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God, I can’t believe I’m married. It doesn’t feel official in any capacity whatsoever, yet the word has drilled itself into the deepest crevices of my brain. No wedding, no ring, not even a kiss after theI do. I never expected to have a fairytale ending butcome on.
With nothing but the clothes on my back, I make my way through downtown. I’m thankful it’s the middle of summer because I forgot my jacket. Russian winters are unforgiving and ruthless, so at least I have the seasons on my side.
I ignore the grumble of my stomach as I pass a local coffee house. It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t had a chance to eat yet. Mother was so determined to get me to the judge she didn’t spare me any time for breakfast. Despite the hunger, I keep walking. I tell myself this is nothing. I can deal with a little hunger.
What Ican’tdeal with is the thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage.
I make it another ten blocks before I’m thoroughly exhausted and lost. The hotel is far behind me, leaving plenty of distance between Pyotr and me. I’m sure he’s realized by now that I’ve run away. Here’s hoping this head start will keep me out of his grasp forever.
As luck would have it, I happen upon a large supermarket. Perfect. It’s high time I found something to eat.
I walk in like I’m any other customer. The employees certainly don’t suspect anything, and they won’t as long as I don’t give them a reason to. I make my way to the hot lunch section of the supermarket, picking up a small sandwich I can mostly hide against my palm. I shuffle up and down the aisles, making sure to keep out of sight as I rip into the package. Do I feel bad about stealing? Of course.
But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
There’s no time to actually enjoy the food. I scarf the whole thing down in four or five bites, afraid someone might catch me with my stolen sustenance. After finishing, I throw the wrapped into an empty shopping cart and keep walking. I leave the store directly behind a woman and her child, staying close enough to seem like I’m leaving with them and their full cart, but not so close I cause them concern. Once I’m out, I continue my trek through the city.
I’m not sure how far I’m going to get, but I’m as determined as ever. Mother has kept me relatively isolated, but that doesn’t mean I’m without allies here in the city. I haven’t spoken to my sister, Yasemin, in a few months, but I’m sure she’d be willing to help me in my time of need. Yasemin, too, knows what it’s like to be arranged in a marriage she doesn’t want.
It takes me longer than I want to find her home. I’ve only got my memory to work with here. She lives in an impressive apartment complex on the richer side of Moscow. I don’t hesitate to walk straight up to the building’s front door and press the buzzer. The electricbrrrrattles my eardrums as I impatiently shift my weight from foot to foot, shooting a cautionary look over my shoulder. Still no sign of Pyotr or Mother. I might be able to escape the two of them, after all.
“Hello?” my sister’s voice crackles over the speakers.
“Yasemin! Yasemin, it’s me!”
“Alina? Oh my God, come on up!”
The moment the front doors unlock, I whip them open on their hinges and race inside. I take the elevator to the top floor and practically sprint down the hall to her door. It’s been a while since I’ve visited her in person, but I still remember the red-brown carpet, beige walls, and art deco-inspired sconces of the hallway. Yasemin must have heard my heavy footfalls approaching because her apartment door swings open before I even have the chance to knock.
“Alina!” she gasps, throwing her arms around me in a tight embrace. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!”
I hug her back, relief flooding my veins. The tears come next. I’ve been holding them back all day, and now there’s no stopping them. “Yasemin, something terrible’s happened. I really need your help.”
“I know,” she says with a pitiful smile, leading me into the apartment. It smells like she was in the middle of making sugar cookies. “I’m so sorry, dear sister.”
Something in her tone makes the hairs on the back of neck stand on end. “You… You know? But how?”
My sister takes my hand, her grip uncomfortably tight. She guides me into the kitchen, complete with floral backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and a kitchen island with a white granite counter. Seated on one of the island bar stools is a man I recognize. He’s impossible to miss with his mountainous shoulders and back wide enough to rival a billboard. I’d know this monster anywhere.
Pyotr doesn’t even bother turning to look at me, instead helping himself to a cup of tea Yasemin no doubt brewed for him. “Did you enjoy your walk, wife?” he asks gruffly.
Wife.He makes it sound like an insult.
My legs are two seconds away from buckling. “How did you find me?”
“Traffic cameras.”
I furrow my brows. “What?”
“We Antonovs have a talented hacker in our pocket. He can hack into the traffic cameras around the city. We use the footage to keep track of our enemies… Or runaway brides.”
I gulp. No wonder the Antonov Bratva is one of the most respected—and feared. If what Pyotr is saying is true, it would explain his family’s ability to rapidly expand. There’s no need to worry about running into rival gangsters or the police who might thwart your plans if you know exactly where they are at all times. I’d be impressed if it weren’t for the fact that I’msofucked right now.
“You only have one family member in the city,” Pyotr continues. “It was simply a matter of asking Violetta for your sister’s address.”
I hold my breath. For some reason, I’m more horrified at the thought of Mother knowing what I’ve done than being caught by Pyotr. He may be a big, burly man, but I don’t think he’d ever harm me physically. Mother, on the other hand, isn’t above punishing slaps across the face and worse. I learned that the hard way growing up, fearing those thick gold rings she wears on her fingers like a bejeweled brass knuckle.
Pyotr rises from his seat, his expression unreadable. I’m starting to think he doesn’t have facial muscles. It’s like staring at a blank wall. “I’m going to give you two options,” he says. Now that I’ve heard him speak more than a word at a time, I’m notice his Russian, while fluent, is tinted with an American accent.
