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Wiping her tears, I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m so happy, Carina. It’s Milos Levin. He’s beautiful, and he’s been so sweet. Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”
Carina isn’t fooled. “You can cry with me. I won’t tell Mommy or Carlo.”
“I’m not sad.” I say firmly. “This is better than I could have hoped for. I’ve told you about Milos. You get to have my car. Remember the car he gave me? It’s yours now.” I hand her the keys.
Sniffling, her eyes run over me. “Are you sure?”
This time I stop hiding from myself to tell her the truth. “Carina, this is an actual dream come true. Come on, we both thought I was going to get an old, crusty guy with too much money who didn’t give a fuck about me.”
She shudders. “He’s so big and scary. You really aren’t afraid of him?”
“In the beginning, yes, but after four years not in the least. He’s taken care of me—” Shit. I forgot I never told her about…I force the memory down. “I’m happy. I need you to be happy for me. Can you do that?”
Nodding, she hugs me tight. “It might be four years, but have you really spent more than ten hours with him total? You only saw him…was it six or seven times, you said? How can you be sure? Will he let me visit you?”
I’m fighting for control of my smile. She isn’t wrong. While there were more times than she knew of, all the time we spent together over the last four years couldn’t be more than two whole weeks combined. In the regular world it would have been unheard of. For mafia, it’s more than most women got. There were lucky women who knew of and encountered their husbands before the family agreed on marriage and terms. However, even they rarely were allowed more than a surface knowledge of each other before becoming engaged. “Of course he will. He knows how important you are to me. He’s not like Carlo.”
“What do you mean he’s taken care of you?” she asks.
Forcing a smile, I run my hand through her hair, then tug teasingly. “The car and Mommy—I told you. Now I need to get ready to get to work.”
Before she can ask again, I go into my room to get dressed for work at the clinic. When I come out of my room, I find the living room empty and can hear an anime playing in my sister’s room.
Walking out of the house, I find Peter waiting.
He’s out of the large black SUV, standing in front of the door to my car. “You need something?”
I nod, waving my hand at myself in my scrubs and comfy shoes. “To go to work. At the veterinarian clinic.”
He shakes his head. “Nyet, Milos said you are to tell them you quit.”
What the hell? It’s my first day back since graduating a week ago. I’m not quitting. “Well, Milos can fuck off and so can you. I’m not quitting. He doesn’t own me. I’m going to work.”
Turning away from him, I begin walking. He steps in front of me. “Milos will be angry if you—”
Good, now he’ll know how I feel. Bossy asshole. “I don’t care. I’m going to work. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
I never see him move, I’m up in his arms and he carries me kicking and struggling against him to the SUV. The driver, someone I’ve never seen before, is waiting with the back door open. Peter drops me in then the door closes.
I’m so pissed, I kick the door. Fuckers.
“I know for a fact you were ordered never to touch me,” I throw at Peter.
He shrugs. “Milos said in times of your safety we can. If I thought Milos would kill me for touching you, I wouldn’t have done it.” Looking to the driver, he tells him in Russian not to forget that Milos said not to touch me or Milos will kill him.
“Who is he?” I ask Peter in English—I’m not going to tell him after four years of college Russian and living with a Russian roommate willing to help me learn the language I now can speak and understand the language nearly as well as a native. The driver now refuses to look anywhere near me after he’d been staring at me in the mirror.
“His name is Gleb. Our job is to keep you safe. Don’t make it any harder than it has to be,” Peter warns me.
“This isn’t about my safety, it’s about Milos having a power trip. Where the hell are you taking me?” I ask even though I know the answer.
“Your new home,” he says, his tone bored. “Seat belt.”
“Fuck you.” I cross my arms, refusing to put my seat belt on. Instead I dig into my purse for my phone. It isn’t the flip phone I had four years ago. It’s the phone Milos gave me three years ago to replace the first one he gave me the day I met him. I text the clinic telling them I’m sorry, but something came up and I can’t go into work today.
Today is mirroring that first day in so many ways I can’t stop from thinking of the first day I met Milos Levin, and my whole life changed.
Four Years Ago
