage unit level. Everyone gets one closet-sized storage unit to keep things like Christmas trees and boxes out of the way during the year.

I have one. But that’s not the one I go to now. I’d have to be a fool to think they wouldn't check my storage unit.

Instead I go to the one for the unit next door. It’s got a lock on it, but I have the combination.

I quickly find the right numbers on the dial and it pops open with a click. One last look behind me, and I slip inside.

The disposable phone they caught me buying the other day is right where I left it and when I flip it open I have a message.

We’re on track. Do your job, stick to the plan, and I’ll see you in two days.

I flip it closed, set it down, and exit—quickly locking the storage unit back up and jogging all the way up the stairs to the top floor.

Inside the phone is buzzing in the drawer. I have a slight moment of panic as I try to assess how many seconds late I might be, and then force myself to take a deep breath and let it out as I answer.