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“I’ll choke by money any day.”
“It’s not that easy. My husband is a mobster.”
“Even cooler. Means he has more money.”
“You really don’t care about what he does? He’s in the Russian mafia.”
“That’s badass.”
I frown. How could she be this acceptant of it? But homeless people have a different way of thinking than I do, so she probably sees Adrian’s profession as an advantage, not an inconvenience.
She nudges me with her elbow. “You really gonna give me your husband and money?”
“If you agree. All I want is my son.”
“Of course I agree. Who wouldn’t want to live like a queen?”
Footsteps echo behind the door and I whisper, “Listen, do you have something I can write on?”
She opens her coat and lifts her sweater, revealing her fair belly with stretch marks. “Do it here.”
I retrieve my super matte lipstick pencil from my bag and scribble on her stomach. “This is my email address and password. Tonight at eight, I’ll self-send a document that has all the information you need to learn about my husband and his organization. I’ll also include notes about my mannerisms and way of talking so you can mimic me. I’ll delete the email in three minutes, so make sure you download it immediately and print it out. I’ll give you money. Hide your face with your hoodie when you leave, and don’t come here again except to meet me in this bathroom next week at the same time if you still want to swap places.”
“Sure thing.” Her eyes gleam as she stares at my email and password on her stomach as if they’re sacred.
I drop my lipstick back in my bag. “See you then.”
“Wait.” She grins, showing surprisingly white teeth, but that’s probably because she hasn’t been homeless for long. “You said you’d give me money to print out the document. Can you include change for some alcohol?”
I give her all of the cash Adrian tells me to keep on me in case of emergencies. “Dye your hair the same color as mine and buy shampoo with a rose fragrance.”
“Got it!”
I straighten as I exit the bathroom with my heart hammering.
This is my last chance to escape before I either kill myself or Adrian hands me over to my biological father to do the honors.
37
Lia
Aweek later, Winter is here.
She’s washed up and dyed her hair the same color as mine. She smells of roses, the scent Adrian recognizes me by.
I don’t waste time as I strip from my coat and one of my dresses. I wore two, one on top of the other, so I don’t have to spend long here.
Winter does the same, humming joyfully. I feel sorry for her, for the life I’m thrusting her into, to the point that I thought about backing out of the plan this entire past week.
But Adrian’s cold shoulder kept me going. When Rai and I were shot at during a gathering she planned a few weeks ago, he didn’t show a sliver of concern, as if I didn’t almost die. All he did was bark orders and completely ignore me. If that isn’t a sign that he’ll soon hand me over to my father, who’s possibly worse than him, I don’t know what is.
Besides, Winter said she read the file and doesn’t mind. That file has all of the information about the Bratva monstrosity and should’ve been a serious red flag.
Winter actually seems more ready for this than I am.
“I learned that doc by heart like I never learned anything during school,” she says, getting rid of her pink coat. “I’m so envious that you’re a ballerina.”
“Ex-ballerina.” My throat closes.
