AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And lonely.
I can easily imagine Pyotr up here all by himself, looking upon New York like a king surveying his lands. But everything about this place screams isolation. He may have a castle in the sky, but does one man really need all this space? Maybe I’m just projecting here. That’s howIwould feel were I in his shoes.
Once I’ve had my fill of the view, I continue snooping. I find a strange sort of amusement trying to glean what little I can from his worldly possessions. It’s like playing detective, piecing together small aspects of his life to try and get a greater picture of the whole. Something tells me Pyotr isn’t exactly eager to open up about himself, so if I want to learn more about him, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.
Unfortunately, the man doesn’t seem to have very many personal effects. No trinkets from vacations past, no photographs, no useless knickknacks on the coffee table. It’s like he lifted this place straight out of a catalog; every piece of furniture elegant, every piece of art beautiful, but without any personality or history behind it. Flare without substance.
His office at the end of the hall is as sterile as it comes. Cold and unwelcoming. His walls are lined with books, but it doesn’t look like he’s read any of them in a long time. They’re all business-related non-fiction.Boring. His bedroom is more of the same. Dark color palette, curtains drawn. Maybe I was wrong. Maybehe’sthe vampire of the family.
Do I feel bad about sneaking around his space? No, not at all. Weird, maybe, but in a way it feels like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. Being in his room honestly doesn’t feel real. Getting to see how Pyotr lives, where he rests his head… It’s intriguing. A clue into his psyche.
I poke through his closet—nothing but impressive suits ranging from black to even darker black. How shocking.
I rifle through his dresser next, pulling open the top drawer. Socks, all of them neatly folded like a shop display. I’m starting to get the sense that Pyotr’s a bit of a control freak. The only thing that surprises me is the fat wad of bills I find in the far back corner, hidden amongst his socks.
I immediately reach for the money. My heart leaps into my throat. This is at least five thousand dollars in cold hard cash! This should honestly be kept safe in a bank somewhere, but maybe Pyotr’s one of those weirdos who doesn’t trust the banks. Whatever the reason, it works in my favor. This might be enough to get me out of the state and start somewhere new.
I shove the money into my back pocket and pull out the brand-new phone Pyotr got for me. I open an incognito internet browser—I’m not stupid enough to think my cybersecurity expert husband won’t be keeping tabs on my search history—and quickly pull up a list of buses out of New York. How far would I get if I left right this minute? There are buses to Ohio, Indiana, north to Maine… The farthest I’m seeing so far is all the way down to Florida.
The gears in my mind start turning. If I can figure out a way to get to Florida, maybe I can charter a flight to Colombia and see my sister, Nikita. Would she put me up for a while? Or will she turn me in just like Yasemin did?
I grit my teeth. My elder sisters all fear Mother’s retaliation. It sucks that I can’t trust my own family to help. I’ll just have to think of something else, but so far, getting to Florida might be my best bet.
I keep poking through his drawers. Who knows what else I might find? I make my way over to his peek into his bedside table drawer—
And I freeze.
Only three items are inside: an old book, its spine cracked from multiple reads and a few of its pages falling out; a Makarov pistol, fully loaded with the safety on; and most surprising of all, a hearing aid.
I pick up the hearing aid first, cradling it gently in my palm. This obviously belongs to Pyotr—why else would it be here? —but I’ve never seen him wear it. Does he have trouble hearing?
Because you speak too fast for me to read…
Did he mean read my lips? Now that I think about it, hedoesstare at my mouth a lot. I’m not too sure what to do with this information, so I set the small device back down carefully.
I pay the gun no mind. I may be the daughter of a Bratva head, but I never adopted Mother’s cruel heart and indifference for violence. While my elder sisters had to endure shooting lessons at an early age, I instead poured myself into my piano and riding lessons.
I’m tempted to ignore the book, but I happen to catch a glimpse of something sticking out from within its pages. Curiosity takes over. Carefully, I pick the brittle book up and pull out what I now realize is an old photo. I stare at it for a moment, quietly marveling at what I see.
The picture is of Pyotr and a woman I’ve never seen before. He’s at least twenty years younger, around my age. He’ssmilingin the picture, so bright and brilliant I can hardly wrap my head around the fact that it’s really him. The hard edges I’ve come to know are nowhere to be seen. In this picture, he’s youthful and brimming with excitement. He’s so handsome it makes my teeth ache.
The woman he has his arms wrapped around is gorgeous. A total bombshell. Full and curly red hair with dazzling hazel eyes like liquid amber. She’s pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, but Pyotr doesn’t seem to mind. They both look as happy as can be.
They look like they’re inlove.
I flip the picture over.
‘Me and Eileen, Coney Island’ is written on the back.
I wonder who she was. An old girlfriend, no doubt. Pyotr clearly still hasn’t gotten over her; otherwise, he wouldn’t still have her picture at his bedside. As much as I want to keep studying the image, I hear movement downstairs. Thedingof the elevator and the footsteps of someone entering the living room tell me my time is up. I hastily put everything back—money excluded—and quickly head downstairs.
I arrive on the bottom step just in time to see an older woman walk in. She has a sweet face and an even sweeter smile. I’m curious to know how she got into this place considering the specialized key fobs needed to activate the elevator. Could this be Pyotr’s mother?
“Hello?” I greet softly, slightly timid.
The woman beams at me. “Ah, you must be Alina. It’s so lovely to finally meet you. My goodness, you’re beautiful!”
My cheeks warm. I wasn’t expecting such kindness. “Oh, um, thank you. Sorry, but who might you be?”
