AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“739 South Santa Fe Ave.,” she recites promptly.
I can see the smile lifting Pyotr’s cheeks. “Good. Very good. And, um, what state or city, Jenny?”
Color pools in the young girl’s cheeks. “Salinas, Kansas.”
“We’ll get you home, okay, Jenny?”
Pyotr slowly rises from his crouch, and just as he’s about to turn away, the young blonde releases her knee to grasp his hand. Tears shine in her big green eyes as she looks up at him.
“Thank you,” she whimpers. Then she starts to sob.
In an instant, Melody, the dark-haired beauty we first spoke to, is there. “I’ve got her,” she says, pulling Jenny into her arms.
The young teenager releases Pyotr’s hand, and mypakhanturns to face me, his expression tortured. Moving with purpose, he strides toward the club door. Val and I follow without hesitation, leaving Gleb to stand beside the traumatized women.
Bursting into the hall, Pyotr paces, his fingers combing into his hair. Val and I share a look. The last time I saw mypakhanthis mad, he killed three Zhivoder men in cold blood who were forcing themselves on Silvia. That was years ago, but I can see the same violent rage in him now. The same rage that consumes me when I think about just what these girls have been through.
“Fucking thirteen?” he hisses venomously in Russian.
“She’s safe, thanks to you. And gets to go home to her family,” Val states calmly.
He has a point, but that doesn’t make my blood boil any less than it does Pyotr’s.
Mypakhantakes a deep, steadying breath as his pacing slows, and I know that he’s transitioning from emotional to logical, a skill the Matron developed in him from a young age.
“I want each girl questioned,” he commands once he’s in control once again. “Those who can tell us where home is and want to go back, we’ll arrange to take them there. Any who have nowhere to go… well, I guess we’ll take them home for now. I don’t want to just turn them out on the streets to fend for themselves. And we can’t risk taking them to the police.” An indulgent smile softens Pyotr’s troubled expression. “I imagine Silvia won’t mind taking them in and helping them start fresh.”
We take the afternoon speaking with each of the young women. After a short time, it becomes clear that most have homes and families they were taken from, people who will be looking for them. The vast majority were taken from cities or small towns along the I70 route. Putting several men in charge of transporting them safely back home, Pyotr then instructs Gleb to take the remaining few back to the house in Brooklyn. We’ll meet him there.
It’s nearing sunset by the time our Escalade pulls up in front of the familiar brownstone. Pyotr’s youthful face looks drawn and exhausted from listening to so many horrible stories.
“You’re home,” Silvia says warmly, stepping into his arms as soon as he’s through the door. Then she draws back to look at his tired face.
“I have a bit of a surprise for you… well, several,” Pyotr amends, and gestures for Gleb to lead the girls inside.
Silvia’s eyes widen as five young women, including Melody, step into the entryway.
“I know you’ve got plenty on your plate with being a mom and an artist and running a gallery, but I thought you might be willing to help these girls get back on their feet. Most of the ones we took from the Zhivoder clan we’ll be able to take back to their homes. But these girls have nowhere to go for the time being.”
“Of course,” Silvia says, her hazel eyes brimming with compassion. “We have plenty of room for you. I’ll get someone to make up the extra beds. Why don’t you head to the kitchen, and we’ll get you something to eat?” She gestures in the direction she means.
The girls brighten at her suggestion, several making a beeline for the promise of food.
The dark-haired girl, Melody, hesitates in the entryway, and she casts an almost apologetic glance in Pyotr’s direction. “Thank you for taking us in, Mrs.…” She flounders, seeming to realize she doesn’t know a name.
“Veles,” Silvia provides politely. “But please, call me Silvia—or Silvi if you prefer. And I’m just glad to help. I know the kind of men you’ve been dealing with. You must have been so scared. But anything you need, please just tell me.”
“Thank you,” Melody murmurs, her cheeks darkening as she suddenly seems shy. “And thank you,” she adds, turning bashfully to Pyotr, “for setting us free… and for Jenny… and well, everything.” With something akin to a curtsy, the young woman excuses herself and then rushes to follow the rest of the girls to the kitchen and the world-class chef ready to feed them.
“Jenny?” Silvia asks, her eyes teasing as she turns to Pyotr.
But her humor dies as she sees the torment on his face.
“She’s just a child—thirteen. I’ve never wanted to hurt Mikhail Sidorov more than I do after today.”
As if drawn to her husband, needing to ease his pain, Silvia wraps her arms around his waist and nuzzles against his chest. Pyotr holds her close, tucking her head beneath his chin as he draws comfort from her proximity.
Shifting to give them a moment of privacy, I focus my eyes on the middle distance as I stand to attention.
